2. Nick
Nick
“ D amn, Ma, it smells incredible in here.” I stomped the dirt off my boots inside the mudroom that led into the large kitchen where my mother Marian stood at the stove with a wooden spoon in her hand.
She turned with a smile and waved the spoon in my direction.
“Watch your language, Nicky.” Her black hair had more silver in it but she still wore it in a long braid straight down her back, tied off with a pale blue ribbon.
It was the one hint of softness she allowed her otherwise utilitarian outfit of heavy blue denim and a pink and gray flannel.
I grinned, knowing she would say that. We did this same dance almost every morning and it never got old.
“Where’s Max?” My older brother was the one who actually ran the farm, I just helped out before hockey practice and between games.
This place was our legacy but it was up to Max to maintain it, at least until my hockey career ended.
“Max is right here,” he grumbled from the doorway that separated the kitchen and the living room. “Need something?”
“Nope.” I shoved scrambled eggs onto my plate and tore into three strips of bacon. Sunlight spilled across the kitchen table, lighting up the chipped checkered surface like it was something sacred.
“Books are caught up for the month,” I said between bites. “Even the vet bills.”
Mom smiled, soft and proud like she always did. “You’re a good son, Nicky.” She laid one hand on top of mine while the other set a plate filled with biscuits in the center of the table. “Thank you.”
Max narrowed his eyes like he didn’t quite buy it, but he didn’t call me out. That was the thing about brothers—you don’t always need to say everything out loud to hear it. He filled his plate with twice as much food as I had before grunting from across the table. “You don’t have to do so much.”
I shrugged, tearing into a golden buttery biscuit.
“I don’t mind, really. And it’s not like it’s physically taxing to bang on the keyboard.
” It was more than that but I had a point to make.
“And I get to do it while eating Mom’s delicious food.
” I flashed the same smile at my brother as I always did when he was glaring at me.
Max wasn’t laughing as he rattled off my other obligations. “Practice today, game tomorrow, media stuff—you gotta focus on hockey. Not the grains.”
My brows dipped. “Are you looking to become my agent, big brother?” I arched a brow his way and shrugged off his concern. “I like it. Besides, I can do both. Busy suits me. This place, the team—I can handle both.” For as long as I had to. “And make it to practice on time with clean socks.”
Max rolled his eyes. “Miracle,” he grumbled before grabbing another biscuit, his third.
“You said legend wrong,” I corrected him and winked at Mom before finishing the last strip of bacon on my plate.
“Gotta go.” I kissed Mom on the cheek, grabbed my coffee, and headed out before either of them could remind me that I was destined for better than this place.
Again. We don’t do emotional speeches in the Blaze family.
We do thick-cut bacon and stubborn loyalty, and showing up when it counts.
I grew up here, on this land just outside Seville.
Threw my first hay bale before puberty. If hockey hadn’t worked out, I’d be a damn fine farmer.
But I got lucky. A scout saw me at university and gave me a shot with the Thunderhawks. Semi-pro wasn’t the NHL, but it was the dream without leaving my family behind.
The Seville Arena I grew up visiting wasn’t much to look at from the outside—concrete box, old signage, the usual—but a few years ago Jade had the whole damn place redone and it now looked like it belonged to a pro team.
Outside was big and imposing, sleek gray with giant silver letters announcing it The Home of the Thunderhawks.
It was like a beacon in the storm for hockey lovers, which was pretty much all of Seville.
The second I stepped inside and hit the ice, everything clicked into place.
Cold air against my skin, sharp skates sending me speeding across the ice, and the low hum of the Zamboni finishing its sweep was all I needed.
The sounds and scents were familiar and welcoming.
The ice was where I belonged. When practice started each day, a calm settled over me and the only thing I focused on was the game.
We ran drills first, which was a sign that Coach Mac was in a good mood, at least as much as he was ever in a good mood.
The rest of the team, Will, Brock, Cal, Ryan and the rest of the Thunderhawks were trading jabs and digs like it was part of the warm-up.
To some extent, it kind of was part of the ritual.
We skated, gliding across the ice easily as we passed the puck back and forth, doing our best to make Coach Mac smile.
We were prepping for tomorrow night’s game against the Frozen Thunder. We had a winning record against them but they had a few things we didn’t. They were a newer team with a younger roster. Fast, but green. We’d been on a hot streak lately, and no one wanted to be the guy who blew it.
“Hey Blaze,” Will called as we skated off after the last drill. “You coming out tonight? Hit up Hat Trick, or maybe that new bar by campus?”
I grinned and shook my head. “Nah, you need to rest. You’re looking a little tired today.” I couldn’t help but laugh at the offended expression on his face.
He rolled his eyes and flipped me off. “Come on, one drink. Loosen up.” Will was a good wingman but I didn’t agree because I knew what Coach would say any minute now.
Coach Mac’s whistle sliced through the noise and echoed on the ice. “Save the plans for after the win,” he barked. “Tonight, you rest. Watch tape. Hydrate. Got it?”
A chorus of “Yeah, Coach” echoed back.
Will muttered, “Buzzkill,” under his breath, but we all knew better than to push it. Coach wasn’t just our boss. He was responsible for taking the Thunderhawks from a sometimes winning franchise to one of the best in the league. He, more than anybody else, had earned the right to call the shots.
We peeled off the ice one by one, and hit the locker room where hot showers waited to soothe cool and aching muscles.
Normally a few of us would go out and grab dinner together before we split up to do what we needed to prepare for a game, but with some of the guys like Brock, Simon and Cal all coupled up, that happened a lot less these days.
I didn’t have a problem with it, I was happy for my friends.
They wanted love and marriage and soon enough, probably babies too, and they got it.
That wasn’t in the books for me. I’d never, not once in twenty-nine years been in love.
I never thought I was, never suspected it, and never mourned a break up like someone else owned my heart.
So yeah, I was happy for them even if it did put a damper on my weeknight plans.
I left the arena with a smile on my face, legs feeling heavy from a grueling practice, and ready for a hot meal.
It was early enough that I could head back to the farm where I was sure Mom had leftovers waiting for me, but that would mean getting up earlier tomorrow and I’d rather have the extra hour of sleep.
Sorry, not sorry, Mom .
I loved everything about my hometown. Seville wasn’t flashy or loud, it wasn’t full of distractions like the cities some of the guys came from, but it had everything I needed.
My folks, my land, and my team. I got to play the game I loved without giving up the life I built here.
If everything went well with hockey, that would change, but for now it was fucking perfect.
I wasn’t looking for more in my life, outside of hockey anyway.
Not really. As for my personal life? Hell, I was a simple guy with simple needs.
I didn’t do complicated or messy, and I stayed as far away from drama as I could safely manage.
As long as I had hockey, my family, cold beer, and the occasional night with someone who didn’t want to start making plans for next year.
Or next month.
I climbed into my truck, smiling as the engine rumbled to life beneath me. There’d be time to party later after we beat the Frozen Thunder. For now, I had a playbook to review and a post-practice pot of stew Mom left warming on the stove calling my name.
Yeah, I liked my life just fine. I had space, the game I loved and living close by made life easier for my family.
What else did I need?