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TWO

HUDSON

“Mr. Hudson? How does it feel to be the second-best player on the Stars?”

I look up from the stick I’m taping and narrow my eyes at Buster Jenkins, one of the young athletes attending kids’ camp today.

“How much did you get paid to say that, Buster?” I ask.

He shrugs, then yells, “Ten bucks. That’s enough money for five ice cream cones,” as he skates to the other side of the rink to join the rest of the campers on their ten-minute snack break.

A figure looming in the tunnel leading to our locker room catches my attention. For years now, management has released United Airlines Arena to the Junior Stars Camp organizers, but the locker rooms are off-limits to anyone who doesn’t wear an NHL jersey. I smirk when I recognize who it is.

“Was honeymooning in Bali not enough fun for you?” I call out, and several heads turn. I give it a minute before my right winger is bombarded by a dozen mini fans. “You had to come home and bribe these kids to try and say you’re a better player than me?”

“Nah. Just missed you, Huddy Boy.” Maverick Miller flashes a grin and skates over to join me at center ice. He doles out a couple of high fives, flips his stick in the air, winds up, and sends the puck at our feet flying straight into the goal. “Thanks for covering for me this weekend.”

“With training camp starting next week, I figured I needed one last rip on the ice that didn’t involve Coach yelling at us.” I snort and flip my hat backward. The camp kids have returned to happily shoving orange slices in their mouths, and I figure I can extend their break by a few minutes to catch up with my best friend. “Can’t believe summer is over. I guess that’s what happens when you win the most sought-after trophy in professional sports. When did you get home?”

“Damn right.” He taps my fist with his. “And we got in this morning. I would’ve liked to spend a few extra days in Bali, but Emmy demanded we get back so she can get into a routine before the season starts.” A dopey, dreamy smile settles on Maverick’s face. “God. I love that woman.”

Emmy—Emerson—Hartwell is his wife and another one of my best friends.

She’s the first woman to play in the NHL, and Maverick fell head over heels for her when she was on the DC Stars with us. The pair are the definition of opposites attract, but he wore her down enough to earn a second of her attention. Through a weird twist of fate, they started dating, fell in love, and got married in Vegas last season.

“The whole world knows how you feel about that woman.” I toss my tape into the empty players’ box and fire off a shot toward the goal. It hits the left post and works its way into the net. “Did you get any training done while you were gone, or were you too busy enjoying the five-star all-inclusive resort?”

“I did plenty of training.” He hits another puck, but this shot goes wide right. “Long walks on the beach. Bench pressing my weight in chicken satay and nasi goreng. That counts, right?”

“I can’t wait to watch you collapse when we’re back to work. The overspeed drills are going to kick your ass.” I grin. “Do you remember how to lace your skates, or do you need help?”

“You want to go, Hayes?” Maverick tosses his stick on the ice and rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie. “Let’s race from goal to goal, and I’ll mop the floor with you. We both know I’m faster.”

I’m tempted to take him up on that offer. He might be my best friend, but I also like to humble the hell out of him when I can. Watching him lose in a lap around the rink would make my entire year.

Especially in front of a group of kids.

“I spent all summer in the weight room. You’re over there huffing and puffing, Miller, and you’re not even moving. Admit you’re slow, and we can put this to rest.”

“Never.” He glances at the campers, giving them an enthusiastic wave. “What do you have going on after this finishes up?”

“I’m heading to the bookstore this afternoon, then it’s back to searching for a chef who won’t quit after two weeks.”

“Remember when you came home from our five-game road trip last year and found that woman taking pictures of all your briefs?”

“Don’t remind me. I ended up on a damn Reddit thread.” I sigh, already exhausted. “I have an evening of interviews ahead of me, and none of them are looking promising. Where are the people who don’t care about who I am?”

“You’re one of the biggest names in the city, Hud. Everyone cares.”

He’s right.

It comes with being a professional athlete in a sports-obsessed town.

We have football, basketball, and baseball, but everyone lives and breathes hockey here.

When you’re part of a famed organization that finally won its first Stanley Cup after decades of mediocre performances, it’s impossible to go anywhere without being recognized.

At thirty-one, I’ve been doing this long enough to know the following is part of the job. Our fans are the best in the league, and I’d never turn down signing an autograph or posing for a photo with someone who comes and cheers for me night after night.

But personal space and privacy would be nice.

“So, what you’re saying is I need to put anything I don’t want to wind up on the internet in a locked box?” I drop my head back and groan up at the arena lights. “Great. I love being uncomfortable in my own home.”

“I don’t understand why you keep having this problem. With all of our connections, there has to be someone out there who can cook good food for you.”

“There are plenty of people who can cook good food. Finding someone who doesn’t stalk me online is the hard part.” I scrub a hand over my jaw. “Let’s drop it. The more I think about it, the more tempted I am to live off ramen for the rest of my career. What are you doing today? Want to join me on a run with the dogs later?”

Maverick’s smile falls. “Emmy has a doctor’s appointment, and I want to go with her.”

“Doctor’s appointment? Is she okay?”

“She’s not injured. It’s to find out why we’ve been trying to have kids for months now and haven’t had any success. It’s weighing on me, man, and I know it’s weighing on her. Kind of makes the season seem pointless. How can I go out there and give it my all every night when I’m dealing with shit that’s so much bigger than hockey?”

“Hey.” I tug on his sleeve and point to the penalty box that’s far away from little ears. We skate over and sit on the small bench. “Why did you let me give you shit when you were holding this in?”

Maverick was in his second year in the league when I was a rookie, and we’ve been buddies from the minute I joined the Stars.

Going from the youngest players on the team who used to be troublemakers to the oldest, our teammates looking to us for guidance has brought a kinship between us.

He’s easy to talk to. We spend our free time together. He’s been home to Georgia with me for the holidays and has even spent a week or two there during the summer. He stood by my side when my mom passed away. He let me cry on his shoulder at her funeral and told off a reporter for asking about my absence, earning himself a one-game suspension.

He’s my best friend in the whole damn world, more like a brother than anything, and to see him hurting hurts me.

“Because we always give each other shit.” Maverick bends and fixes his jeans over the top of his skate. “I’m tempted to retire. To get away from the limelight and focus on Emmy.”

“Are you serious?”

“Maybe. There’s so much going on up here.” He taps his head. “It’s fucking hard. I can’t imagine what you went through when your mom passed. This is small compared to that.”

“You saw what I was like. I was living in hell from the minute we found out she was sick until she left us. Even now, it feels like I’m drifting between living and surviving. I wish I could tell you the hard days get better, but sometimes you have to go through a lot of shit before you come out on the other side.”

“What helped you get through it?”

I’m not sure I’ve gotten through it, and I’m not sure I ever will.

I don’t think that’s something you move on from.

It happened so fast. Now and then, I think it’s all a dream. Some trick the universe is playing on me, because how do you go from finding your mom in the stands at every game to learning she has stage four breast cancer after a routine doctor’s visit to burying her five months later?

“You. Hockey. Rescuing Gus and Millie,” I say, mentioning my golden retrievers. “Being around the things that made me happy. They didn’t make me happy in the moment, but eventually they did. That’s different for everyone. Some people like to shut it out. Some people turn to vices. You have to figure out what works for you. If you want to retire, you know I’ll support you. The guys will support you. Emmy might try to kick your ass, but that’s between y’all.”

“I’m most attracted to her when she wants to kick my ass.” His dimpled grin is back. “I only have a few seasons left in me anyway. I know you were joking earlier, but I am slowing down. I’ve spent too many years giving my body to this sport. Maybe now is the time to go.”

“Have you talked to my favorite redhead about all of this?”

“Nope. We actively avoided talking about it on our trip. Figured we could use a break from reality. Now we’re home, and it’s right in front of us. We can’t hide from it anymore.”

“Communication is important.”

“There you go with your relationship advice. Maybe one day I’ll be wise like you.”

“You’re married now, Mavvy. Pretty sure you’re wise enough. I’m here if you ever want to talk. I have your back, just like you have mine.”

“Fuck.” Maverick stares at the kids starting to make their way back to center ice. “Bet you didn’t think your day would turn deep as shit when you rolled up to the arena, did you?”

“I thought there would be a lot more dick jokes. Frankly, I’m disappointed.”

“You and me both, dude. What are you going to do about your interviews?”

“Scream, probably. Or sign up for a meal delivery service so I never have to interact with anyone ever again.”

“You sound like Liam,” he says, and I snort.

Our goalie, Liam Sullivan, is the most anti-social guy I’ve ever met. He’s a damn good hockey player, but he has an aversion to talking to people. I’m pretty sure the only person he likes is his girlfriend, Piper Mitchell, our rinkside reporter.

Turning into him wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but I’d prefer not to become a recluse who communicates in grunts and eye rolls.

“Lovely. Things are looking up.” I adjust my whistle around my neck and stand. “Are you sticking around?”

“Yeah. I think we should ditch the drills, though. Let’s do a scrimmage and see who’s the better coach. Loser has to talk to the rookies and media on the first day of Stars Camp next week.”

“That’s part of your job as captain.”

“You’re my alternate captain. I’m allowed to delegate.”

“Asshole.” I hop back on the ice and take off toward the kids buckling their helmets and putting in their mouthguards. “Knew you were slow, Cap,” I yell.

“You’re getting a hundred laps for that, Hayes,” he yells back.

I grin at the campers. “Who wants to see me beat Maverick Miller in a shootout?” I ask, and they all cheer.