Page 4 of Unmasking Love (D.C. Renegades #1)

Aiden

"Have you never been distracted by a pretty girl?"

I wake from my afternoon nap to another link from the realtor.

I feel bad. The poor girl has sent me ten different homes in the last month and I haven't responded once.

I don't know how to tell her not to bother.

I feel like she'd tell Felix and he’d try to change my mind.

Who knows what antics doing so would involve?

It's bad enough he bought a bike and showed up to take a ride with me. And he invited me to his friend's engagement party a few weeks ago. I wasn't able to get out of it because Bryson organized a car to get us there together.

We traveled for preseason games over the last two weekends. I got some playing time and it felt good. As soon as my skates hit the ice in a game scenario, I forget all about the pressure. I just play hockey; the sport I have dedicated my life to, even though it hasn’t been as devoted to me.

I read the message from Harper and pocket my phone.

Each team has a different take on gameday mornings so sometimes I’d have to be at the arena for a skate, or meetings, or both.

D.C. has an optional skate but a mandatory meeting at 10:30 am.

After we can have lunch at the facility or head home to eat.

I make myself a large meal at noon, nap from 2-3 and then do a quick at-home body weight circuit to get my blood pumping.

Today, I did a forty five minute full-body blitz from my favorite trainer on the GeerSHFT app, Cole M.

Then I took a quick shower and got dressed.

I found a company that makes suit pants, shirts, and jackets out of performance material.

It allows me to ride my bike to the arena comfortably.

With a plant based protein shake in hand, I grab my reflective vest to throw over my suit coat.

The ride home after the game is always dark; safety first.

I learned to slick back my hair with a little gel before leaving for the game. When I was in Seattle the social media team started posting slow-mo videos of all the players walking into the arena on game day and fans fired off comments about my helmet hair.

Since I wasn’t playing often, I figured the least I could do was contribute positively to the team’s connection with the fans.

Today, the sun warms my skin through my clothes as I hit the trail that runs towards the arena. The wind whips at my face and as I fall into the pedal stroke rhythm, my mind transitions to game mode.

I track the movement of my left leg as it pushes down the pedal and then pulls it up.

I feel my heartbeat and breath with every rotation of my legs.

It becomes a meditation even as the hills undulate under me.

I keep the steady metronome going in my head.

It’s like a second pulse that I focus on during the game.

When I first got back on the ice after everything, I needed to center myself in a way I hadn't before and cycling became the physical force I rely on.

I also developed my mantra.

Breath in.

Focus.

Follow the puck.

Breathe out.

Focus.

Stop the puck.

With my mantra on repeat in cadence with my pedal strokes, the twenty minutes between my apartment and the Kofee Center pass quickly.

The team lets me leave my bike in the underground players lot so I roll down the ramp with a wave to the security guard.

When I finish locking it up I see Crosby is waiting for me.

"Young Gun! You ready for the home opener?" He asks as I reach him. He slings an arm around my shoulder in a hug and I reciprocate with a pat to his back.

"Ah yeah, it'll feel good to see the building full."

"Oh, it's the best. The Renegades have such an amazing opening video sequence!

It gets me pumped up instantly. And the staff puts pictures of goals we've scored against the opposing team along the tunnel so we can feel the domination as we walk out onto the ice.

" He swirls his iced coffee and takes a sip.

"And, a few other teams have copied this but we were the first.” He leans towards me with a hand covering his mouth.

“ We put our ice girls in the opponent's tunnel so they're distracted by pretty girls before they play. "

I laugh, "You really think that works?"

"Have you never been distracted by a pretty girl?

" He raises an eyebrow at me and I shake my head.

Now isn't the time to get into why I don't even let myself look at girls in the first place.

Lack of object permanence and all. "Well, when it happens you'll know how much of an advantage that can give us. "

We make our way down the tunnel and answer the social media team's question of the day. Today it's a vote between pumpkin spice or apple flavored treats. When I answer apple Crosby gives me a look of shock and shakes his head.

That's fine, I'm not trying to bond or make meaningful connections with these guys anyways. If he likes pumpkin spice and I prefer the much superior caramel apple, so be it.

Twenty minutes later I’m in half my gear when Felix comes and sits down on the seat next to me at my locker. He’s crowding me off my own damn bench .

"Young Gun, how come you haven't texted my girl, Harper, yet? She said she hasn't heard from you even though she's sent you ten different listings."

Oh, the real estate agent. Right. How do I explain to him I'm not going to tie up a bunch of money in a mortgage when I'll likely be moving before the season is out. Rent might be a waste of equity but it's liquid.

"I'm not sure I'm gonna buy a home I guess, I didn't want to waste her time."

Felix narrows his eyes at me before nodding slowly. "Fine, but at least meet with her to let her down. I set this up for both of you but if you're not buying you've gotta be the one to tell her."

"Alright, I can do that."

He claps and makes his way back to his locker and I finish dressing.

As the backup goalie, I am the last one down the tunnel.

Last one on the ice for warmups. I don't even take a few shots, I just stretch and keep my head down. I can see what Crosby meant by the energy in the building being electric though. It buzzes. I imagine for a minute what it would feel like to have that pulse through my veins as the franchise’s brick wall.

As the guy they send out every game for 60 minutes.

The one the boys clap on the helmet at the end of each night.

But that is the dream, not reality. When the guys start circling to fire pucks at McKenna, I make my way to the boards.

I lean across and get a look at the jumpseat I'll sit in.

It's a portion of the bench that folds up so the team can get straight from the tunnel to the ice before and after each period.

During the game, it's down for me to perch on and watch.

Sixty minutes of prime real estate for the number two goalie.

Sometimes there are kids in the seat next to me, on the other side of the glass, but right now during warmups the seats are empty.

Kids and fans are standing along the glass holding up signs for their favorite players.

I grab a few warm up pucks and toss them over.

The toothless grin I get from one kid makes me smile and I remember falling in love with this game for the first time .

I get a clap on the shoulder pad as Duncan sails past. We'll head back to the locker room, go over the strategy one more time, make final adjustments to equipment, and then let Felix get us game ready.

The pictures of goals against the opposing team are up and I'll admit it does make me feel slightly more competitive.

I'm not an offensive minded player, I exist to stop them from scoring goals. So I want to see saves against this team. That would amp me up. But that’s a suggestion for another time and maybe from someone who plays regularly.

"Okay boys! Listen up. This is our home opener. We played well in the preseason games. We've got flow. I can feel it." Felix is moving around the locker room as he gives his speech. "I have picked a new pregame song for our season."

He nods to Larry, the equipment manager, who dims the lights in the room. Only the spotlights above our lockers remain on and I'm not a cinematographer but it looks fucking artsy. All of us suited up like warriors ready to head into battle on the ice.

And then the song starts.

"Fuckin-A Felix? Really?" Emmett yells over the opening stanzas. Some men in the room groan alongside him. Others grin and start clapping. I glance over at McKenna who just closes his eyes. Too in the zone to react either way.

"Goddamn this is a good song!" Bryson yells as he starts fist bumping.

I hate to admit it but my knee starts to bounce. Cotton Eyed Joe can make even the most stoic of men move to the beat. Not sure the lyrics reflect the passion of the game but I don’t think that was ever Felix’s intention. I’m not sure what Felix’s intention was.

The lights turn back on as Joe fades out and we line up for the game.

The guys race out of the tunnel, Felix giving each a glove bump or ass tap before they hit the ice.

When he gets to me he offers a fist, I meet it and he nods.

Then Luke, the assistant equipment manager, helps me put the jump seat down and I settle in.

The seats next to me are full now and when I glance over I catch a twirl of long hair.

The lights in the arena are flashing; red, white, and blue spotlights twirl around as the opening video begins. Historic plays are mashed up with current highlights all to a patriotic, warrior themed talk-track, that builds to a crescendo of the current roster’s headshots flashing up to the beat.

It is inspiring as hell.

The building quiets down as the anthem plays and I begin to feel myself focus. The sheet of ice becomes the only thing I see. The boys line up at center ice. My eyes track the ref's hands as he quickly lifts and then flicks the puck down for the opening faceoff.

Felix wins it and whips a pass out to Bryson who starts for the blue line.

He has a wicked shot that comes from like a 120, maybe 130 degree angle at the hash marks.

I can already see the goalie isn't protecting the space between his hip and the post well enough.

Bryson takes the shot and it deflects off a defensemen's stick and back out to the front of the crease.

Felix is there but his stick gets tangled and the crowd is on their feet hoping for a strike in the opening minutes of the game.

The Thunder Bay Lightning defense manages to break up the attack and they move it down the ice, past the benches, and both teams move for a line change. They send the puck across the ice at the blue line, then back but when Emmett intercepts it, he gets slammed into the glass right next to me.

I'm used to having several two hundred pound men jostling in front of me.

But the girl sitting to my right, apparently, is not.

She lets out a yelp and scrambles to tuck her knees into her chest. I glance her way.

And watch, transfixed, as she unfolds and laughs at herself.

She leans forward and pets a small puppy on her lap.

Through the noise of the crowd I can hear her breathy giggle and her soothing the dog. I can't look away. I have never looked anywhere except the ice when the puck is in play .

But this girl…This girl is very distracting.

My eyes don’t know where to look first. At her long neck that is craning slightly to watch the game?

At the soft curls of hair around her shoulders and down her back?

I dip my gaze lower and catch her creamy thigh under a short skirt that gets pushed an inch higher by the puppy’s paws as it wiggles around.

She’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.

And she looks so composed, so put together.

I look at the little gap between her legs and wonder if I laid my hand on her thigh would her skin be chilled.

I intentionally pull my eyes up to her chest to check for signs she’s feeling cold but only see the lush curve of her breasts in the tight black sweater she has on.

She must feel the intensity of my stare because she glances over at me and smiles. I'm not sure what my face does in response but she bashfully looks away and I watch as her slender fingers pull her hair behind her ear.

I'm broken from my trance when a man pops out from behind her shoulder and looks at me with amusement in his eyes.

I whip my head back to the game and try to focus on the puck again. But as soon as the whistle blows, and it's the first TV timeout of the period, I find myself glancing her way.

She's chatting with her boyfriend? Friend? Coworker? He’s pointing at the ice team working to clear snow from the surface and she’s nodding along as she checks her phone.

When she catches me spying on her again I quickly look away and try to listen to what the assistant coach is saying.

Felix is giving me a curious look. I return it with an eyebrow raised in question and all he does is smile.

Not just any smile. A notorious “Felix smile”.

One, I have learned, in the short time I have been here, means one of two things, “I know something you don’t know” or his gears are turning and he has a plan.

In this case, I am not sure which one I would prefer.