A calm energy ran through my veins as I taped up my sticks the morning after the gala, but there was something razor sharp beneath it.
It was only our second home game of the regular season, and while a win felt great no matter where we earned it, there was something special about one in our barn. If we were going to be taken seriously as competitors in the Eastern Conference, we needed a dub tonight against the Toronto Titans. They were leading the conference and coming off a Stanley Cup win last season.
If there was ever a time to prove Tampa was back in the game, tonight was it.
I wasn’t too worried. Coach sensed as much at the gala last night, and he warned me not to get too cocky. But it wasn’t cockiness.
Well — not entirely, at least.
I just saw things exactly as they were.
Our lines were stacked with veterans. Our defense was focused. Our goalie was the best in the league. We were running efficiently, and we’d studied tape so long my eyes had crossed.
Plus, we had me.
They could call it cocky if they wanted, but I was the missing piece for Tampa — a strong right winger on the first line with the tenacity this team had been missing. I bulldozed my way into rookie camp after graduating Michigan in the spring, and I hadn’t let up since. Coming straight into the NHL after college wasn’t an opportunity I was going to waste, and I didn’t care if I had to ruffle some feathers in order to keep my spot here.
My teammates loved to give me shit, to remind me I was just a rook and that I’d be humbled as the season progressed.
But that hadn’t happened yet.
I felt the win tonight. It was ours. Home ice just felt better, we had won three games in a row, and having the support of our fans always ticked the energy up a notch.
Although, the Tampa fans were restless after nearly a decade of half-baked seasons — and I didn’t blame them. The Ospreys had only made it to the playoffs twice in that time, and had choked in the first round on both appearances.
But again — that was before me.
I finished taping my sticks just in time for my headphones to be flicked off my head by the hand of Jaxson Brittain, a defenseman who was quickly becoming one of my favorite to work with. He was only a couple years older than I was, a Canadian known for battling in the corners and being quick on the ice. We’d struck up a friendship easily when I came to the show.
“Let’s skate, Pigeon.”
I smirked at the nickname, another for rookie that the veterans loved to pin me with. Then, I was up and following him out of the locker room and onto the ice.
The energy was loud and boisterous as teammate after teammate joined us, the music thumping and chirps sounding off in every direction. A morning skate was just a way to get the nerves out, to warm up and prepare for the game later in the evening. It always felt like settling in for me, that first glide across the ice, first tap of my stick against the puck, first shot on the open goal. My muscles revved to life like a race car engine, firing up for the challenge ahead, while my mind floated up into a focused kind of fog only game day could bring.
After a while of just skating around and shooting pucks into an open net, our goaltender finished his stretches and took his place in front of the goal.
Will Perry — or Daddy P as we called him — was an absolute weapon, and he was the sole reason I had celebrated when I found out Tampa was going to be my team. Our lines needed work, and our defense could be stronger, but Daddy P was steady and strong, easily one of the best in the league, if not the best. He was as fierce a goalie as he was a father to his daughter. Shockingly, his wife had passed away unexpectedly before the kid was even a year old.
I’d never lived through something like that, but I could tell it had carved Will Perry into an unbreakable stone wall — which was exactly what we needed in a goaltender.
There was a challenge in his eyes as he snapped his mask into place, as if to say give it your best shot, fuckers.
He barely crouched into position before we all did just that.
Puck after puck flew toward the net, with no less than ten seconds in-between but usually no more than that, either. It was a race to see who could score on him first, or if any of us could do it at all.
I’d won this little game the last four morning skates in a row, and I had no intention of relinquishing my title today.
I missed the first two attempts, but the rest of the team didn’t fare any better. And on my third shot, the puck flew high and fast into the top right corner of the net.
“Hello!” I screamed, gloved hands flying into the air along with my stick as I celebrated the win to the tune of a dozen groaning teammates. “Top cheese, baby!”
“Lucky shot, Pigeon,” Will grumbled, peeling off his mask.
“Aww, did your lovely lady locks block your view, Daddy P?”
He ran a hand back through his long hair before shaking the sweat off. “Jealous of the flow?”
“That flow didn’t help you block the cheese. Maybe you should call your mom after practice, have her teach you couponing so you learn how to save.”
Laughs rumbled around the rink, and even Will smirked.
“Someone needs to humble your ass, Tanny Boy,” Jaxson said, skating up to me before sliding to a halt and sending ice up over my shins.
“And is that someone supposed to be you, Brittzy?”
“Please,” Carter Fabri said, skating a circle around us before he lazily shoveled a puck down the ice. “Brittzy couldn’t humble anyone with those bendy ankles.”
“Nize it, Fabio. My left nut dangles better than you,” Jaxson fired back, and then he was chasing Carter down the ice, catching up to him easily and stealing the puck away with ease.
Carter was a rookie, too, but I was worried about him being sent back down to the AHL before the season ended. He was good, but he wasn’t great, and as much as I loved partying with him, he wasn’t the center we needed to bring the Cup home. Still, I hoped he’d at least stick around until the team threw our rookie party, because the sonofabitch was goofy as hell and always made for an epic night out.
I felt focused and ready by the time morning skate came to a close, players making their way off the ice one by one to head home. We didn’t have to report back until five. Getting ready for a game was a little different for all of us, but it almost always included a nap, and I was looking forward to mine as I skated toward the locker room.
I was almost to the boards when I noticed our dentist, Livia Young, talking to Coach at the mouth of the tunnel.
The sight of her conjured up one of her friend from last night, and something between annoyance and intrigue sparked in my chest.
I didn’t even know the girl’s name, but I knew one thing for sure — she was a judgmental, snobby princess. She’d had her nose so high in the air last night I was surprised she didn’t bruise it on the ceiling.
Still, she was a striking little brat, and something about the way she razzed me made me want to bend her over my knee and spank an apology right out of her sweet ass.
Maybe she was right. Maybe it was because I was used to being fawned over, to every woman I came into contact with swooning into a puddle on the floor. Or maybe it was because a knockout in a yellow dress tilting her chin up at me in defiance made my chest spark with a challenge.
And I loved a challenge.
Whatever the reason, I hadn’t forgotten about our interaction. And I was curious to know more about the golden-eyed girl who’d called me a prick.
“Does it make me a masochist that I pray for a puck to the teeth every game just so I can be on a table underneath that woman?”
I chuckled at the comment from Carter as he skated by, his eyes on Livia, and he waggled his brows at me before hopping the boards.
“Looking good, Dr. Young,” he said as he passed her and Coach McCabe. “Loved your dress last night.”
While Coach gave my teammate a flat look, Livia just rolled her eyes and smiled. She had to be used to it by now. You didn’t get away with being the team dentist and looking the way she did without getting comments like that daily.
“If only you hit on the puck as hard as you do our dentist, nineteen,” Coach said, clapping his shoulder and walking back to the locker room.
Livia turned to me just as I hopped over the boards, and I sidled up beside her, leaning against the glass. “You’ve got the patience of a saint.”
“It’ll be the day I stop getting hit on that I’ll be upset,” she said with a dazzling smile. “Have fun last night?”
A flash of her friend hit me again with those words, her golden eyes and freckle-covered brown skin. I wasn’t the least bit ashamed of how I’d seen that ponytail pulled tight at the back of her head and wondered what it would feel like to wrap it around my fist and take control of her like a wild bull.
I would probably be haunted by that curve-hugging yellow dress for months, and annoyed by her quick-to-pass judgement for another few after that.
“More than your sidekick, I imagine.”
“Maven?” Livia asked with a soft laugh. “Ah, her bark is worse than her bite.”
“I think I was victim to both last night,” I mused. “She’s a real piece of work.”
“That’s not her typical scene,” Livia said in way of defense.
“No shit.”
At that, Livia tilted her head, eyes narrowing as she studied me. “Interesting that you’re still thinking about her this morning.”
“Well, I haven’t been insulted so many times in a ten-minute period since rookie camp, so let’s just say she left an impression.”
Livia tongued her cheek for a moment before she straightened. “I need to get going. Got an afternoon full of patients before tonight.” She paused. “Maven King is her full name, by the way. You should look her up.”
“With all my free time,” I joked.
She just smirked and wiggled her fingers at me before disappearing down the tunnel, and I hung back for a moment before making my way inside, too.
• • •
Later that night, when I slipped inside my Maserati parked in the player lot, still high off our second home game win and far too keyed up to even think about sleep, I couldn’t help myself.
I pulled up Instagram and typed in Maven King.
