Page 56 of Power Play (Titans Hockey #2)

Ryan

I 'm going to throw up.

Or pass out.

Or both.

I'm just not sure which one I'm going to do first - throw up and then pass out, or pass out and then throw up.

The first seems more likely. The second seems messy.

The cinderblock walls in the Titan's facility hallways are light blue with a stripe of silver down the middle.

They look freshly painted in preparation for another season.

I might be the only one here. It's late August, but weeks before the team will start their rookie camps and prospect tournaments.

It's the earliest we're allowed in the facility to start our own training regimes, but this is my first season playing in the NHL, so I certainly wasn't going to show up last.

Even if it's just me for the first few weeks, I'll get to know the facility, start on my workout routine for pre-season, and get as much ice time as I can.

I worked hard to get here, and I'm going to show this team that I deserve to be here.

I'm determined to show them that the million they spent on my rookie contract will be worth it.

I follow the signs to the locker room, my gear bag slung over my shoulder. I push through the double doors and take a minute to breathe it in. It's a mix of cleaner, sweat, and musty gear that can't be hidden under any amount of air freshener, but it's home.

I made it. All those years of hard work, and I finally made it to the NHL. The feeling is equally thrilling as it is terrifying. What if I don't have it in me? What if I'm not as good as they thought? What if I break a leg before the pre-season even begins?

I shake away the negative thoughts. The team psychiatrist doesn't need to see me yet.

I find the cubby with Shepard on it. I toss my bag into the cubby and take out my phone to take a picture of it and send it the family group chat.

If everything goes to shit, maybe they'll let me at least take the placard home.

It's seven am. If anyone else does show up, it'll probably be towards the afternoon.

We'll have enough early morning shows during pre-season and playoffs, no one wants to sacrifice sleep this early on.

The coaches won't even show up for another couple of weeks. This time is called"captain skates", where we organize ourselves with whoever shows up in either drills or scrimmages organized by the captain.

And like I summoned him, the door opens, and he walks in.

Holy shit.

Alexei Novikin. God's gift to hockey, and my new team Captain.

My tongue suddenly feels like it's choking my throat, and my stomach lurches. I want to hide. But there's nowhere to hide, and I'm going to have to talk to him eventually.

He looks up from his phone and seems surprised to see me standing there.

Oh, God. What do I do? Wave? Cringe. No. Ignore him? No. That would be fucking rude. Introduce myself? Yeah, that seems like a normal, sane, totally reasonable, adult reaction.

But the teenager inside of me, who grew up with posters of Novy on my bedroom walls, wants to fangirl scream and ask for an autograph.

God Shepard, get it together.

"Shep,"Novy says, pocketing his phone and walking up to me, hand outstretched.

Oh, God. He knows who I am? Of course he knows who I am. He's team captain and would obviously know who his rookies were going to be. My hands are sweaty. And shaking. Am I really going to shake his hand like this?

"Hi. Yes. That's me...uh, Ryan Shepard, sir. Novy, sir. Cap?"Goddamnit Shep, shut your stupid mouth and just shake the damn guy's hand.

He's always serious, even when he does publicity shoots and interviews. Never smiles. But I think I see the corner of his mouth quirk up a hair.

Why am I looking at his mouth?

Oh my God does he think I'm checking out his mouth?

My eyes shoot back up to his. They're so dark blue they're almost grey. They're different in person than on camera. On camera, they look almost black, which, when combined with his serious persona and jet-black hair, gives him an air of authority and danger that make all the girls love him.

Now I'm staring into his eyes and thinking about why the girls find him so sexy.

He grips my hand in his, effectively saving me from my own internal turmoil, and claps me on the shoulder in an affectionate bro-type way.

"Good to meet you, man. I've been following you for a while now. You've got potential,"he says nonchalantly as he releases me and heads to his own locker, like he didn't just rock my world.

Novy? THE Novy...has been watching me? Following my games? Holy shit, I might pass out now.

He sits in his cubicle and leans his elbows on his knees, taking me in.

"Glad to see someone beat me to practice. Most won't show up until later."

I nod."If you're not early, you're late,"I say, repeating my dad and my high school coach easily.

His silver eyes watch me. I busy myself rummaging around in my bag, so I don't have to acknowledge the fact that I'm talking to my childhood role model.

"Where did you learn to play like that?"

A heat rushes to my cheeks, and I pray I'm too far away for him to see it.

He knows exactly where I learned to play like I do.

Because I play like him. I would watch hours of his game tapes just to practice the angle at which he'd take off on his back skate to get the most speed.

The passes and shots he preferred, given the situation.

Down to the damn flex, blade curve and lie of his sticks.

"Um, in Aurora, New York? It's kind of north of Albany on Cayuga Lake?"It's not kind of, it is, but the angry wasps currently inhabiting my stomach are making it hard to breathe. God, is every day going to be like this? Me fighting my baser instincts to fan girl and freak out?

"You skate like a Russian,"he accuses. And he's not wrong. I swallow my tongue, unable to come up with a response.

The silence eats away at any self-preservation I may have had."Thanks?"My voice breaks on the question, and I look up in time to see his eyes narrow at me.

I clear my throat."Um...so what's first, cap? Gym or ice?"

Luckily, a few other players show up then and take the weight of his attention off of me.

Novy makes the introductions, and collectively we agree to hit the ice first and the gym afterwards for some light cardio.

The ice is where I feel most confident, most at home, so while it works to ease some of the nervousness I have around Novy, I'm still hyper aware that I'm sharing the ice with an icon.

I try to memorize every moment, every glance, every comment or praise he gives me while staying focused and dialed in.

When I get back to the apartment the team had for me, though, and set my bag down next to the front door, I'm instantly hit with a wave of sadness.

This apartment is too quiet. It's too sterile. There's no personality, no noise, no...people. It's just me.

I guess I'm going to have to get used to just me.