Fate on Skates

Chapter One

Roman

It’s not every day that you get a call to join the USA Olympic hockey team. And it’s definitely not every day when that call is emergent because the player who was supposed to go got hurt during his last game.

Sucks for him.

Great for me.

I hope he’s okay, but I’m not passing up this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I’m twenty-nine and not getting any younger, and my hockey career certainly isn’t getting any easier.

Which is why I’m running around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to figure out all my last-minute shit.

Finding a sitter for my dog. Getting rid of the food in the house that’ll spoil, so I don’t come back to bugs or mold.

Thankfully I don’t keep much food in the house, and my parents are happy to watch Taco while I’m gone.

I’ll have to drop her off before I head to the airport, but I have plenty of time…

as long as I leave in the next five minutes.

I look over all the bags in front of my door, mentally taking note of what’s inside each one.

If I forget anything, I’ll have to get it there.

The most important stuff is my hockey gear, but I don’t have to worry about grabbing that because it’s at the facility and the staff will take care of it.

They’ll make sure it gets sent with the three other members of my team who will be heading over to Vancouver tonight.

It’s always fun playing hockey in Canada, but playing Olympic hockey in Canada?

I can’t fucking wait. This is the second-best thing that’s ever happened to me—directly after being drafted to the Diamonds.

My hockey career has always been good. I was drafted right at eighteen, an early second round pick.

I know it’s my size that got me in, but I’ll take it.

I may not be the fastest on the ice, but at 6’4” that is a little difficult.

My size helps with my position though, and my stats are good—even in goals and assists, which as a defenseman, isn’t my main goal.

I love what I do, and I don’t care that the light isn’t on me for scoring.

I play as part of a team, and being part of something is what I love most about it.

“Okay, Taco, you ready to go?” I ask in the voice reserved for only her.

She looks up at me, her whole butt wiggling as she shows me how excited she is.

Taco is the sweetest Corgi in the world.

She’s a year and a half old, and my best friend.

I spend more time with her than anyone else—other than my teammates, I guess, but I bring her along sometimes and the guys love her too.

Their kids especially love her, because she’s great with them and is about the same size.

I get Taco into her bubblegum pink coat and attach her leash. I grab all four bags and manage to get out of my house without falling or tripping over her—she’s gotten good at staying out from under my feet because I’m heavy and my feet are not small.

I twist the knob to make sure my door is locked, and then I hurry through the cold and to my car that is already warm—I love remote start. My house should be fine while I’m gone—it usually is. I travel often enough and I’ve never had an issue. It’s a safe neighborhood.

“We’re going to Grandma and Grandpa’s,” I tell Taco as I open the trunk to toss my three bags in.

Hers will go in the back seat with her. I buckle her into her doggy seatbelt, put her bag on the floor, then go around to the driver’s seat.

Winter is harsh in Denver, but I love the snow so I wouldn’t change a thing.

I’m not from the area, though where I came from had some brutal winters too.

I grew up on the east coast about an hour north of Boston.

My parents moved out here with me when I signed a contract with the Diamonds.

When I was first signed, I was sure I’d be passed around from team to team, since I was brand new.

Sometimes it takes a while to find your place.

But this team has been my one and only from the very beginning and I’m so lucky for it.

My contract ends this season, and I plan to sign with them again—as long as they’ll have me.

We aren’t the best, but we do well. We’ve made it to the playoffs four times since I’ve been part of the team and came close to winning the cup just last year. At this point, we’re on our way to the playoffs again, and I feel it in my bones that this is going to be the year that good things happen.

“And you’re sure you want to do this?” my mother asks, looking up at me with watery green eyes. That’s where I got mine from.

“You know I don’t do things I don’t want to do, Ma.”

“I just want to make sure my boy is happy.”

“I’m going to Vancouver to represent the USA hockey team. How much happier can I get?”

She sighs, patting my chest. “I just wish you’d settle down.”

“Oh, here we go,” I mutter. “Taco! Girl, I have to go!”

She jumps off my father’s lap and runs to me. I bend down, picking her up to hug and kiss her. When she’s back on the floor, she runs back to my father and settles beside him on the couch.

“Thanks, Dad,” I say, opening my arms to my mother who disappears inside them. She’s tiny at 5’3”. My father isn’t much bigger either, standing at 5’10”. Not sure where I came from, to be honest. “Love you both. Thank you for watching Taco. I’ll call when I can.”

“You know we love her. Come here, girl.” My father pats his lap, and she climbs on top of him. I keep telling them they should get their own dog, they’re always so happy when she visits, but they always come up with some excuse as to why they shouldn’t.

I kiss my mom on her head, since she comes up to my armpits, wave at my father, and I’m out the door. My mother stands in the doorway, watching me go.

“Get inside! You’ll catch a cold!”

She waves me off, giving me an oh please look.

I left my car running, so it’s still nice and warm. Now I have to head back to Denver to catch my flight to Canada. And nothing has ever felt so right.

I sleep on the flight, gather my things with no problem, and have a car waiting for me at pick-up.

I travel so often for games that it hasn’t hit me exactly where I am or what I’m doing here.

Traveling to Canada is a common thing; there are plenty of teams that we play here, so leaving the country isn’t a big deal, really.

Once I get to the Village though, I’m sure it’ll all hit me.

I’m in the car on the way to the Village when my phone rings.

It’s the closest person I have to a best friend—Connor McVoy, who also plays defense for the Diamonds and was selected to play in the Olympics weeks ago. He has some of the best stats in our team's history, and I am lucky enough to be his partner on the ice.

“Hey, Connor.”

“Are you here yet?”

“Sort of,” I say. “Driving to the Village now.”

“I have good news for you.”

“Is it really good news or bad news that you want me to believe is good news?”

“We’re rooming together.”

“Great… so bad news disguised as good news.”

“Fuck you, bro.”

I laugh, glancing at the driver’s GPS. “I should be there in twenty minutes. Meet me at the entrance?”

“Need your hand held already?” He chuckles.

“Forget it, McVoy.”

“See you soon!”

McVoy likes to give everyone shit. His love language is sarcasm and jokes. He’ll be waiting for me at the entrance, even if he’ll tease me about it for the entire two weeks we will be here.

I see him waiting for me the moment we pull up. He smiles and waves, pocketing his phone.

The driver gets out to help with my bags, and Connor takes one for me, so I’m only stuck carrying two.

The guard stationed at the entrance checks my credentials to make sure I’m supposed to be here, and then we’re inside and I am speechless.

“Fucking crazy, right?” Connor says, shaking his head. “This is unbelievable.”

“It really is,” I agree, looking around at the country flags everywhere and the apartment buildings a short distance away. They’re bigger than I thought they would be, at least ten floors high, with a ton of windows.

Athletes in their country’s colors and uniforms are everywhere, mingling and chatting with others. The energy is buzzing, and I don’t doubt for a second it’ll be like this the whole time I’m here.

“You eat yet?”

“Just a snack on the plane.”

“Good, because I’m starving. Let’s drop this shit in our room and go eat some good Olympic food.”

Our room is like a tiny apartment. Kitchenette, two bedrooms with full-sized beds, and a bathroom I can hardly turn around in.

“You’d think they’d make these bigger for us hockey players,” I comment as I squeeze out of it.

“Not every hockey player is as big as you,” he says.

And he’s right, of course. A lot of us are big, but my 6’4” height and 225 weight is on the higher end. Even though Connor’s smaller than me by a few inches and about thirty pounds, he’s still a big guy.

A few people have thought we’re brothers because of our matching dark hair and green eyes, but there is absolutely no relation.

“Don’t be mad that I can body check better than you,” I say with a grin.

He holds up two hands, giving me the middle finger on each.

“Fuck you, Callahan,” he laughs.

We head into our bedrooms to change for the dining hall.

Everything that wasn’t brought with me is already here, and I put on my Team USA hockey gear, so everyone knows where I belong.

It’s what you do while you’re here, representing not only your sport, but your country too.

That’s what this is about—country and sport pride.

As much as I love representing the USA, I feel like Connor and I look like two matching marshmallow idiots as we walk down the hall together and head to the dining hall. But at least we won’t be the only ones—and the clothes are warm, which I guess is the point.

The food smells amazing, but I’ve heard mixed reviews on it.

Some of it is good, some of it sucks. Then there’s that guy who was obsessed with those chocolate muffins from Paris, and it makes me wonder if I’ll fall in love with something like that while I’m here too.

Vancouver isn’t known for its food the way Paris is, and stranger things have happened.

The smell and noise get to me first. It’s not loud, but there is a lot of chatter from the teams grouped together—and in many different languages.

I recognize a few athletes, like snowboarder Skeet Mathers, who is likely to take home the gold this year.

I also spot a few hockey players I’ve played with over the years who are representing the Canadian team.

“Where is everyone else?” I ask.

“Watching some of the games. I told them I’d be waiting for you.”

“You could have gone with them,” I say.

“Nah, it’s fine. We’ll hang out tomorrow, after morning skate.”

We don’t have much time here to practice together as a team, so it’s important we do that as often as we can. If we want to win, we need to mesh well together, and some of these guys don’t get along otherwise. It should be an interesting two weeks.