Page 4

TWO

SANTA

Five Days Before The Season Starts

Pacing up and down the locker room isn’t how I wanted to spend today.

Learning that the man I despise the most in this world is now going to be my teammate definitely wasn’t something I worried about when I woke up this morning.

Now I just have to find a way to fix it.

How in the hell will I fix this?

If Gab announced it to the whole team in our annual start-of-the-season celebration, with everyone and their families present as witnesses, then I bet every penny to my name that the contract is already fucking signed.

What—

I whirl around when a hand clamps on my shoulder, my lizard brain somehow convinced that it’s Charlie fucking Heart himself coming here to torment me even though Gab said he won’t be here until next week. But it’s not.

It’s Bear.

“Come with me,” he says gruffly. His eyes look steady as always and meet mine head on. As the second tallest in the team he’s the only one who can more or less meet my gaze without having to tilt his head way up.

I follow him out the door and to the end of the hallway where the elevator is. I’d follow Bear anywhere and everywhere.

Jules “Picard” Dupont—now Dupont-Sterling—is our captain, yes. He’s the leader of this team and has been almost since the moment he got here when I was already in my third year in the league. He’s also our best player. Hell, he’s the best player in the world and has three Stanley Cup wins, a couple of Olympic medals, and a whole bunch of other trophies to prove it.

I have the Stanley Cup wins as well, but it’s not the same.

I know for a fact every player in this team would put not only their faith and trust in Jules’ hands but their life too.

Mater is also a leader for us. He’s been here almost as long as me, and he’s kind of like a father for all of us in a weird way.

But it’s Bear who I would hide a body for. He looks out for us in a way no one else does. From his silent spot in the corner of the locker room he sees everything, just like he does from the net .

Bear hates to fight but he’s fought for Jules plenty. He hates confrontation but he’s never afraid to get in one of our faces and make us get our heads straight.

Bear is steadfast, loyal, kind, and the best fucking goalie I’ve ever played with.

So of course I follow him without question, out of the elevator, down the long hallway full of offices, and into a meeting room. He points to the chair at the head of the table for me to sit, then sits in the one right next to it.

“I know you hate him,” he starts once my ass is in the chair.

He’s the only one who knows that, the only one I’ve let see that side of me outside the ice.

It doesn’t happen often, but after games against Atlanta I’ve always been in a foul mood and that’s not usual for me, so I don’t want anyone else to see me like that.

I don’t want my teammates or anyone in the Pirates organization to think I’m this angry enforcer who has so much rage he gets paid to slam people against the boards. At my core, that’s definitely not who I am, and only those closest to me get to see it.

Here, in this building, I want to be seen as what I am—a damn good hockey player who has a mind for strategy, natural talent, and an unbreakable work ethic. Goofball is also a word that many employees of the Pirates have used to describe me, and I take pride in that. I love making people laugh and have a good time, I love celebrating the good times, and I love turning my teammates’ frowns upside down.

I’ve worked hard on making sure that’s the side of me that my Pirates family gets. I’ve succeeded, but Charlie fucking Heart brings out the worst in me. He’s not even here yet and I’ve already turned into a grouchy asshole, storming out of the start-of-the-season party we always throw.

“Yes,” I answer for no apparent reason, since he wasn’t asking a question.

“I’ve never asked why and I’m not about to do that now,” he tells me, and my shoulders drop with relief. I don’t feel like explaining my feelings and reasons to anyone when it comes to this subject. “I’m only going to tell you to trust Gab. You know we needed reinforcements since Fire got banged up a couple of weeks ago.”

I nod, because yeah, that’s true.

Philip “Fire” Von Bruun is a defenseman, just like me and Heart. He normally skates alongside Mater on the first line for our team, but he took an ugly—legal—hit during the pre-season and his leg landed wrong. It happens to the best of us, but he managed to tear his MCL which means he had to have surgery, and that he’s out for at least six months... so the whole regular season. Maybe even the playoffs if his recovery isn’t super smooth.

I haven’t given much thought to who would take his place in the first line, but now that I’m thinking about it, I realize that breaking me and Bates up on the second line to bring either of us to the first line wouldn’t have been the best idea. We have a rhythm of our own and work well together. The four players in lines three and four also have their own thing going and get shit done, and I’m not too well versed in who’s in our farm team that Gab could’ve brought up to fill the void.

No one who’s as good as Fire more than likely, and so I do see her reasoning.

I see the logic of it all, I’m not that delusional.

Charlie Heart is not only the best option she and our GM, Barlow, had... but he was probably their first choice as well.

And he agreed.

Why the fuck did he agree to come here? We’ve fought enough on the ice for him to know I’m not a fan of his.

He knows damn well he’s coming into hostile territory, and I’m not about to lie down and let him walk all over me and get a spot in our first line. That’s not happening.

I trust Mater and Fire, as well as Bear, to protect Jules accordingly in the first line. I won’t ever trust Heart enough to do that. And I sure as hell will never call him by his stupid-ass nickname.

No, the asshole has to know how much I don’t want him here, so the only logical conclusion has to be that he doesn’t give a shit. Well, I thought I couldn’t hate him more.

Now I do.

After our talk, where we don’t say much more, so I encourage Bear to go back to the celebration, and leave the practice rink without talking to anyone else.

He doesn’t look too happy when I tell him I want to be alone, probably because he knows that’s not something I ever want—I thrive around people.

But in the end he relents when I tell him to go be with his fiancé, Drew, and everyone else. Everybody’s kids always put their skates on at this event and they spend hours taking shot after shot on goal. They’re probably champing at the bit to get a goal in on Bear by now.

I love that even knowing how much anticipation there is for him to be down there he still took the time to come talk to me, to try and help me. I should maybe send him something as a thank you. Maybe some lube? I hear that’s always appreciated by gay couples. I snort at myself just thinking of the deadly stare he’d give me if I ever gave him a gift even remotely sexual. Could be fun, but I file the idea away for a time when I’m feeling more like myself.

He’s probably down there getting into his pads already, since he lets every kid score at least once—but not the adults. Not even the boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands or wives. And they all try. The only one of those who’s even come close was Drew, and I know it’s because our Bear got distracted by his fiancé’s beauty.

The memory of how happy Bear is with Drew brings a small smile to my lips on my way out—something I don’t expect when I’ve got a storm brewing inside me. But seeing my friend so happy makes me happy.

All of them, actually.

And I know the some of the guys are still finding their footing in the league and too young to think about settling down. Well, all except for Milkman who seems to have found his forever love with Xander.

I’m the same as those young ones if I’m being honest. All my energy and time go into hockey, and I discovered a handful of years ago that I don’t ever want to do anything by halves. I like to be all in on everything and that includes romance.

One of the only things I’ve got figured out about life after hockey is that I want to find a woman to love and to build a life with, maybe have a family. I want, so much, to feel like I have a family again. For now my family are the Pirates, and though it was a hard pill to swallow after my parents passed away, I’ve accepted it and I even like it that way now.

I drive straight to the Winner resort where I keep a suite and go over to my little bar, get out a glass and a brand new bottle of my favorite Vodka, and pour myself four stiff fingers.

I sit on the couch and lean back, taking a big sip and brooding at the empty couch on the other side of the coffee table.

I feel alone. So fucking alone that the thought of going back to the practice rink flits through my mind, but I know I’m not in the right mood to be around people. Also not in the right mood to be by myself and isn’t that a bitch?

I look around and can’t help but feel sorry for myself.

I sold the house I lived in for almost ten years after my parents passed away. I bought that house with my first paycheck when I was called up from the farm team six months after the draft. It wasn’t until I was twenty-six that they moved in.

And at first it was heaven. We made some of the happiest moments of my life in that house. But then we got horrible news less than a year after they arrived.

Cancer and a fast-acting dementia took them both in less than a year.

It’s been seven years and I still remember the feeling of whiplash when it happened. It was too soon, too fast.

I wasn’t ready to lose them. I don’t think I could’ve ever been ready, not even if they’d fought for their lives for twenty years. Most importantly, I still don’t know if my mom dying just weeks after my father was a good or a bad thing, but I do know that I miss them every day.

I miss our family every day .

The only things I kept from that house were all the paintings my father collected and all the photos my mother put in frames around the house. I even hung the pictures of our family that make me angry every time I see them. She would’ve wanted me to keep those “good memories” around, so I do.

Everything else was sold, and I moved to the hotel thinking I’d stay here while I looked for a smaller place for myself. I never got around to that. Not only because I didn’t have the time to be looking at apartments, but because living in a hotel is fucking convenient when you have the money.

I’m good friends with Caro, the maid assigned to this floor of suites, and I tip her well. Room service is awesome even though I get a lot of my meals at the practice rink and at the arena. But what’s kept me here the most is the noise.

There’s not a lot of it since all the suites on this floor and the one above are pretty big, but you can hear people walking down the hallway, the dim ding of the elevator... I don’t like silence so this works well for me.

I have millions of points in my rewards card for the hotel chain since I’ve been here so long, and a lot of people are good friends now. Like I know right now, two o’clock on a Tuesday, Grant is at the main desk and would speed my room-service order if I ask.

I don’t pay for gas, water, or power, I have a kick-ass shower and bed, and even though it technically isn’t, it feels as close to home as anything can. For me at least.

It’s a lot better than people would think. Besides, I barely spend any time here. It’s rare for me to be here during the day.

I like the furniture just fine, and I secretly like how it’s all just a little bit small for me. It makes me feel like a giant.

Except the bed.

I did ask that a bigger bed be brought to my room because a man of six-six can’t really sleep well in a regular king.

All in all, this suite is all I need, though.

My phone rings and I fish it out of my pants to see it’s my lawyer. I answer right away.

“Mr. Flores,” I say, laying it on thick with the accent the way I love to do just to keep it fresh in my mind.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Brotnik.”

“You have news for me?” I ask, hope tightening my chest.

“Yes. It all went smoothly. You should be getting your papers before this Friday.” Like he has for this whole process, he’s matter-of-fact and gets straight to the point.

It takes me a moment to be able to speak since the sudden and unexpected emotion sits like a stone at the base of my throat, and even when I do, you can plainly hear the gratitude, relief, and happiness in my words.

“Thank you, Mr. Flores.”

“My pleasure. Please let me know if you have any issues. I’m at your service.”

“Of course, thank you,” I repeat.

“Have a nice afternoon.” He signs off after and I stare at my phone for a couple of minutes, still trying to convince myself that I passed. I fucking passed and now there’s no way I’ll ever be forced to leave the family I have left.

Step one in preparing everything for my retirement—which is still years away just to be clear—is done .

But the thought of retirement reminds me of what happened mere hours ago.

Charlie Heart should’ve stayed fucking retired.

Whatever Gab and Barlow offered him, he’s going to regret taking that deal.

I don’t care who he thinks he is, what status he believes his trophies give him. He better brace himself, because I’m going to chase him out of here.