I walk off the ice from pre-game warmup and, I can’t explain it, but I feel on edge. I want Tess. I’ve been here for a few hours now, trying to get my head in the game, but it’s not working. The whole time I was on the ice I was watching and waiting for her, but she didn’t come.
Now I’m back in the locker room, mechanically taping my sticks. At this point, I could do it with my eyes closed. Rock music pounds through the speakers, rumbling in my chest. Morrow has the aux cord, so it’s a Metallica afternoon.
Normally, the music revs me up, building my energy so I can hit the ice hard. But right now, it’s grating my last nerve. I can’t just sit here, wondering where she is. How many times am I going to check my phone, hoping to get a picture of her in my jersey? I left it wrapped on the bed for her while she was in the shower. I figured she’d put it on and snap a pic, maybe with a wink face or that pouty-lipped smile I love so much. I was going to save it to my home screen.
My Tess. My ginger goddess. Ruler of my fucking universe.
Fuck, I can’t sit here. I have to check again. Setting my stick aside, I shove off the bench. I exit the locker room and turn right, trotting down the hall in my skates, thick plastic guards protecting the blades.
“Hey, Mr. Langley,” a security guard says with a wave.
“Hey, Ramon. You haven’t seen a gorgeous redhead wandering around, have you?”
He just chuckles, the walkie-talkie at his hip buzzing with chatter. “Man, I wish.”
“Keep an eye out, will you?” I say over my shoulder.
“Will do,” he calls.
Leaving him behind, I peek my head inside the WAG room, peering around with my eagle eyes, ready to stop at the first sight of red hair. The room is full of laughing and chatting women in their bedazzled Rays shirts and jerseys. Kids dart around as a loud cartoon plays on the TV. A long table is set with food—sandwiches, cookies, salad.
But no Tess.
Shelby sees me almost at once and hurries over with Baby Josh balanced on her hip. “I told you I’d send word when she gets here.”
I groan, sagging against the doorframe. “Where the hell is she, Shelbs?”
“Traffic?” she says with a shrug. “You know game days can be a mess downtown with parking.”
Yeah…traffic. I’m not buying it.
I’m trying not to take this so hard, but this is my first game back off my injury, and I wanted my girl here to watch it. I’ve never been ‘that guy’ before, even when I was going steady with a girl. But then again, I’ve never been with Tess before. I just need to know she’ll show up for me the way I’ll always show up for her.
“Hey,” says Shelby, her hand brushing the sleeve of my jersey. “She’ll come, okay? She’s crazy about you. If you asked her to come, she’ll be here.”
I nod, wanting to believe her.
“But you should really get out of here,” she adds, checking the clock on the wall.
My gaze darts to the wall too. “Fuck—”
“Langley!”
I push off the doorframe and peek back over my shoulder to see Assistant Coach Denison marching towards me.
“What the hell are you doing down here, planning a picnic? Get your ass back in the locker room!” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, glaring at me.
“Uh-oh,” Shelby teases with a smile in her eye.
“Busted,” I mutter.
She laughs. “She’ll come, Ryan. Go play your game.”
I shove off the doorway and start moving back down the hall towards the locker room, passing Denison as I go.
“You boys are gonna give me grey hairs before I’m forty, I swear to God,” he says, slapping my shoulder pads as I pass.
Even with Shelby’s words of affirmation tumbling through my mind, I still feel unsettled. It’s not like I’m fooling myself here. I know what this is about. It was on the tip of my tongue this morning. I wanted to hold her naked in my arms, her defenses down, and I wanted to tell her that I love her.
Because I do. I’m in love with Tess. She’s mine and I’m hers. And I think she loves me too. Fuck, I need to tell her. I can’t focus until the words are out of me.
Focus. Speed. Control.
It’s my mantra. It has been since I was twelve. But right now, the mantra I’m chanting over and over is three very different words. I bat them away, searching for my center. Mental performance is just as important as physical performance. I can’t play if I can’t get my head in the game.
Sully and Walsh cast me a glare as I take my seat between them, snatching up my stick to finish my tape job.
“You alright, Langers?” Sully says. “You seem distracted.”
“I’m good. I’m focused.”
He just shakes his head, his attention back on his own pregame.
Yeah, I’m focused alright…on all the wrong things. I let out a deep breath, trying to clear my head. Wrap the stick. Over, under, and over again. Tight lines. Down the blade, heel to toe. Finish the wrap on the backhand side. Then I need to tape the top of the shaft.
I let the rhythm of taping take over me as I sink into my empty headspace. My dead zone. My pregame black out. Nothing can touch me in here. It’s just me and my game, the feel of the stick in my hands, the movement of the tape.
But I’m not alone in my head tonight.
Focus.
Focus on Tess—her freckles, those reddish curls framing her face, the satisfied humming sound she makes when she takes her first sip of morning coffee. Focus on her eyes, so green at the edges and golden brown in the middle. Focus on the sway of her hips, the downturn of her bottom lip when she’s concentrating on her laptop. Focus on the sound of her cry as she orgasms, squeezing your dick like a vise. Focus on her words, spoken so softly—I want you too.
Speed.
Move fast. You can’t be complacent with Tess. She has exactly one speed and it’s GO. To choose her is to choose a life of endless motion. She’s the pace car. Just keep up. Keep running at her speed. Show her you can take it.
Control.
This is the hardest one for me. It’s not about controlling Tess. In fact, I’m learning it’s the opposite. I can only control myself—my actions, my wishes, my needs. What Tess needs is freedom. That’s the only way this works. If I try to take control in this relationship, she’ll bolt so far and so fast, I’ll never catch up. Worse, I’ll never earn back her trust.
Focus. Speed. Control.
I’m in my dead zone, but I can’t push her out. She’s everywhere. She’s everything. This isn’t about hockey anymore, even though I’m dressed in my full kit, minutes away from taking to that ice.
Focus. Speed. Control.
But all I can think about are those other words, dying to escape my lips, clouding all my thoughts. Three little words. A new mantra. A new prayer.
I love you.
The buzzer sounds, ending the second period, and I skate over to the boards, air sharp in my lungs. We’re down against the Blue Jackets 2-1. I’m playing like shit tonight. I’m slow on my skates, missing easy passes. I know the guys have noticed. Karlsson had an open shot to pass it to me twice in the second half of the first period, and he kept the puck. Honestly, I don’t fucking blame him.
Walsh skates up right behind me, his hip hitting the boards. He’s been on line with me all period. “What’s wrong with you tonight?” he says, squeezing a water bottle over his sweaty face. The water drips down his neck, inside his shoulder pads. “Is it your knee?” he presses, following after me down the bench towards the locker room.
“My knee is fine.”
“Well, you’re playing like shit—”
I spin around, glaring in his face. “You wanna say that again, rookie?”
He doesn’t back down. His rookie innocence is wearing off now that we’re over half a season in. “I don’t want a guy on my line who can’t carry his weight,” he admits, pulling no fucking punches.
“I carry my weight just fine,” I reply.
“You’re a mess. You’ve got the next eighteen minutes to get your head on straight—”
“My head is on straight—”
“You’re distracted,” he counters, grabbing me by the jersey and holding me back. The fans pound on the plexiglass by our heads, but they can’t hear his words. “You’re looking around like you’re fucking lost out there. Half the time, it’s like you’re not even tracking the fucking puck. What the hell is wrong with you?” He gives me a shove, letting me go.
I groan. He’s fucking right. I know he is. I’m so distracted. I’m still looking for Tess. I just need to see her once. If she’s here, I know she’ll wait for me after the game. And if she’ll wait for me, I know I can say what I need to say. I can’t hold it in any longer.
I push past him along the bench, leading the way towards the locker room. The fans all around us still cheer, trying to get my attention. I tune it all out. White noise.
Walsh follows behind me as we make our way into the locker room. I don’t even make it to my stall before Sully is on me.
“Dude, what’s up with you tonight?” he says, sweat dripping down his face.
“I’m working on it,” I reply, stepping around him to slam my helmet down on the bench.
“This isn’t like you. I knew something was wrong during warm-up.”
Next to him, Karlsson glances over, munching on a granola bar. He’s worried too. I can see it on his face.
“Guys, I’m just having an off night,” I say, snatching for my water bottle. “Jeez, you’d think I was out there tryna play with a croquet mallet.”
“You don’t have off nights,” Karlsson says, his voice soft.
“Well, then I’m overdue for one, yeah?” I say, launching to my feet. “So maybe you can all just cut me some fucking slack.”
Not waiting for their replies, I push past Sully, marching across the locker room towards the PT room. My eyes scan quickly, locking on my target. “Doc,” I call, still fisting my water bottle like I’m trying to choke it.
She wasn’t here earlier, otherwise I would have gone straight to the source. And when she did arrive, she avoided me like the plague, sticking to the far end of the bench. I could feel her eyes watching me while I was out on the ice for every shift. My panic spiked higher with each pointed look she gave in the opposite direction. Yeah, she knows something.
She spins around now, her arms full of bananas. She takes one look at my face and her smile falls. Then she’s shaking her head, trying to slip past me. “Langley, just don’t, okay?”
“Hey—wait,” I say, grabbing her arm as she tries to pass.
She goes still, her gaze darting from my sweaty face down to where my hand holds her. “Take your hand off me, Ryan,” she says. “Or lose the hand.”
I drop my hand away and take a step back. “Is she here?”
“Ryan—”
“Something’s fucking wrong,” I say, my voice hoarse. “I can feel it in my bones. You keep watching me, but you won’t look at me. I’m starting to freak out here. She’s supposed to be here but she’s not…is she?”
She gazes up at me, her expression anguished. “Ryan, she’s not coming. I think she just needs some space. She’ll be staying with me tonight. Just give her space, okay?”
My heart fucking stops. “Wait—what the fuck happened?”
She groans, turning away. “Ryan—”
“I love her, Rachel. I’m in love with her, and I think she loves me too. I can’t breathe—can’t fucking think—because I need to tell her so badly.”
She spins to face me, and I swear I see a small flicker of fear dance inside her eyes. “Ryan, don’t.” She grabs my sweaty wrist. “Please don’t tell her,” she says, tears springing to her eyes. “Not now. Not like this. Please. You’ll make it that much harder for her.”
“Harder for her to do what?” I press, my heart racing like I just pulled a double shift. And that’s when it hits me. “Oh my god…this is about her ex, right? That asshole fucking did something. He threatened her again, didn’t he?”
Rachel just shakes her head, holding back the truth I see burning inside her.
“Rachel, please—”
“He threatened you.”
Rachel gasps, eyes narrowing as I spin to face the new voice. Jake is standing just behind me, his sweaty face solemn.
“Jake, don’t,” she orders. “Tess doesn’t want him hurt, and that’s her business—”
“It’s his business too,” Jake counters. “She made you promise not to say anything, but I’m under no such gag orders.” He looks to me, placing a hand on my shoulder pads. “You love her, man?”
I nod. “I do. So fucking much.”
“Then go tell her that—”
“Jake,” Rachel cries. “Tess says she has a plan, and we all have to trust her. She knows Troy better than any of us. If she says we step back, I think we all need to listen.”
“Will one of you just tell me what the fuck happened?” I beg. “You said he threatened me. I’ve never met the guy. I don’t even know what he looks like. What did he do?”
“Check her closet,” Jake replies. “Everything you need to know is in there.”
Rachel just shakes her head, glaring at her husband. I see through her though. I know she’s more scared than angry. What the hell happened today?
I turn away from them both, my shoulder brushing Jake’s as I practically run in my skates over to Coach’s office. His door connects to the locker room on the other side from PT. The door is open, and I push my way inside. Coach Johnson sits at his desk, eyes glued to a monitor playing game tape from first period. Assistant Coaches Andrews and Denison are here, too, and the goalie coach.
“I need to go,” I say to the room.
Three pairs of eyes turn to look at me.
“Langley? What’s the problem, son?” says Coach Johnson.
“Family emergency, sir,” I reply. “I need to leave. I’m sorry, but I can’t finish this game.”
“Jesus, what happened?” says Andrews, stepping forward to grip my shoulder pad. “You look white as a sheet—”
“I’ve never asked for this before, sir,” I go on, looking right at Coach. “I’ve never even missed a practice before my knee. I’m asking now. Let me go take care of my family. I’m no good to you out there tonight anyway,” I add, gesturing to the monitor.
They all turn, and we watch as Karlsson shoots me a pass and I miss, out of position and too slow to catch up. That missed pass led to the changeover that led to the Blue Jackets’s first goal.
Coach Johnson stands. “You can’t tell us what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know yet, sir. I need to go find out. Until I do, my head’s not in this game. I can’t play anymore hockey tonight, sir. Fine me, suspend me, do whatever you need to do.”
Slowly, he nods, his grey eyes narrowed at me. “Family comes first, Langley,” he says at last. “Go. Take care of your business.”
I barely get out a ‘thank you’ before I’m rushing out of the office and over to my stall, ready to rip off this Rays jersey and get home to Tess.
