Page 2

CHAPTER 2

OLLIE

T he rink in the River City Arena smells like ice and sweat, the cold bite in the air making it feel like everything’s just a little sharper here—like the world outside doesn’t quite matter when I’m on this surface. The boards hum, the lights are glaring, and the sound of skates cutting through the ice echoes in my ears. I’m in my gear, feeling the familiar weight of it all—the shin pads, the gloves, the helmet. Everything is a little stiff after the long break, but it’s good to be back out here, even if it’s only practice.

I’m posted up on the blue line, focused, watching the play unfold in front of me. My teammates are moving fast, doing their drills. I’m on defense, always aware, always in motion—keeping my eyes on the puck, my body ready to react. Our assistant coach, Noah Beaumont, who is also a former Renegade himself, has us running a quick puck-moving drill, the forwards zipping in and out, trying to get a clean shot on net. I slide to the right as one of the forwards cuts toward me, trying to break past my coverage. I dig my skates into the ice, staying low, using my stick to push the puck to the corner.

“Keep it tight, Ollie!” Noah calls from the sideline, his voice cutting through the noise.

I nod, keeping my focus. The forwards are relentless, pushing, testing my limits, and I’m responding to every shift, every turn. One of the wingers, Sawyer, charges toward me, stick ready, looking to get a quick pass in front of the net. I close the gap easily, keeping my body between him and the puck. My legs burn from the quick movements, but I don’t back off. Not in a drill. Not with something to prove.

“Decker, heads up!” Someone shouts as a slapshot comes from the other end of the rink, with Henry, another defenseman, trying to send the puck up the ice. But I react too late.

The shot’s wide, but it ricochets off the boards and flies straight toward me. I reach out instinctively, my stick trying to bat it down. But it’s too high, the puck coming in at chest level, and all I can do is brace myself for impact.

I freeze for a split second as the puck barrels toward me. Time seems to slow, my heart racing in my chest as I instinctively duck. The shot clips the top of my shoulder pads, skimming past my neck and flying mere inches from my face. My whole body jerks back in reflex, my heart pounding like I’ve avoided a speeding train.

The sound of the puck slamming into the boards behind me still rings in my ears as I take a breath, trying to calm myself. That was too close.

When I glance back at Henry, he’s the palest I’ve ever seen him. Henry’s been with us for a couple of years now, but he was on our B-string and was put in the position when Noah pivoted and became one of our assistant coaches. Trust me, Noah had a good run—on and off the ice.

“What, am I not good enough for ya, Robbins?” I tease, trying to make light of what could have been a bad moment. “You want to make an impact, why don’t you wait until I’m taking my helmet off to get me?”

Henry’s by my side quick as a flash, stopping so hard he sprays me with ice. “Bro, my bad. I’m so sorry…”

I hold up a hand. “Par for the course. I’m fine, you’re good. Moving on.”

Henry nods, his eyes drifting to the floor. “Thanks, man, I really?—”

“Nope,” I say, reaching over and placing my hand over his mouth. “Zip it. Moving on means moving on, got it?”

“You’re good, man,” our goalie, Dixon Andrews, pipes in as he skates over to us, taking his mask off as he does. “Decker’s got his head in the clouds these days, being the poster child for the team. He needs to get knocked around a little bit.”

“Good luck taking my place,” Noah says with a laugh as he claps for me.

“Thanks,” I manage, taking a swipe at Dixon. “And I am not the poster child.”

“Who was the one interviewed for the local paper the other day?” Tracing the sound of this voice, my eyes wander to the bench where Campbell and Sawyer Stockton sit. I’m not sure who said it, but judging by the smug expression on Sawyer’s face, I’m guessing it was him. These two are a pain, but deep down they mean well. They’re not brothers, they’re cousins. Left and right wing, also known as Thing One and Thing Two if you ask my friend Anna.

“Yeah,” Campbell snorts, elbowing Sawyer. “And he was on the radio doing that commercial. How does it go? ‘ Come on down to the Renegades this weekend …’”

“‘ Where the ice is hot, and the action won’t end,’” Sawyer finishes, laughing.

While I’m cringing on the inside, I plaster on a fake grin. I can’t let them know that I am hating every minute of this new role as the “face” for the Renegades, and that it’s not going well. These guys have no clue that the PR team pulled me to the side before practice and asked me to work on both “lifting my profile” as well as consider getting an acting coach…an acting coach? I play hockey, for Pete’s sake.

No one mentioned when I started playing hockey that part of the game, if you were to succeed, could be stepping into a spotlight you may not want. Some of the guys on our team are made for the light, they’re naturals. They have rizz (that’s charisma if you’re not up with the kids these days—which I’m not, as my nephew taught me) and they’re more sophisticated than I am, more suave, and cool. Rizzier, in fact.

Me? All nerd. I’m a record collector who likes watching Antique Roadshow to wind down, and I also enjoy the occasional latch hook rug session. A pastime only my niece could teach me. While the guys on the team like to go out and hit the hot spots in River City, I usually like to peel away and head home to be by myself.

“Leave him alone, you guys,” Dixon says, coming to my defense. “Someone has to do it, and I don’t see any of you stepping up and offering.”

“That’s the difference,” I say, wagging a finger in the air. “I’m not offering, they’re making me do these interviews and be ‘the guy’ right now. It’s not like Beaumont is here to do it anymore.”

“Don’t blame him.” Henry parks himself on the bench and unlaces his skates.

“Yeah, Decker, if you wanna blame anyone, look in the mirror,” a voice pipes up from behind. I know this voice. I like this voice. This voice makes me happy. It’s Anna.

“You snuck in here.” When I see her, it’s like everyone else in the arena disappears and I develop a case of tunnel vision, and it’s only her. Anna Denault. The object of my unrequited affection since the day I met her. We can file my crush under things no one knows, but me. “Aren’t you usually off today?”

Anna’s head tilts to one side, her light brown hair spilling over her shoulder, and nutmeg-colored eyes widen ever so slightly with surprise. “Are you stalking me these days, Decker?”

Decker. She called me Decker. Not Ollie. I don’t know why, but whenever she does it stings a little, like a reminder to stay firmly in the friend zone. Still, the way she says it—casual but with a little bite—it’s almost...sexy?

“Not stalking, I pay attention,” I say, trying to sound casual. I don’t know why, but the banter with Anna always feels different, like she can make me forget everything else around here. And she gives the greatest hugs, they always feel like coming home.

Anna grins, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Paying attention to me?” Her hands fly to her shoulders and she starts to pat at her own body.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure I didn’t turn into a hockey puck, since you pay attention to them more than me.”

I laugh, thinking about how wrong she is, but I’ll play along. I hold my hands up in surrender. “Hey, I’m a team player and I like to make sure we’re all accounted for.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dixon chimes in from behind me, his voice carrying the usual playful mockery. “He’s really concerned about the team. Totally not spying on you for other reasons.”

Sawyer snorts, his voice a little too loud on a normal day, but today he’s shouting. “Don’t listen to him, Anna. Decker here is just trying to find a reason to talk to you.”

“Ollie never needs a reason to talk to me,” she says, winking my way as she crosses her arms tightly in front of her chest and puts Sawyer square in her sights. “At least he can string together a full sentence and eat a meal without spraying food at me. Can you say the same?”

“Let me take you to dinner and you’ll find out,” Sawyer banters back, cracking Campbell up. It’s like these two guys speak their own language, which sometimes I swear they do. At least on the ice during a game it comes in handy.

“Thing One, I need you to stand down.” Anna raises an eyebrow and gives them both a look that could freeze fire. “You Stocktons are a real piece of work. Maybe I should get Ben to put you on a team assignment—I’m thinking of a roadside highway cleanup volunteer effort on behalf of the Renegades. In the middle of summer, when it’s nice and humid, the snakes are out, and there are plenty of mosquitoes.”

Both Sawyer and Campbell immediately raise their hands in mock surrender, grinning.

“Impressive.” Dixon grins, nodding. “Well played, Anna. You’ve got them in line.”

“I’ve got all of you in line,” she retorts, her smile sharp and playful. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got actual work to do. Gotta drop this off in the Ivory Tower.” Anna holds up the folder like it’s some kind of trophy, then waves it in the air before her eyes flick back to me, locking onto mine with a look that makes my stomach do a flip.

“Lucky you,” Campbell grunts. “You get to see the suits today.”

The Ivory Tower is the nickname given to the offices where the team owners and the executives running the Renegades and arena work. Where the “suits” go.

“Speaking of suits,” Anna adds with a teasing glint, “I meant to tell you I liked the new one you wore for the game the other night, Ollie. You looked great.”

She tosses the compliment over her shoulder like it’s no big deal and turns to walk away, her stride confident, leaving me standing there trying to recover from the shock. She noticed my new suit?

I watch her go, momentarily paralyzed, my brain stuck on “she noticed” while I try to pick my jaw up off the floor. I mean, what just happened? I can’t even tell if I should be freaking out or grinning like an idiot.

“Don’t let it go to your head, Decker,” Campbell laughs from behind me. “She told me I looked good in my new shoes, too.”

“Oh, please,” Dixon joins in with a smirk, stepping into the conversation with that same teasing tone. “She probably only noticed your shoes because you trip over them half the time. But hey, maybe that’s a look. Everyone loves a guy who falls on his face in style.”

I chuckle, but my mind’s still on Anna’s words. She noticed . She noticed me.

Dixon gives me an exaggerated nod. “I don’t blame her, though. You’ve been looking sharp lately. It’s like you’re presenting or something.”

“Presenting?”

“Like when a mammal is in heat and they…you know…” Dixon turns around and essentially moves his butt in a way that could resemble a twerk. “Present.”

“You’re watching too much David Attenborough.” I shoot him a pointed look. “Shut up, man. Just because we’re roommates now doesn’t mean you get to make jokes about me.”

“Oh, I’m just getting started, Decker.” Dixon grins, clearly enjoying the chaos. “Let me know when you figure out how to keep your cool with Anna. I’ll be over here, watching paint dry.”

Stockton snorts in response and I can’t help but shake my head. “Shut it, Thing One.”

The sound of someone’s phone ringing on the bench stops the conversation in its tracks, with Dixon grabbing it and reading the screen. He takes a moment to digest what he sees before raising a fist in the air and pumping it a few times.

“Yes! I just got a deal with River City Sports to be their ambassador,” he says. “Cha-ching!”

“They’ll want you to keep those pearly whites looking good and straight,” Henry says with a laugh. “Don’t go standing in the way of a puck.”

“Don’t pass it to me then,” Dixon growls, shutting him down with a lone scowl.

Contracts for ambassadorships, doing commercials, brand deals, being “camera ready”…Just not my thing, yet it seems to come second nature to everyone on the team but me. Is it so bad that at the end of the day, I like to go home and chill out, have a glass of pinot noir, and listen to some jazz? That when we’re not playing I do volunteer work and have a stack of books to get through because my Tbr pile is never-ending?

Is it so weird that I daydream about becoming a father and that I actively think about how life will be when I finally find the person I’m supposed to settle down with and get married?

No, I think the part that’s weird is that I think I already know who she is.

Now I just need to get her to see that it’s me. I’m the one who’s meant for her and I’m right here.