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ONCE A GOON…

RORY

K arina keeps me training until the Zamboni driver grows fed up enough to wrench open the gates. He backs the giant ice cleaning machine out onto the ice while I’m exiting my scratch spin.

Practice running late is nothing new, but now that we’re training at the Breakers’ practice pavilion, there are hockey players lingering on the other side of the boards, impatiently waiting for their own ice time.

I avoid their cool stares on my way back to the bench to collect my bag.As quickly as I can, I slip my blade covers on my skates and exit the bench. Karina’s already disappeared, not one for post-practice words of encouragement or disparagement.

She gets plenty in during our session.

I frown at the mess of hockey players crowding around the rink’s door, blocking my path to the women’s locker room, still waiting on the Zamboni to finish cleaning the ice. The Breakers players laugh and shout, playfully knocking each other around like a bunch of oversized children. Some battle with their sticks over a small ball that looks to be made of tape.

I roll my eyes. As un-amusing as I find hockey players, running late also means I’m probably late for my shift at the Chill Zone. The bar on the second floor of the rink.I can’t wait for them to clear out and take the ice.

Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I grit my teeth and start forward.

I’m not short—taller than your average figure skater at five-foot-five—but even in my skates, the Breakers tower over me.

These guys are already tall, but throw skates into the mix and most are far north of six feet.

As I weave my way through the crowd of rowdy hockey players, most of them don’t even notice me. I only catch a few glares for overrunning my ice time.

Figure skaters and hockey players rarely play nice.

The team certainly wasn’t happy about sharing their brand new private rink with the Boston Belles skate club, but there’s a lot of money in figure skating. The Breakers are a relatively new team, still trying to establish themselves within the league. They need all the help they can get, which is also why the Breakers run a youth program at the rink as well.

While I can’t understand the allure of chasing a rubber disc around the ice with sticks, the Boston Breakers are a big deal in this city. The team opened up some of their practices when they were on a hot streak last year and they’ve been selling out ever since. On Saturdays and Sundays, fans can come watch for a nominal ticketing fee.

Today was one of those practices. The doors have opened and the once peaceful arena now buzzes with chatter from fans hoping to catch a glimpse of some of the more notorious Breakers players. Like Colt King, the new star center or Aidan O’Rourke, resident bad boy who racked up plenty of penalty minutes last season.

It’s annoying, but it’s not like I don’t reap the benefits. Hockey bros are pretty good tippers. The Chill Zone cafe where I work part time offers coffee and breakfast sandwiches for morning practices, and burgers and beer for afternoons and evenings. It’s also the reason I know more about hockey and the Breakers team than I care to.

A whistled cat-call draws my attention and I turn around to glare at the player responsible, which is why I don’t see the hulking six-foot-three defenseman in my path—until I walk right into him.

The impact sends me reeling.

It’s hard enough to walk on skates; even worse after colliding with a brick wall. I brace myself for the impact, but it never comes.

“I thought figure skaters were supposed to be graceful,” the player holding me laughs while tugging me back up. He’d caught hold of my arm before I hit the ground.

I only know a couple of the players from their reputations, and what the fans talk about in the Chill Zone. Honestly, all hockey players look the same to me. With his helmet on, I don’t recognize the one holding my arm. When my eyes narrow, his lips quirk up in a mischievous grin, dark green eyes sparkling with amusement.

“At least I’m graceful where it counts—on the ice. I might stumble, but at least I’m not tripping over my own ego like you.” Ripping my arm from his grasp, I move to dart around him. My patience is non-existent.

But he blocks me again with his body, nearly sending me careening to the floor all over again.

“You’re welcome, by the way.” The asshole raises a brow at me. His infuriatingly handsome face holding an arrogant smirk.

I roll my eyes, having to tilt my chin to meet his eye. “Mmm, right, aren’t you a real lifesaver?You save the girl by knocking her down first?” God. He’s massive. “I’ll try not to make a habit out of relying on you for balance. Checking people into the boards, I suppose, is far easier than actual skating.” I give him a sweet smile.

The gate to the arena finally opens up and the crowd of players around us thins as the team finally takes the ice. But the defenseman planted in front of me remains where he is, grinning at me, thoroughly entertained.

“Funny.” The Breakers player considers me. “Maybe you should try a sport where you get points for falling down.”

He hits a nerve, and I clench my jaw. He saw my practice.

“O’Rourke! Get your ass on the ice!.”

A quick glance back at the bench shows an irritable looking assistant coach watching us impatiently. The rest of the team is already out on the ice, warming up.

“O’Rourke.” I repeat the name. Trying it out on my tongue. It’s familiar; I’ve heard it before… Aidan O’Rourke, the Breakers’ enforcer, frequently in the headlines for his fights and aggressive style of play. According to ESPN, he’s one explosive incident from getting cut.

Turning my attention back to the hockey player, I look him up and down once more with disdain. “Once a goon, always a goon.”

His smug smile fades into a frown.

I keep going. “Maybe if you spent less time in the penalty box, you’d learn a thing or two about finesse on the ice.” With that, I shove past him. And this time he lets me.

“It’s been a pleasure.”

Not.

I feel his stare on my back the entire way back to the locker room.