Home Ice (4 page)

“It’s not something I thought a lot about. I got drafted at eighteen and have been playing for the Sinners ever since. I was a kid. Sometimes it still feels like I am. There are only a few guys on the team younger than I am. I wasn’t looking for a relationship, but … didn’t know how much I was missing until I had one. We broke up a year ago. Madden’s been trying to get me to start dating again, but I haven’t wanted to.”

His soft, deep voice was soothing, entrancing. Cold condensation from her shake glass dripped on her hand, and she blinked. “What changed your mind?”

“You.”

“Me?” Her pulse sped up—it pounded in her ears—and nervous excitement fluttered in her chest. She hadn’t felt this way since her early teens when Ian Donnolley, a skater at her rink, said he thought she was pretty and talented and asked her out. Things hadn’t turned out so well with Ian.

“You were so determined yesterday. Nothing was going to stop you. I respect that in a person. And, you know, you’re not bad looking either.”

She looked down at the purple sweats and fuzzy boots, and her face flooded with heat.

His big, callused fingers curled into her palm, and his thumb brushed the back of her hand. “You look beautiful.”

If she had been warm before, she was on fire now, but she didn’t pull her hand away. His compliments sounded genuine, heartfelt, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard anything more positive than “Good lines; nice height. That’s what I was looking for” the occasional times she’d landed a jump in front of her trainer.

She took a slow breath. “The thing that happened tonight … my cast mates kind of resent me for getting the lead. They think my name is all the audience cares about. My skates went missing right before the show. I had to use someone else’s, and they were new and too small. It wasn’t a coincidence.”

“Are you serious? Can you tell someone about this?”

“I don’t want to make it a bigger deal than it is. They already hate me. They think I took the job as another way to gain popularity, and that I took away their chance to make names for themselves. I’ll admit, it’s good for my career to keep my name out there, but I did it to cover expenses while I’m training for the next games. And because I have free use of the rink when I can squeeze the time in. I lost a few sponsors when I broke my ankle last year.”

“Did you try telling them that?”

“They don’t believe me. They think I’m too old to make another Olympic run. They also think I’m a glory hog.”

“Okay, you’re not too old, and you’re not a glory hog. For one thing, you’re not shy about your contempt for the show.” His grin roused one from her too. “And I’m pretty good at reading people. I think you’re just doing what you have to do to reach your goal. I get that.”

“You really do, don’t you?” She took a long drink of the still-delicious ice cream soup. “This is nice. Having someone to talk to.”

“So you might go out with me again?”

“I’d like that.” More than she’d like to admit.

Saturday, September 26th

“You know, they’re all here for you.” Shane Reese, the Sinners’ starting goaltender lowered himself in full gear onto the bench next to Dylan.

“What do you mean?”

“Arena’s sold out. For a preseason game. Locals have finally realized they have the NHL’s number one superstar in their backyard.”

“Whatever, man. Maybe it’s that we won two Stanley Cups in three years.”

“And you don’t think you had anything to do with that? Cole, don’t you have a single proud bone in your body?”

Cole grinned and opened his mouth, but Reese waved a big, gloved hand.

“Don’t say it. Too easy. My point is the rest of us are glad you’re here, keeping us in Vegas.”

“Dude, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to hide the chocolate-covered gummy bears during the first period break.” It was a serious threat. The goalie had adopted the superstition from his wife, who had played college soccer and gotten hooked on the mid-game sweets. She’d hooked him, too, and now it was their goalie’s most important ritual. Ben Collier had eaten them all once, and it had nearly come to blows.

Reese laughed and pushed to his feet, apparently fulfilling his tormenting quotient for the night. He bopped Dylan on top of the head then waddled toward the tunnel leading to the ice.

Dylan finished taping the blade of his stick then took his spot opposite Nealy, flanking the tunnel. His teammates passed by, and he clapped each one on the back and mumbled an encouragement like always, but he couldn’t shake Reese’s comments. For the better part of his career, he’d loved the spotlight, the chance to show what he could do, what he’d always been able to do. He’d raked in trophies at the NHL awards season after season. Had two Cups to his name at age twenty-three. It was one thing to have fans who admired his skill. It was something else if your team thought you were the only reason they won games and had a packed arena.

“Cole. You okay, kid?” Nealy snapped tiny fingers in front of his face.

He blinked and nodded. “Fine, Coach.” There was no other answer, ever. No other option.

“Good. Get out there and show ’em your stuff.”

Not her, too. He trailed Simkins, the backup goalie, and was the last to hit the ice. The screams were almost deafening. A fan reaction like this wasn’t new, but in the preseason? Only the most established, most popular teams got this many people this early. And it was hard to ignore the rise in decibel level as soon as he appeared. Of course, the announcer got them going, introducing him like he was the president of the United States or something. Maybe that played into it.

He did a lap around the Sinners’ defending zone, waving, and the cheers got louder. Energy flooded him, but not the usual kind that made him itch to win the first face-off. This felt different. More anxiety than endorphins, and it didn’t make sense. He’d played in almost 300 NHL games and could count on one hand the number of times he hadn’t been completely focused and ready.
None
of those times had been because of nerves.

Dylan leaned against the players’ bench with the other guys in the starting lineup and shuffled his feet, head down as the lights lowered and a lounge singer belted out the national anthem. When it was over, he skated to center ice and crouched down, stick ready. The opposing center’s coffee breath was so bad, the smell almost made him flinch, but he focused on the ice between them. The official dropped the puck, and a second’s hesitation lost him the draw. That didn’t happen often.

He pressed his teeth down hard on the mouth guard and grunted, and then darted to follow the play. Collier, one of his wingers, snagged the puck and raced for the Stars’ goal, so he sprinted alongside. Colly circled behind the net then sent him a backhand pass. It missed the tip of his blade by centimeters. The Stars got the puck back and burst out for a breakaway. Before any of the Sinners could catch up, the puck flew over Reese’s shoulder and into their
net. The arena booed as the Stars celebrated.

My fault
.

The rest of the first period was one error after another. He felt like he was a step behind instead of always being a step ahead. When the buzzer sounded, the Sinners were down by two. He stared at his skates on the way to the locker room. Nealy’s stare was like a high-powered laser on his back. None of his teammates looked at him dead on, but there were plenty of sideways glances. That said enough. He took a seat on the bench in front of his locker and prepared for the tirade but couldn’t look at Nealy.

She was quiet for the first ten minutes. Guys rehydrated, wiped sweaty faces, and re-taped sticks. When Nealy stood before them and finally spoke, her high voice was deceptively calm. “I know you ladies might be a little rusty after a long postseason since we didn’t make a deep Cup run this year. I would have thought my training camp would’ve had some effect, or at least the practices we’ve had. Guess not, huh? Let me remind you of something. There are twenty-three players on this team. Not one. You all seem to be under the impression Saint Cole will save you. How’s that working out for ya?”

Whether she meant it as support or an accusation or both, Dylan’s ears burned. He scrubbed a towel over his face to avoid his teammates’ reactions and to keep them from seeing his humiliation.
I’m their captain. They deserve better from me.

Nealy paced before them. “You think because you have the prince of the league on your team, you don’t have to show up? That’s the only reason I can see for the slanted scoreboard right now. You know our system. I’ve ingrained it in you so deeply, it’s gotta be etched in your damn bones. Now go out there and let me see it.”

The team filed out, and he hung back to be the last, something he’d originally established as a show of respect when he’d been the rookie. Now it served a double purpose. Tonight it meant he didn’t have to look them in the eye after their coach had more or less called him a hockey messiah.

The second period went worse than the first. It was like the guilt and embarrassment kept piling up, getting heavier and heavier on his back, leading to more and more errors. The Stars got another goal. Coach’s second locker room speech was in the same vein of the first but louder. Cruder. He kept his head down and tried to shake it all off.

I have to fix this.

Before he could follow his team back to the ice, Nealy caught his arm.

He looked down at her, forced himself to meet her gaze. His mouth went dry.

“Hey, what’s going on with you?”

I’m sorry, Coach was on the tip of his tongue, but Nealy didn’t want to hear that. Apologies and excuses were for the defeated. She wanted an explanation—the simpler the better—and a plan of action. Going on four years under her coaching style, this was common knowledge. “Can’t get out of my own head.”

Her small blue eyes narrowed, but the rest of her face remained blank, and for a second, she didn’t have a comeback. It was enough to make his stomach drop. Nealy had a retort for everything. Always. “Talk to me after the game.”

Shit. The third period was a blur, which was probably for the best. He didn’t want to remember his mistakes in high-def clarity. It didn’t matter, because Nealy would have a detailed list. Slinking off ice after a five to one loss, all the Sinners had their heads down to avoid getting them chopped off by their coach. But she barely reacted. Somehow, that was scarier. Guys showered and changed without the usual ribbing and chatter. It felt like a funeral. His.

Dylan hung back until the last teammate left. When they were alone, Nealy gestured to the bench in front of the lockers. He sat, but she remained standing.

“I’m kind of at a loss. I have no precedent for this, Cole. You’ve been my rock. My good one. The only player who never gave me something to scream about. Are you sure you don’t have some personal thing going on? There’s nothing I should know?”

“I swear I don’t know. I had a bad night.” Only, it didn’t feel like it was over. The unease that had followed him onto the ice had followed him right off. No way was he saying that to Coach.

“A bad night. I guess everyone’s allowed those.” The tension in her frame eased a little but not completely, as if she were happy to have an excuse for his poor play but didn’t entirely buy it. “If it turns into bad nights, I’m sending you to Kally. Don’t want this carrying into the regular season.”

Kally, a.k.a. Dr. Alexandra Kallen-Reese, the team shrink. No pressure there.

Friday, October 3rd

One week later, he was knocking on Dr. Alexandra Kallen-Reese’s door. The team called her Kally. With the exception of her husband, the goalie.

“Come in.”

It had been almost two years since being in Kally’s office had made Dylan anxious, but the nerves were back. There was no longer a locker room stigma for talking to her, but he’d never been ordered to before. The mandate made it worse. Nealy wouldn’t tell the guys, but they would find out. It wasn’t like they didn’t already know he was off his game. Sinking into the soft cushions on Kally’s sofa took a little of the edge off, however, and there was a plate of strawberry Twizzlers on the coffee table. He smiled. “Thanks.”

“No problem. I could open my own candy store, the way I have to keep this office stocked. You all have different favorites.” She picked up a big notepad, grabbed a pen, and dropped into the armchair facing him. Then she took a few chocolate-covered gummy bears from the dish on her desk.

He could have chosen to see the other team sports psychologist, but the guy was so clinical. Impersonal. Some players preferred that, but it made him uneasy. Kally’s office looked like a living room, and she kind of looked like his sister. If he had to get his subconscious cracked open, she was definitely the preferred cracker.

“What can I do for you?”

“Ah …” His mind went blank, and his face must have too, because she smiled knowingly.

“Got it. This is more of a recon mission. You need to work out what’s in your way before you can get around it.”

“I guess. That must sound pretty weird. Not even knowing what my problem is.”

“Not as weird as you’d think. I’d say seven times out of ten people get upset before they’ve fully realized why, but I might have an idea in this case.”

And
that
was the real reason he wanted to go to Kally. She had a supernatural ability for reading people. “Really?”

“The Sinners have had a really nice run lately. Two Cups and a good season last year even though we didn’t make it far in the playoffs.”

“Yeah.” But, she sometimes took a while leading you to the point. He shrugged. Might as well go along with it. She always came through in the end.

“You were pretty instrumental in that success.”

God, not her too.
“It was a team effort. It’s not like I’m the only player out there.”

That
ah-ha
light went on in her eyes. “Cole. You’ve lived your whole life with praise, and it didn’t bother you before. In fact, from what I saw, you appreciated it but didn’t give it a lot of thought. It was kind of in the background. Have you been getting more than usual lately?”