Page 5

noah

First week back to practice and I feel good. No. I feel damn good. I’m in the best shape of my life, I’m the most confident I’ve ever been, and it showed out on the ice.

Silas drops his jersey in the laundry bag and twists his body side to side. I nod my chin at him. “What’s up?”

“That first week back is always so brutal. On top of that, you’ve got Mav out here serving bodychecks like his payday depends on it.”

“Awe, come on now. That was a love tap,” Maverick says, blowing a kiss at Silas.

“I got your love tap right here.” With a quick flick of his wrist, Silas snaps his towel against Maverick’s exposed thigh, leaving a bright red stripe in its wake.

“Mother fff—” Mav closes his eyes, stealing his breath, and when he opens them again, his expression is pure rage. “Run.”

The one-word syllable hasn’t even fully left his mouth before Silas shoots off, swiftly hopping over discarded gear and running across benches as Maverick chases him down.

I laugh, shaking my head, before I strip down and head to the showers.

Besides the ice, these three walls and a single sheet of vinyl are where I spend most of my time.

I stay in here longer than anyone else, dissecting games, going over practices, making mental notes of anything that went well, but mostly everything that didn’t.

And more importantly, how I can fix it for the next time to ensure I never have a repeat fuckup.

I let myself have this time, however long it takes.

As long as I’m in here, I can obsess over it until my skin is wrinkled and the hot water is gone.

But once I leave this room, I have to let it go.

It’s a technique I’ve found that works for me, ensuring that I don’t let the thoughts run rampant and ruin my life outside the arena.

Once I’m out of here, I can focus my full attention on other things.

I feel a little extra pressure to perform this year considering I still haven’t signed a contract.

My dad wanted me to enter the draft after Freshman year.

That was the first time in my life that I went against his wishes.

To say he was pissed would be an understatement.

When I got picked up last summer without a contract, he was still mad.

“If you played better, you wouldn’t need another year of practice.

They would have signed you immediately,” he said.

I probably should have felt more guilty, but the truth is, I felt relieved.

The NHL has always been the end goal, but finishing school is equally as important to me.

My dad, who didn’t have anything to fall back on after his two-year stint, should understand that better than anyone.

“Coach!” Our goalie, AJ, calls out, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Alright boys, weight training with Coach Owens tomorrow and then you’ve got the rest of the weekend off.

” Coach Alvarez’s deep voice echoes through the locker room, and I turn the water off, reaching behind the curtain for my towel.

“That doesn’t mean you can act like a bunch of assholes.

It means you rest, you recover, and next week we come back full force for training and our first game. You hear me? ”

“Yes, Coach.”

I move to my cubby and grab a pair of clean sweats.

“Did you hear me kid?” Coach Alvarez’s voice is low enough for only me to hear.

“About weight training tomorrow?” I ask, throwing my hoodie on.

“About resting.” He gives me a pointed look. “I know your dad thinks that the more you practice, the better you’ll be, and I’m not here to tell you not to listen to him—but recovery is also important.”

Mark Alvarez is a championship-winning coach and an even better person.

I had my pick of the litter for where I wanted to attend school, with full rides and offers from almost every single one that I applied to.

I won’t lie and say Coach Alvarez wasn’t a part of my decision to choose LCU.

Unfortunately, my dad was slightly—okay, a little more than slightly—concerned with my pick, stating that Alvarez isn’t as experienced because of his age.

And yeah, I guess he’s fairly young for a uni coach—mid-forties I’m pretty sure.

But the stats don’t lie. And Coach and I hit it off from our first meeting.

From day one, he’s treated me like a person first, and a player second.

I’ve always respected him and I never question whether it’s reciprocated.

I nod my head, feeling slightly embarrassed that he had to have a meeting with my dad about showing up at practice. Or, really, about not showing up to practice anymore.

“Good.” He gives my shoulder a pat before leaving.

“So, we going to Rowdy’s?” Maverick hoists his duffle bag up his shoulder looking at Silas and me.

“You idiot. Did you not just hear Coach?” Silas scolds him.

“Oh, I heard him. I just didn’t realize you were going to listen to him. ”

“You have a death wish if you’re going against Coach’s orders,” I say.

“And you’re a pussy. Now that we’ve established our roles, who’s driving?”

I shake my head and laugh. “Sorry boys, no bar for me tonight. One week in and I’m somehow already behind.

I’m hitting The Den , any takers?” I point to them just as Gabe and one of our senior defenseman, Parker, join the conversation.

They scratch the backs of their heads, avoiding eye contact with me.

I like to think the dynamic between us hasn’t changed since I got named captain, but small moments like this make me realize that in a way, they have.

“You guys can do whatever you want.” I smile. “I don’t care.”

A collective sigh escapes them and even Silas’s shoulders drop slightly. I snap my fingers and slap my fist with an open palm. “Later, boys.”

“Hey, tell Petey-boy I said hi,” Maverick calls out behind me.

The warmth of the coffee shop wraps around me like a cozy hug after trudging across campus in the freezing evening air. But, all the warm air that just filled my lungs escapes me like a punch to the gut when I catch sight of the pretty brunette working the counter tonight.

I’m not sure who I have to thank for this fun turn of events, but Savannah, who has been conveniently avoiding me all week, now stands at the counter with a cute green apron on. She won’t be able to avoid me for much longer.

“Crazy story. I’ve been getting to class early every day hoping to get to talk to you, but you seem to be a chronically late kind of girl.”

“Wow, and here I was thinking The Dancing Plague of 1518 was the craziest story I’d ever hear in my lifetime. ”

I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I do know I like hearing the sound of her voice. And while I probably should be offended—hell, I think she would bruise a lot of guys’ egos, I can’t help the way I enjoy the back-and-forth with her.

“What can I get started for you?”

“Sixteen ounce Americano, please.” I stay at the counter as she gets to work on my drink, but she doesn’t look at me.

“The usual routine here is you order a drink, pay for your drink, and then leave the barista alone to make said drink in peace.”

I look around at the nearly empty coffee shop. “It’s got to be boring having no one to talk to. I thought I would keep you company.”

“If by boring, you mean goals, then yes.”

She’s sharp with her tongue, but her delivery is always just slightly more playful than menacing, which gives me just the amount of courage I need to keep sparing with her.

“You know, I don’t think I’m as bad as you think I am.” I lean my hip casually against the counter.

She pauses with the shot of espresso in her hand and she angles her head, clearly not impressed by me.

“I’m serious. I’m loyal, I have a great sense of humor—” I start ticking off my fingers. “I always tip. I floss twice a day.”

I feel triumphant when she bites down the corner of her bottom lip in an attempt to cover up her smile.

“Ask any of my friends, I’m a pretty good guy.”

“While I am impressed by your dental hygiene, forgive me for not trusting the words of your hockey team.” She fits the lid on my coffee and sets it down in front of me before heading back to the cash register.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” I say, taking the lid off and blowing into my cup. “What did you mean the other day when you said you’ve been around guys like me your whole life?”

Her fingers tap the counter where she’s propping herself up. I bet she’s wishing anyone would come in and order something right now. When I don’t think she’s going to respond, I put the lid back on my cup and reach into my pocket for some cash.

“I come from a hockey family,” she says, without looking at me.

“What a coincidence. Me too,” I say, batting my eyelashes with a small tilt of my head. “It seems we have more in common than you think.”

She shakes her head slightly, but this time when her lips lift and her dimple appear, she doesn’t try to hide it.

The bell above the door rings, and a moment later, two girls are standing at the counter. I drop the bills in the tip jar and nod my head at her. “See ya around, Savvy.”

Her lips part slightly and I smile to myself as I head out.