Chapter 5
Chapter Five
MATT
As I pulled into the stadium’s parking lot, I spotted a curvy figure with beachy blonde waves striding across the asphalt toward the front entrance. I swerved into the nearest park, shut off the car, and leapt out the door.
A warm breeze stirred the air as I bolted around to the trunk, popped it open, and grabbed my duffel bag, then I hefted it over my shoulder and hurried toward her, pressing a button on the key fob to lock the car as I did so.
“Chelsey,” I called.
She glanced over her shoulder. When she realized it was me, she looked poised to continue inside anyway.
“Wait up!” I picked up the pace, my long legs eating up the distance between us in only a few seconds.
She turned from me to the stadium, clearly wondering if she could get away with ignoring me, but to her credit, she stopped. I didn’t slow down until I was directly in front of her, and then I finally halted and dropped my duffel bag on the ground.
“I have something for you,” I said, lowering myself to my knees to search through the bag.
One side of her mouth turned down. “I don’t want anything from you.”
Wow, she really had mastered the art of being icy during our time apart. She made it look good.
“Just hold on a moment.”
I sifted around, cursing myself for not having put the gift for her right on top. I hadn’t realized I’d have the chance to see her so early in the morning. I’d expected to have to hunt her down in the office after training.
“I don’t have time for this.” She pointedly looked down at her bare wrist. “I should be inside already.”
“Tell them I held you up.” I was sure no one would mind one of the players taking an interest in the team’s publicist. Not when they were actively encouraging us to pursue good publicity.
My fingertips found the hard edges of the plastic box and I pried it free of whatever was holding it in place, then straightened and offered it to Chelsey.
“Here. It was signed by Pete and Wayne Wright. I know you’re a fan of them, so I thought it might make a nice welcome-to-the-team gift.”
She took the plastic box on autopilot and stared blankly at the white puck inside. She stayed silent for so long I worried I’d broken her. Eventually, she shook her head as if to jar herself out of her introspection.
“I can’t take this,” she said, eyeing it longingly. Perhaps she was thinking about how nice it would look on her collector shelf alongside her signed Sidney Crosby jersey and the puck she’d managed to scavenge from one of the PWHL games we’d attended during our time at college.
“Yes, you can.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Plenty of people receive welcome gifts when they start at a new workplace. Also, there’s no rule against it in the corporate handbook. I checked.”
I knew she would protest and also wanted to make sure I didn’t put her in an untenable professional position by pushing her to do something that would go against team policies. There was nothing to prevent her from accepting this as the gesture it was, besides her own pride.
“I thought it might look good on your desk,” I added, unable to tell from her expression if I was getting anywhere.
“I promise, Chelsey, you don’t owe me anything if you take it and there is nothing in the rule book that says you can’t, although I’ll understand if you want to check that for yourself first.”
A long silence followed and then she palmed the plastic container and nodded. “Thank you, then.”
“You’re welcome.” I smiled warmly. “I’m really impressed with how the player profiles came out.”
She had started posting the profiles on social media, one per day.
In addition to the photographs she’d taken of us and the questionnaire we’d each filled out, she’d also filmed footage of our training sessions and cut out small clips of each player.
I didn’t know much about social media metrics, but I’d been keeping an eye on them, and from what I could tell, they seemed to be doing well.
“Thank you,” she said again, eyeing me suspiciously, as if she thought I was setting her up for some kind of zinger.
“You’re even better with a camera than you used to be.”
Chelsey had always been an amazing photographer.
When we went hiking, she used to take the most beautiful shots of the landscapes and wildlife we saw along the way.
She had tried to teach me to photograph birds once, but I was lucky if I could manage to even get one in the frame, let alone capture a decent image.
Her luminous blue eyes widened. “That’s, ah, nice of you to say.”
It was obvious she had no idea how to respond.
I shouldered my bag again. “I think you’ll really help the team.”
Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I hope so.”
I saluted her. “I’ll see you later.”
Saluted her.
Fucking hell. What an idiot.
Before I could make more of an ass of myself, I said a quick goodbye and hurried inside.
I headed straight to the changing rooms and stopped outside the locker with my name on it.
I was already wearing an underlayer, so I stripped off the outer and donned my uniform before taping my stick and lacing my skates.
That done, I made my way out to the ice, pausing to greet the others who had arrived on the way. Coach Dunn and Assistant Coach Willets were standing together a couple of yards from the gate.
“Morning, Coach,” I said, smiling to encompass both of them.
“Morning, Matthews,” Coach Dunn said. “Warm up and then practice passing with one of the forwards until everyone is out. We’re going to do shuttle runs this morning.”
I started to groan but then bit it back. “Yes, Coach.”
No one liked shuttle runs, but complaining about them wouldn’t get us anywhere except in Coach’s bad books. I got myself warm, did some stretches to keep my muscles limber, then passed back and forth with Austin until the whole team was assembled.
Coach Dunn lined us up at one end of the rink and instructed us to sprint skate as fast as we could to the first line and then the second and then the third and then start back over.
We’d done this a couple of times last season, and Coach Dunn had proved to be less sadistic than our former coach, but that didn’t mean it was fun.
It just meant that he stopped before we were all flat out on the ice.
As it was, one of the rookies nearly emptied his gut over the railing before Coach Dunn called an end to the exercise.
Fortunately, he gave us a break to run skill-based drills, focusing on the forwards’ ability to evade defense.
It was still hard work, but it let us catch our breaths as groups were rotated on and off.
Once we had recovered, Coach Dunn took half the team to one end of the rink while Assistant Coach Willets took the others to the opposite end to run three-on-three drills.
In this case, it was three forwards versus two defensemen and the goalie.
He changed around the combinations sporadically, first placing me with Gauthier and then McKinley before swapping in a couple of the rookies.
McKinley and Elliott failed to prevent Delacrue, Virtanen, and Fox from scoring, and, as Delacrue skated past McKinley, he said something under his breath that I didn’t catch. McKinley yanked off his helmet, dropped his gloves on the ice, and squared up to Delacrue.
Coach Dunn skated between them. “Break it up.” He turned to McKinley. “I don’t care what he said. You have to get your temper under control or you’re a liability. Do I need to remind you about the fistfight that resulted in probation for the whole damn team?”
Drew looked stricken, but he had to know that his hot temper didn’t put him in good standing with the coaches or management—especially in light of the recent changes.
I skated over to Delacrue and jerked him away from McKinley. “Don’t start shit.”
I didn’t know what he’d said to McKinley, but I doubted it was anything pleasant. Delacrue wasn’t outwardly cruel or violent like some of our former teammates were, but he enjoyed riling people up and then watching while situations escalated out of control.
Delacrue rolled his eyes. “You never used to be such a suck-up.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve got more on the line than we used to.”
“Whatever.”
I glanced up and noticed Coach watching us. He nodded to me and called for the next group of forwards to move in on McKinley and Elliott.
By the time training finished, every part of me was sore. My muscles ached, my back throbbed in several places, and when I was showering, I noticed things pulling more than they used to. The downside of getting older, I guessed.
I’d be thirty-one this year. I wasn’t a spring chicken anymore. At least not in professional hockey. I couldn’t even expect the situation to improve. I’d only get more worn down with each season that passed.
I dried myself and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, doing my best to ignore the undeniable aroma of BO and liniment.
“Team meeting starting in ten minutes in the team room upstairs,” Assistant Coach Willets called.
My nerves tangled and knotted in my stomach. Management had said they’d be announcing the captain and alternates this week. Was that what this was about?
I stuffed everything into my duffel bag, zipped it up, and lugged it up the stairs and along the corridor to the team meeting room.
There were a bunch of beanbags in the corner, and they looked more comfortable than the sofas, so I grabbed a protein bar from the snack table and flopped onto one of them.
Chelsey was sitting near the door, a laptop on her knee.
I noticed Brown staring at her and glared at him until he turned toward me, then I narrowed my eyes, scowled, and shook my head.
He was too young for her and wouldn’t know how to keep her happy.
He should stay away from her. Brown paled and looked down at his hands.
That’s right. Keep your eyes off her.
Amir Gadot dropped onto the beanbag beside me and held a fist out for me to bump. “How are you doing, man? We haven’t had a chance to talk much yet.”
I knocked my knuckles against his and settled back down. “I’m good. Glad the season started again.”
Gadot grimaced. “It’s nice to be back on the ice with you guys, but I have to admit I enjoyed having more time to spend with Simon.”
Simon Banks was Gadot’s boyfriend. He was a short, bookish man who possessed an incredible financial brain and managed investments for several players on the team, including me.
“Yeah, I might feel differently if I had a partner,” I admitted, shifting position when a knot in my back throbbed.
“You looking?” Gadot asked.
“Not exactly.” As always, that was true. If the right lady came along, I’d be overjoyed, but I was pretty sure I’d had my perfect woman years ago, and I’d lost her. I wouldn’t be getting a second chance. “How’s Simon?”
Gadot grinned. “He had a promotion. I’m so proud of him.”
“It was well-deserved, I’m sure.”
Simon was a good guy. It had taken a while for him to work up the courage to interact with the rest of the team—he’d initially been worried about homophobia and causing trouble for Gadot—but once he had, he’d blossomed.
It was a shame that gay men still had to worry about how others might treat them. People sucked sometimes.
At the front of the room, Coach Dunn raised his voice to get our attention.
“As you all know, we’ve been assessing who we believe would be a good fit for the captain and alternate captain roles during training camp.
After exceeding expectations last season, we are thrilled to announce that Austin Harris will remain as captain this season. ”
I looked around the room for Austin and when I spotted him, clapped and whistled. I’d like to be captain one day, but in the meantime, he was a good choice.
“We’ve also decided on two alternate captains,” Coach Dunn continued, putting his hands behind his back in a way that drew his shirt tight over his slightly rounded gut. “One from the forward lineup and one from the defensive lineup.”
I crossed my fingers but laid my other hand over top of them so that no one would see.
Please be me. Please be me.
I’d worked my ass off for years for this team. I’d endured more bullying and belittling than anyone should have to. Of course, many of the others in the room could say the same. But I still deserved this, didn’t I?
I looked over at Chelsey, and my stomach clenched. Perhaps I didn’t deserve it. I’d made some pretty big mistakes.
“Our first alternate captain is Nick Kelly,” Coach Dunn declared, pausing for a round of applause. “Our second is Matt Matthews.”
My heart lifted. I caught my breath, hardly daring to believe my ears. Beside me, Gadot leaned over for a high five.
“Congratulations!” he exclaimed.
A heavy body dropped onto the beanbag, displacing some of the filling and sending me crashing into the newcomer, Gauthier. He slung his arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “Happy for you, Matthews.”
“We’re still evaluating the lines, but we’ll have those sorted prior to the first preseason game in a little over a week. In the meantime, we ask for your patience.”
There were a few mumbles, but no one spoke up or asked any questions.
Coach Dunn brushed his hands together briskly. “That’s it for today. We’ll see you back here tomorrow.”
He left, and Assistant Coach Willets followed close behind. Chelsey dithered, as if unsure whether to go or stay. I noticed the camera in her hands and wondered if she’d been snapping photographs of the meeting for social media. Perhaps she wanted some quotes to go alongside them.
“We should all go for drinks at Rinkside,” Jesse declared, bounding to his feet and heading straight to Chelsey. “Want to come? I promise we’ll keep the antics to a minimum.”
“No tequila,” Austin insisted, loud enough to be heard over everyone else.
Jesse grinned mischievously. “I’ll limit myself to one. How’s that?”
I groaned, knowing I’d have to go along to keep him out of trouble if nothing else. It didn’t seem to matter how little tequila Jesse had; as soon as a drop of it hit his tongue, he became a magnet for scandal.
Besides, it actually wasn’t a bad idea. The outing, not the tequila—that was a terrible idea. It would do the team good to spend more time together off the ice. We needed to bond.
“No tequila,” I reiterated, meeting Jesse’s eyes. “Let’s keep you out of the headlines.”
He winked at Chelsey. “Unless it’s for something good, right?”
“Seriously, Jesse, we need to be careful,” I warned.
Jesse waved his hand dismissively. “It’s fine. Nothing will go wrong.”