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Wyatt

Training camp is a grueling ordeal after resting all summer. Although my break was considerably shorter than some of my new teammates’. Austin splashed out of the second round of the playoffs.

Coach Curtis “Mack” MacKenzie is in his mid-fifties, stocky and bald, with a genuine smile on his face. Even when he’s haranguing the team, he does it with a smile. It takes skill.

We’re still getting our legs moving after some time off, so it’s not unexpected that as a group we’re more uncoordinated than a two-year-old on the ice for the first time. The Aces were aggressive at the start of the free agency period, trading for a few big names and signing a half dozen more.

Viggy held a handful of Captain’s Practices over the last few weeks, so I’ve skated with some of the guys, but I wouldn’t say I know any of them particularly well. And nowhere near as well as Viggy seemed to know Elsy last week. The idea curls my lip into a sneer and automatically makes me dislike the guy, which is unfair since he’s genuinely been welcoming to me and the other new guys.

Henry, the center on my line, gives me a nod as we skate laps. “You settling in, Whit?”

“Getting there.”

He gives me a toothy grin. “Heard you brought a girl to the bar.”

Rolling my eyes, I ignore the taunt in his voice. “Just a friend.”

“So you don’t mind if I make a play?” He waggles his eyebrows, sounding every bit as sleazy as his reputations leads me to believe.

A low growl rumbles in my chest at the idea of playboy Luke Henry putting his dirty paws on Elsy. I don’t like that, not one bit.

“Off. Limits,” I grind out, glaring.

“Okay, okay,” he says, raising his hands in the air. “Just trying to get the lay of the land. Maybe get laid.”

“Well, find someone else to screw.”

Henry laughs. “Someone’s a little uptight. I think maybe you’re the one who needs to get laid.”

Fuck. How long has it been?

It’s been years since my last actual relationship. During the season, it’s usually easier to get by with a friends-with-benefits situation. I don’t have the time, or, frankly, the mental energy, to deal with the emotional drain of a relationship. Throughout the playoff run, I kept it in my pants for the sake of superstition, and the last time before that was…

Damn. I don’t even remember.

Last January, I was in Boston for a road game. Bex and I went out to her favorite bar and she tried to set me up with one of her friends. But I wasn’t feeling it.

Mostly because Elsy was there.

She was wearing tight jeans, a navy-blue blouse, and fuck-me heels that made me want to run my hands all over her body and never let her go. Her hair was tied back in a complicated braid and she kept fidgeting with the end. Her bright, cherry-red lipstick did dangerous things to my heart rate.

So, no, I wasn’t interested in hooking up with whatever her name was. I don’t even remember what she looked like.

It’s not like I have feelings for Elsy. Gross. She just gets under my skin. It bothers me she’s held a grudge against me all these years. And it’s not like I can blame her. What I said was fucking awful. Why won’t she let me make it up to her, though? Why can’t she see that I’m not the same loud-mouth, insecure kid I was back then?

A whistle blows, echoing around the rink, before Coach changes the practice lines. On the left wing is Riley, or as Viggy’s named him, Puppy . He looks like one, with uncoordinated limbs and an overeager attitude that should be off-putting. Except we’ve all been rookies before, and the ones who make it are the ones who put in the effort. When new guys come in and think the team owes them a roster spot, they typically flame out.

Unless they’re legacies. In which case… sometimes, they get a roster spot and then flame out. Publicly.

Henry is a legacy, but I don’t hold it against him. He can’t help who his family is and puts in the work to prove he’s not skating by on his last name and pedigree. He’s part of the Henry dynasty—his grandfather had a storybook career, his dad and two uncles played, and two of his brothers are in the league now. Sebastian is a goalie for Boston, and Joseph is a forward in Seattle. The youngest brother, Michael, was drafted to Vancouver at the start of summer and is killing it in the NCAA.

Joe was a year ahead of me in the national development program. We spent the last two years of high school living with billet families, going to school in the morning and training all afternoon. It was a lot of work. I almost flamed out myself. With the help of the coaching staff, I turned my grades around and passed my classes with good enough grades that I could stay on the team.

I got a college hockey scholarship by the skin of my teeth, dropping out after the second year when Philly called me up to play in the big leagues. I don’t miss school, and I won’t be going back to finish my degree. My sister, the PhD, has enough for the both of us.

After practice, we cool down and hit the showers. The locker room is loud and chaotic, but I mostly keep to myself since I’m still finding my place here. I know it will come with time, but the uncertainty is setting off my anxiety. Starting over keeps me off-kilter enough that I can’t settle in the way I want to. It’s like I’m skating with dull blades on well-scratched ice, unable to keep my balance no matter how much I try.

“Want to grab a drink?” Henry asks as we get dressed in athletic shorts and performance team T-shirts. After a decade of wearing scarlet and silver, it’s difficult to get used to my entire casual wardrobe being navy and gold.

I hesitate to answer. I’m used to being left alone. In Philly, the guys knew I wasn’t big on socializing, and they didn’t get upset when I’d bow out of their get-togethers. Of which there were many.

But this team is new to me. I need to get along with the guys, and especially with the players on my line.

“How about dinner instead?” I offer. “I’m trying to cut back on the booze.”

“Good call,” Henry says. “You find some places you like yet?”

I shake my head. I’ve only been in town about three weeks. It’s not enough to really explore the city.

“Got it. I’ll give you the full tour, then,” he declares. “Pick you up at seven. Text me your address.”

With a sigh, I send it to him. I don’t want to go out, and I definitely don’t want to be chauffeured around town. He’s probably smart, offering to drive; if it were up to me, I’d probably get cold feet and cancel at the last minute. Sometimes being around people is too draining to deal with.

But when I get to my condo in a swanky high-rise, the last thing I want to do is be at home by myself. I consider firing up my video game console, but even my favorite pastime doesn’t interest me.

My second favorite is a bust too. Hard to have sex when, again, I don’t know anybody in town. Although…

What’s Elsy up to? She doesn’t have anyone in this city, either.

Immediately, I dismiss the thought. She won’t want to hang out with me. Especially not to have sex. And I definitely don’t want her around Henry.