Enemy Zone (Enforcers Hockey #4)

Chapter 1

Jamal King

No lie, the stomach flip-flops are heavier than the first time I stepped into the practice facility. Then it was unknown nerves, but now he’ll be here. The man who, despite having every single privilege life has to offer, has made me his enemy.

Theo O’Keefe.

I had to get my mind right for dealing with him, so I watched tons of his tapes. It turns out he’s not a dirty player. He saves all his vengeance and worst hits for me.

Me. The one who was done bad.

“King.” Ace, our team captain, pulls me out of my head and greets me with a smile and a fist bump. He isn’t a hugger, and I appreciate that.

“You’re skating today?” I ask, surveying his locker with all his gear.

“You don’t have to,” he assures me. “But I need to skate after my vacation.” He’s tan, sporting a wide grin along with his cheerful blue eyes. After his concussion a few months ago, he needed a break.

I nod and throw my wallet and keys into my locker. I’m already dressed in workout gear.

The locker room’s pungent smell is a firm reminder that not everything will change. I hate that I understand why Ace asked me to come to the new-player practice today. Because of him. Ace wants to ensure we won’t be a problem for the team. Of course, he’s too diplomatic to say that.

To prepare for O’Keefe, I’ve done breathing exercises and stretches to calm my parasympathetic nervous system. My team deserves my best, and I will keep my shit tight.

“Are we ready for some hockey!?” Benz bounds into the locker room with all his golden retriever energy. He’s my exact opposite. His face expresses his every emotion, and his mouth does not stop moving.

I’ve got nothing but love for the man, but he can be exhausting.

“Kingy, King, King!” Benz sings and rushes at me with open arms and no regard for my personal space, his round cherub face pink with excitement.

I thump his back and pull away.

“You missed me, didn’t you?” He keeps an arm around me.

“Bet.” Knowing he’ll move on in a minute, I don’t step out of his embrace.

“Ace! You’re back.” Benz careens into Ace, lifting him off the floor in a hug.

Ace chuckles. “It shouldn’t be a surprise since I asked you here.”

“Wait!” Benz shouts, covers his eyes, and flaps a hand in Ace’s direction. “Is that what I think it is on your finger?”

A black band inlaid with diamonds twinkles on his ring finger in the bright lights.

Theo O’Keefe leans on the doorframe, listening and watching. My muscles tense, but I’m the only one who notices him.

Benz jumps on Ace. “Congratulations!”

“Gray and I want to tell everyone together. Can you keep our secret for a few days?”

Benz switches into serious goalie mode. “You can count on me, captain.”

“It sounds so festive in here,” O’Keefe says with condescension. “I thought you’d be seriously somber after losing to Boston in the playoffs last year.” Only O’Keefe would rub our noses in the loss to his old team while introducing himself.

He saunters in like this is his locker room. His chiseled jaw and prominent cheekbones give him a haughty air that fits his personality to a T.

He’s objectively good-looking if you like a blond, green-eyed, stick-up-your-ass type of man. Which I do not.

Ace’s jaw ticks, but he extends his hand. “Welcome to the Enforcers, O’Keefe. We can’t be all bad since you came here.”

O’Keefe takes his hand and shrugs. “I follow the money.” His voice drips with arrogance, implying the Enforcers wanted him enough to pay him top dollar.

I don’t know the amount of his contract, but he ain’t shit for his comment. He’s going to test my last nerve this season. We’re less than five minutes in, and he’s insulted the team.

My team.

Maybe I need to ask Benzy for some of his calming crystals. He’s always spouting off about their healing properties. I could use a hit of serenity in rock form.

O’Keefe saunters by me with a nod and does a lap, checking out everyone’s lockers.

“How are lockers assigned here?” he asks.

Ace tilts his head as if he’s trying to figure out O’Keefe. “Is there a problem with your locker?”

He holds up his hands. “Nah, man, just wondering about the pecking order.”

“Ace is the best captain,” Benz chimes in. “You’ll love it here.”

If Benz can’t befriend O’Keefe, there’s no hope for the rest of us. I thought Ace would ask the veterans to meet the new players, but Benz is a strategic choice to make them feel welcome.

O’Keefe pulls a face behind Benz’s back that sets my teeth on edge. I will my fingers to unclench and shake them.

Ace’s phone goes off, and his face falls when he checks it. “There was a mix-up with the start time today. It’s the four of us for now.” He turns to O’Keefe. “Your choice—the weight room or the ice?”

“The ice, baby. Always the ice.”

“I’ll meet you out there.” I hadn’t planned to skate, so I search for the equipment manager.

He apologizes for not having my gear ready.

“It’s all good. I specifically said I wouldn’t need it. My bad.” He has one of the most thankless jobs in the NHL. He keeps track of all our shit and organizes it. A hockey player’s gear smells gross on a good day, and we’re not known for neatness.

Fortunately, no one on the first two lines retired, and we only had one major injury, meaning most of our players came back.

With only three new players and three active team members on the ice, it would’ve been difficult to avoid O’Keefe, but it’ll be impossible now with the four of us.

Benz is fully dressed when I get back. Since goalies wear more equipment, I’m impressed.

“I’ll wait for you.” He glances at the door.

“Go ahead,” I say. When he hesitates, I add, “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

His round eyes sweep the locker room. “You okay with this? I promised Leo I wouldn’t stick my nose where it doesn’t belong,” he says, lowering his voice to imitate his boyfriend.

Leo was our goalie coach last year and Benz’s best friend’s dad.

Now he volunteers his time unofficially because he’s Benz’s boyfriend. “But this is some crazy shit, right?”

“Yeah. I knew it was a possibility before the announcement, but I didn’t think it’d happen,” I admit. I don’t say I’m the dumbass who told our GM, Ari Dimon, it wouldn’t be a problem.

“At least you weren’t blindsided.”

“Thanks for your texts.” He’d sent me messages after the announcement that we picked up O’Keefe in free agency. I raise my hand to fist-bump him, but he rocks me in an awkward goalie hug.

“See ya in a few.” After he leaves, I let out a slow breath.

My body’s buzzing, and skating will help release my tension. I refuse to let O’Keefe get the best of my anxiety. I won’t stay stuck in his game.

The problem: I’m not sure what his game is.

He didn’t need to come here.

So why the hell did he?