Chapter 3
three
CADEN
Kait: It’s going to be great, Cadey. You’ll see. You deserve to get away from your dad’s bullshit after taking on more than your share all these years. You’ll meet some new people and make money at the same time.
Before I could reply, a second text came through.
Kait: I suggest setting up a Swiss bank account and funneling at least a quarter of your salary into it. Tell your dad it’s “taxes” due to your higher income bracket. He’s stupid enough to believe it.
Caden: Um. Have you met me? What part of me sitting in front of my computer for hours at a time suggested I wanted to go out and meet new people? Also, must we with the second-grade nickname?
Kait: Well, I’ll be coming down for a nursing conference in a few months.
I’ll be the kind, loyal best friend you’ve always known and loved, and bring your prized wall-less desktop computer so you don’t have to miss all those 0s and 1s and premature farsightedness from the computer screen.
And yes, we must with the nickname because it’s still funny.
The pang I felt at not being able to transport my hand-built desktop on the bus was another thing that sucked about moving to Lakeside. It had taken me years to scrape together enough money to buy parts for the refurbished system.
I was willing to let all of Kait’s teasing go if she brought me my computer.
Caden: That would be great. Thank you.
Kait: Tell me, do you dream in binary code instead of pictures? Never mind, you probably do. Keep your chin up or *insert an appropriate hockey phrase of encouragement here*. Love you!
Caden: Yeah right, thanks. Love you too.
Despite the fact that she lived to give me a hard time, I was beyond lucky to have Kait Rousseau as my best friend since elementary school.
We’d been inseparable since second grade, when I’d stopped some shithead kid from giving her a hard time on the playground.
But that had been the first and last time I’d had to stand up for Kait.
Shit, the past ten years she’d fought for me—against my dad and my own self-doubt—more times than I could count.
“She’s expecting too much from me,” I muttered to myself as I got off the bus in Lakeside.
I’d left my rust-bucket of a car in Kait’s capable hands so she could get to and from her nursing college program.
She also planned to check in on Mom every so often, which would be a big help.
Hopefully, my car made it through another winter.
With my dad out of work since my last year of high school, the entirety of my income had gone to paying bills for the tiny post-war style house where my parents had lived my whole life.
If 70K was the offer Dad got, thinking he was a big shot acting as my “agent,” just imagine what a professional could have done.
The rogue thought drifted through my mind. I shook my head, trying to dispel any additional bullshit that would just make giving up my real dreams even harder.
I switched over to my phone’s maps app and hit “go” on the previously loaded route to my new apartment.
The directions filtered into my earbuds as I followed them without really taking in my surroundings.
There was bound to be some team bonding exercise or ice-breaker shit that I’d be forced to participate in.
I’d have plenty of time to learn about Lakeside then.
I heaved my gear so it sat more securely on my back, and dragged a modest-sized suitcase, which held everything else I had to my name. The combined weight had me wanting to get into my new room as soon as possible.
The August heat was brutal, and sweat had formed on my forehead and the back of my neck within a few short blocks.
When I pushed my too-long hair off my forehead with my free hand, my fingers brushed over the shallow cut from my dad’s ring, which had healed to a thin pink line, reminding me yet again of the reasons I had to be the most dedicated rookie the Hammerheads’ staff had ever seen.
In the whirlwind of the last few weeks since signing my contract, I hadn’t let myself think too much about how I’d have to give every last bit of myself to hockey to prove my worth.
Whiling away hours writing code on your computer isn’t going to happen now, buddy.
I ground my teeth at the idea that I wouldn’t be able to escape the pressures of now-higher-stakes hockey by losing myself in the orderly world of Java or Script. Hell, even the RPG gaming communities that I’d participated in since my early teens were beyond my reach without my setup.
As much as I hadn’t wanted to leave Mom behind, the contract was a huge step up from what I’d made in North Bay these past two seasons.
“You’ve arrived at your destination,” the robotic voice of my maps app informed me. Without realizing it, I’d autopiloted my way to my new home.
I sucked in a breath, not bothering to drop my bag for a rest as I stole a glance up at the midrise condo building that stood before me.
When an email had gone around saying two of the guys on the team were offering their third bedroom for cheap if anyone needed it, I jumped at the chance to save money on rent.
Even if one of them was the damn team captain. No pressure or anything.
My introverted brain started panicking at not only meeting new people, but also immediately living with them. But just like the rest of the things in my life, it had to be done.
I’d do it uncomfortably, though. My only hope in these types of situations was that the other person would be wrapped up in their own life and not notice my special brand of awkwardness.
I tapped out a message to my new team captain.
Caden: Hey Nathan, it’s Caden Kelly. You said to text when I got here?
Cringe. Why did I put it as a question?
Hawkins: Hey man, yeah. Just hit #303 on the intercom and I’ll buzz you up.
I entered through the generic lobby, noting the concierge desk had a sign that read, “Back in 5.” Having someone in the lobby to offer a slight delay if my dad ever showed up was a big reason I’d said yes to living with two strangers, other than the absolute steal I was getting on rent.
A quick elevator ride had me arriving at my new apartment. The door was propped open a few inches by a ratty-looking hockey stick—a fitting doorstop for a building dominated by hockey player tenants.
Thankfully, the hallways didn’t smell like a locker room. Hopefully, the apartment wouldn’t either.
Since there was no way in this or any other universe I would be the kind of guy to just walk in through an open door, even if it had clearly been left that way for my benefit, I rapped my knuckles against the heavy wood, loud enough to be heard but not hard enough to dislodge the doorstop.
“Buddy! Come on in!” A low, Eastern European-accented voice called from inside the apartment.
I’d been too caught up in trying to come to terms with this whole league change and move to properly research my new teammates.
But I knew Hawkins hailed from the East Coast of Canada.
Nova Scotia? New Brunswick? I’d have to check.
Regardless, my new captain had the reputation of being a truly nice guy who mostly kept to himself.
He escaped most of the shit-talking that made the rounds in the press and on social media in a way that I had only seen goalies do before.
The voice likely belonged to my other new roommate, Leon Kovac.
A sudden gulf formed between my throat and my gut as I tried to swallow down my nerves.
Just keep your head down. Show them you can be a good roommate. They’ll barely notice you’re here. You have nothing to worry about.
I repeated the inner mantra to try to calm down my raging nervous system. Fuck. The three months I’d lived back under my parents’ roof had unraveled all the threads of calm I’d cobbled together during my two seasons in North Bay.
Not everyone is Dad. You’re going to be safe here.
I fucking hated that I had to say that to myself. I was almost twenty-fucking-two-years old. It made me feel pathetic.
I shook my head as if I could physically dislodge all the fear controlling my thoughts.
Nothing fucking cleared my mind these days.
Resigned, I raised my fist and rapped on the door a second time, hoping that one of my new roommates would come and open the door.
Seconds later, my wish was granted in the form of a six-foot-four, dark-haired Croatian defenseman.
Leon Kovac was so much bigger in person than he appeared on screen.
He was easily carrying double the amount of pure muscle than I was.
I was suddenly glad that I hadn’t been picked up by any of the other AHL teams. I wouldn’t want to take a hit against the boards from this guy.
Were his shoulders touching both sides of the doorframe? I barely resisted the urge to squint at the space between where his shoulder ended and the doorframe began.
Maybe Kait was right about that premature eyesight deterioration?
“Hello, you are Caden, yes?” Leon Kovac extended his huge right hand to shake mine and narrowed his eyes, considering something for a moment.
His palm was the size of the baseball mitt I’d used on my high school team.
“Hawk said he left the door open for you. But he said something about jam, maybe? He is often funny, but I do not think he meant to be this time. My name is Leon Kovac. On the ice, Kovac is fine. But at home, I prefer Leo, okay?”
Leo spoke just below normal volume, maybe trying to be less intimidating in his first impression.
I nodded at his request. It was refreshing to meet my first Hammerheads’ teammate and learn that he, too, wanted to be more than the name on the back of his jersey.
“Hey, Leo. Yep, I’m Caden. Nice to meet you, too. Thank you again for letting me crash here. It means a lot.” I tucked my chin to my chest briefly before adjusting my hold on my bags.
Despite Kovac’s warm welcome, I was still nervous as shit and felt compelled to fill the silence.
“Uh, the door thing. Did Hawkins say it was ‘ajar’?” I offered him a reassuring smile.