Page 38 of From Ice to Home (The Heart of a Ranger #1)
HANNAH
S itting in the parking lot of the training facility, Lucas grabs my hand to stop me from nervously fidgeting with the hem of my shirt.
“Are you ready?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand.
He’s clearly excited for me to meet his team, and that’s part of the reason why I’m so nervous. This is a big deal—this is his world. I want them to like me, I want all of this to be easy on him and not complicate his game or his life in any way.
Last night was a type of turning point for us, or at least a real starting point to our life together.
I’ve been worried about losing the life I had in Durham, the life that’s waiting for me to go back.
I worked hard to get where I am today, and in the back of my mind there’s this niggling reminder that I’m busy giving up the past five years for a new life, a new future, with Lucas.
But there’s no denying that waking up next to him this morning felt right and while we got ready for the day, side by side I couldn’t ignore the way we fell into an easy rhythm.
I can only hope that meeting his team will strengthen that rhythm instead of hinder it.
“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” I say with a smile, trying my best to ignore the anxiety stirring in my chest. I’ve only seen them as names on jerseys and faces behind visors, glimpses of their personalities in goal celebrations or tough plays.
But this seems like something entirely different.
Lucas sees right through me, as he’s always been able to.
“They’re great guys, you’ll see. Big and burly, but beneath all that gear they’re harmless,” he reassures me. He runs his hand through his hair, before looking toward the facility with a spark in his dark eyes. “Just don’t let them know that you know that.”
I can’t help but smile at him. His excitement is contagious.
Looking at the building, it’s giant windows all marked with the logo of the New York Rangers, I send up a silent prayer.
Father, please help us through this first meeting.
Stay by my side and let the Holy Spirit guide me so I can foster lasting relationships with the people that are important to Lucas.
Keep me strong because I do not want my nervousness to show in front of them.
I exchange my anxiety for Your peace, my uncertainty for Your plan and purpose. Amen.
I grab the brownies I baked last night and start opening the truck door. “I’m ready, let’s go.”
Before I can get out, Lucas is already by my side, taking my hand and closing the truck door for me. His touch is effortless and it sends a wave of comfort through me.
The facility is a large glass and steel covered structure, with more than a few cars already in the parking lot.
The giant glass window panes reflect the trees surrounding the building—and in it we can also see ourselves walking toward the door.
His steps are sure, his shoulders squared as we approach the place he spends most of his time.
One look at me and I can’t help smiling and thanking God for calming my nerves.
Looking at me, you wouldn’t know my stomach is in knots.
Rather, it looks like we belong next to each other. Without a doubt.
“Are you sure this is alright?” I ask as we enter the facility.
The air shifts instantly, the crisp, unmistakable chill of ice mingling with the distant echo of skates and sticks. The walls are lined with Rangers memorabilia, every inch of the space wrapped in navy blue, white, and red.
“Of course it’s okay,” he says, turning to me with a slight frown. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
I shrug as we walk past framed photos of every player on the team adorning the hallway wall.
“You know, since it’s game day. Aren’t all of you supposed to be super focused on preparing for tonight? I don’t want to be a distraction or ruin the routine.”
Lucas continues to lead me down the corridor, his grip warm and sure before we enter a door leading to one of the practice rinks.
“It’s just a morning skating session. The more intense prep is after that,” he reassures me. “Besides, it’s just a quick meet and greet. The real get together will be tonight after the game. I don’t want you to be alone the entire day and then you have to meet a bunch of strangers tonight.”
I squeeze his hand, touched by his thoughtfulness. I take a deep breath as we move closer to the ice, the chill in the air keeping me cool. The sound of a few players skating across the ice echoes through the room, and my heart is pounding taking it all in.
“Come on, Petrov, keep up!” Someone shouts.
I catch a player speeding past another who is covered in layers of padding. Unmistakably the goalie of the Rangers. Nikolai Petrov.
Goalies always seem a little different. This week, when I watched the games, I noticed his intense focus and his intimidating frame, especially after the game when everyone would tap his helmet as a sign of respect.
Lucas glances at the guys skating as we move closer to the glass.
A few players are still on the bench, lacing up their skates and taking quick sips of water.
Luckily, Lucas isn’t late…but in a few minutes he definitely will be.
I open my mouth to suggest we do this after the game instead, but before I can get the words out, a sharp whistle cuts through the air.
“Woa, guys. Look who’s in the house!” Number 23, the defenseman I’ve noticed who likes to draw penalties, calls loudly with a grin on his face. “Mr and Mrs Lucas Walker! The first official Ranger wife!”
His words hit me square in the chest. First official Ranger wife .
I was hoping that there’d be at least a few wives who could show me the ropes on how to deal with everything this life entails. It would help to have someone relay the unspoken rules of the game, the crazy hours, flight, hotels, fans... Just thinking about it brings a tightness to my stomach.
Guess, that’s not an option anymore. I’ll have to learn first hand.
“I’m the first?” I whisper-shriek, turning to Lucas in disbelief.
He glances down at me, amusement flickering in his eyes before he presses a quick kiss to my hair. The sound of cheers and howls erupts around us, echoing through the arena.
“You sure are, Mrs. Walker,” he says, tucking me beneath his arm, and I can’t help but melt into his side. I’m not going to let this get to me. I know I belong by his side.
I playfully shove his chest, loving the way it sounds.
Mrs Walker.
His teammates skate around the ice, tapping their sticks against the glass panel in front of us.
Even the goalie, who looks like the most intimidating person in the world the closer he gets, slowly moves out from the crease toward us.
I know he has to wear more padding, but he’s also taller than everyone else on the ice.
It looks like he barely needs to move to keep the puck out of the net.
He lifts his helmet slightly before giving Lucas a small nod and tapping his stick against the board too.
Lucas leans in. “That’s Nikolai. His bark is bigger than his bite.”
“I’m not so sure,” I toss back, eyeing the giant wearily. “He looks like he could do a lot worse than bite.”
Lucas laughs when the guy wearing the number 86 skates toward us before stepping onto the rubber mat. He lifts his visor and I recognise his friendly face, not only from Vegas, but from watching Lucas’s games this past week.
He gives me a smile. “Hannah,” he greets. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“You remember EJ right?” Lucas asks, his hand on my lower back. “He’s my wingman.”
I shift the brownies to my other hand, extending the free one. “You’re the one who makes sure he gets the puck. ”
“That’s me,” he says with a smile, drawing attention to the scar above his eye as he quirks an eyebrow. “Without me, Lucas wouldn’t make it.”
“Ah, keep telling yourself that, man,” Lucas says. “You know I’m the star of the line.”
“So modest. So humble,” EJ says looking over his shoulder to the other arrival. “Speaking of humble…”
Number 23, Murphy , hops onto the rubber with a smirk.
“So you haven’t decided to run again?” he asks. I’m sure he’s going for playful teasing, but the comment stings all the same.
“Not this time no,” I say, attempting a smile. Looking up to Lucas, I don’t miss the frown between his eyes. “I’ve been told that he can’t run fast enough to catch me, so I’m staying put.”
I put out my hand to him, and he shakes it. “South really got himself a perfect little Southern Belle, didn’t he?” he says with a wink, his eyes dipping to the brownies in my hand. “And you even baked treats for me.”
“Dec, quit it,” Lucas says, giving him a look.
He lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Just making conversation,” he says in his thick Boston accent.
I study him carefully before finally placing him—he was in Vegas too. He spent most of the night trying to get Liz to give him the time of day. Although, from what I remember she was more preoccupied with EJ than with him.
“I made brownies for everyone,” I say, taking off the lid and letting the air fill with a delicious chocolate scent. “But as I recall you wouldn’t know what to do with a sweet thing if your life depended on it.”
EJ’s grin widens as he reaches forward, swiping a brownie and taking a bite. “That’s right. Me on the other hand…” he winks. “How is the lovely Liz by the way?” he asks.
I don’t miss the way Declan’s face twists with frustration.
“She’s great,” I tell him. “She sends her love.”
Before EJ can say anything, another guy steps forward. He looks younger than Lucas, his shoulders broad and his shaggy brown hair sticking out beneath his helmet. His blue eyes widen in a boyish manner as he stares longingly at the brownies.
“But Coach won’t let us have treats on game days,” he says, sulking. “Why do you get to eat one?” he asks, turning to EJ.