Chapter Five
Sadie
This presentation better be good, because the team is more on edge than I anticipated.
If it’s not, at least they’ll have a common enemy in me for making them come here. That should unite them, at least for a few hours. Plus, they’re getting a few hours off ice to recover. We’ve pushed them hard every day of camp so far—Cruz and Dom especially.
Rest is important, too.
The Axpert leads us into a big open area that looks like a low-budget wilderness set piece. A huge log sits as a focal point, with bales of hay arranged in lieu of chairs.
“Have a seat.” His tattoo coverage could give Anders a run for his money, in terms of square footage.
“This is ridiculous,” Gabriel grumbles as he drops onto a bale. “I think I just split my pants.”
“No one made you wear pants that tight,” Callum says, not missing a beat as he and Vivi rejoin the group. If he ate one of the planet-sized blueberry muffins in the parking lot, he did it without stopping for air.
At least that would mean someone got to enjoy them fresh. I should’ve made Leo eat with me at the bakery so he could fully appreciate the fluffy, warm excellence.
Something tells me he would not have enjoyed that prolonged time with me.
Behind Callum, Ivan sneaks in, face shielded with sunglasses. He performs a quick scan of the hay bales, curls his lips in mild horror, and parks himself against the wall to stand in the shadows.
Lovely.
Vivi takes a seat beside me. “The Skarsg?rd wannabe decided to grace us with his presence after all. How nice.”
The Axpert introduces himself and lets us know he’s been featured on Buzzfeed as a top bachelorette party stop two years in a row.
That is the first—and apparently only—thing he wants us to know about himself before he hoists the axe in the air for a powerful swing.
I try to school my face into something neutral. Weak intro, but there’s still time to turn this thing around.
He launches into his presentation without much fanfare.
I struggle to follow what he’s saying. At first I think it’s because I’m distracted by the way he swings the axe every few words.
But then it feels like he’s giving a stump speech that doesn’t really mean anything—at least not in the context of hockey.
Certainly nothing like what I requested when I made the booking.
Vivi’s gaze bores a hole in the side of my face. I don’t need to look at her to know her eyes are screaming I told you so.
“Each log you split opens a new path.” He swings his axe and grunts as it makes contact with the log. “Fuel for a fire. Timber for a house.” Swing. “Planks for a bridge. Raw timber, filled with possibility.”
It’s hard to connect with the heart of the message, given the delivery.
The panting, sweaty, choppy delivery that has no real cohesion.
In my periphery, I see Callum and Nic watching with matching looks of confusion. Next to them, Leo looks like he’s in mild agony listening to this guy speak.
And those are just the three I can see from the corner of my eye. I’m afraid to take a full temperature check on the crowd.
I lift my hand. “Uh…Mr. The Axpert?”
“Elijah.”
“Elijah, right. Can you maybe speak a little to persistence? The hockey parallels?” I prompt, recalling my booking request.
He blinks at me a few times, then wipes sweat off the back of his head. “You’re the persistence girl.”
Strange thing to say yes to, but I nod.
“Right, I saw your note on the thingy.” He swings that axe like he’s mad at it. “Persistence.” Thud. “Perseverance.” Thump. “Patience.” Thwack. “Three tenets that will serve you well in your game.”
“Axman, you ever play hockey?” Callum asks, his accent curling his vowels.
“No, but I’m an athlete, same as you. I know exactly what you’re up against.”
I wince. No offense to this man, but he’s not a pro athlete. Not even close.
He peels off his shirt, giving some of the fittest men in America a glimpse of something they didn’t ask for.
The Axpert—Elijah, whatever—looks a little like Leo, though his hair isn’t as thick or wavy and his eyes are a much muddier color. Plus Elijah is nowhere near as built.
The thought gives me a jump scare in my own skin.
I shouldn’t be comparing them at all, but the dark hair and green eyes combination unlocked something weird in my brain.
Plus it’s just a fact that Leo is towering and strong, the same way the sky is blue, muffins are a breakfast food, and bananas can be opened from both ends.
I steal a look at Leo. He’s eyeing the exit like he wants to fuck it. Or at least kiss it quick and dirty and never call it again.
He wants to get out of here, is the point.
My pulse misfires. Blinking fast, I return my gaze to the show.
Elijah swings his axe twice before speaking again, gaining momentum, his torso and arms now on full display. I get the sinking feeling he’s slicked his abs with oil, because they’re glistening way more than the rest of him.
“Now, in sports”—he shakes his head once, correcting course—“in hockey, what’s important—”
My gaze wanders to Vivi. She’s staring at his abs and nodding fervently, as if he’s saying something profound. Girl loves her some abs.
Don’t we all.
I kick her ankle discreetly. “Don’t make me get the spray bottle.”
She shakes out of her trance.
“—is that you keep your eye”—crack—“on the prize.”
A small fissure has formed in the log at his latest blow. With a few more chops, he splits it down the center.
He looks awfully proud of himself, as though he doesn’t do this five times a day minimum.
Vivi looks pretty proud of him, too, when she leans over to whisper, “New kink unlocked.”
“So…is the puck the prize?” Nic asks, scratching his temple.
“Obviously, dumbass,” Callum replies.
“No, a goal is the prize,” Henri argues, ever literal. Or maybe just struggling with English more than he lets on.
“Goals are the whole point of the game,” Gabriel agrees.
“You know about goals?” Mikael Bergstrom—a dynamo from Sweden and one of Gabriel’s linemates—asks. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“Get off my dick, Mikael—”
“The point of the game is to fucking win,” Ivan calls from the back of the room. “Are we done here?”
“Guys, can we listen?” I gesture at the greased-up presenter. “There are important hockey parallels coming.”
I should know, I practically wrote them out word for word for the guy to read when I signed up.
“That’s all I got, actually.” Elijah shrugs sheepishly. “You guys want to split some wood?”
That’s it? The shortest, most disjointed speech known to man and no tricks, other than splitting one log? I dragged twenty NHL players downtown on a Thursday morning for this. One of the photos on his website was Elijah with a group of Maine’s most respected politicians. Is this all he gave them?
“I’ll give it a go,” Nic says, reaching for the buttons of his shirt.
“Keep your clothes on, Lindberg,” Ivan asserts. “We’re not doing this.”
Nic’s hands drop to his sides.
“It’s included in the cost,” Elijah offers, as if that was the concern.
No one speaks.
I gesture for the axe. This can be salvaged. “Here, I’ll go first. Who’s with me?”
Ivan laughs so hard his body shakes as he pushes off the wall.
“This is ridiculous. My arm made me four million dollars last year and you want me to swing a rusty axe? You people have lost the plot.” He jabs his phone with his thumbs.
“Cruz and Dom just confirmed they’ll meet us at the rink.
Let’s get out of here before our entire morning is wasted. ”
Several sets of eyes land on me.
“No one wants to give it a go?” I ask. “Nic, you seemed excited.”
Nic’s gaze hops to Ivan. “Nah, better not.”
Ivan pauses in the doorway. “C’mon.”
Six or so people follow Ivan. A few others trickle toward the door, chatting amongst themselves.
“Wait—hold on, let’s talk about this!” I call after them. “At least take a muffin from Vivi’s car!”
Vivi steps in my path and plants her hands on her hips. “What’s the move? You want me to call them all back? I’ll whip my car around to block the exit, say the word.”
It’s very kind of her not to drop an I told you so, even though she has every right to.
I sigh and set the axe on a bale of hay. “Well, I can’t sit here and tell them to swing an axe if they really think it’s going to risk their game, can I?”
“Agreed. So we cut our losses.” She nods firmly. “That’s a good lesson in and of itself.”
“Sure, but it’s not the lesson I wanted them to take away from this.”
Not that Elijah followed my notes at all.
Even so, it was my choice to bring them here. I have to own that.
“I wanted to swing the thing,” Nic grumbles. “But it’s not worth dealing with Ivan if we hang back.”
Callum eyes the door. “Agreed, mate. Let’s go.”
“You’re actually agreeing with me on something? Damn. Where’s the snark?”
Callum shrugs. “I require another muffin if I’m to maintain my sparkling wit. Or some decent espresso. C’mon, we don’t want to be the last ones to hit the ice.”
Leo, though, is last to reach the exit.
He pauses at the doorway, grimacing as he turns back toward us, like he hates himself for slowing down in the first place. “This isn’t a joke to us. We take this seriously.”
His words hit like a slap, unexpectedly sharp. Stupidly, I thought I was getting somewhere with him, earning a sliver of his respect, especially after he was cordial this morning.
I was wrong.
My stomach turns itself inside out as my gaze meets his.
He thinks I’m not taking this seriously? The whole team thinks that?
It’s my entire life’s purpose to turn this team into the best it can possibly be. This job is my everything. And the pressure to succeed is so great, I can’t even give the illusion that we’re not making progress as a team, or I’ll hear about it from all sides—management, fans, and beyond.