Chapter 1
Chapter One
HALSEY
“Want one?” Oden asks, holding out a piece of gum to me.
“I’m good,” I answer as I focus on wrapping the blade of my stick with tape.
He leans back against the locker bench and sighs heavily. “Do you ever get nervous before a game?”
Oden O’Connor was our newest acquisition this January.
The front office made some moves to stack our team leading into the second half of the season, and one of the biggest ones was OC.
With Rivers’s recent knee injury, OC was the perfect fill-in.
Although on the younger side, he has impressive puck-handling skills and powerful legs underneath him.
“No,” I answer, not really in the mood to talk but also not wanting to come off as an asshole. “Why, you nervous?”
“Yeah.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I only get nervous on special occasions, though. This is my first home game with the Agitators. There’s that unsaid pressure in the air that I have to prove myself.”
“Proved yourself last game with a goal and an assist,” I say as I snap the tape off and check my blade, making sure to secure the tape.
“Nah, it takes time to earn the trust from the fans.” He leans forward, resting his arms on his legs. “I know trust doesn’t come easy, especially when you’re filling in for a team favorite.”
I glance at OC and notice his tight shoulders and the worry on his brow.
He hasn’t spoken to many of the guys on the team.
I know Posey was trying to get to know him the other night but couldn’t break through his shell.
He’s kept to himself a lot, but I’ve seen this tactic before—he’s easing himself in.
I can tell he has a fun personality just from how he skates around during warm-ups and from his previous interviews, but he’s holding back as he immerses himself into the team. Probably smart.
“Don’t put added pressure on yourself that’s unnecessary,” I say.
He glances over at me. “You’re telling me if you were in my position, you wouldn’t feel the pressure of proving yourself?”
Hmm, great question.
If I were in his skates and traded mid-season to a new team, I’d probably feel the pressure. But I don’t think I’d let it get to my head, not how it seems like he is.
“I would,” I answer honestly.
He nods and pauses for a moment before turning toward me. “Jesus, I half expected you to tell me you wouldn’t feel the need to prove yourself and get my head out of my ass. What kind of pep-talker are you?”
“What?” I ask, surprised by the liveliness in his voice. See, I knew something was in there.
Eli Hornsby walks over and pats OC on the shoulder. “Leaning on the wrong guy if you want someone to tell you to take your head out of your ass. Holmes is on the gentler side. If you want someone to give it to you hard, ask Taters. He’ll punch you right where it hurts.”
“Not since he’s fallen in love,” Pacey, our goalie, says as he pulls up a chair and sits in front of me. “We’ve all softened since falling in love.” He looks at Eli. “Especially you.” He’s not wrong. Hornsby is completely gone for his girl, Penny, and now his little boy, Holden.
“Oh fuck off, you’re the softest of us all,” Eli says to Pacey.
I might agree with that. It didn’t take Pacey long to fall for Winnie. They’re now engaged.
“Nah . . . the softest, that would be Taters.”
Silas Taters, also called Potato by Winnie, a nickname that has now started to catch on in the group. He’s one of our wingmen and fell fast and hard for Ollie. She now lives with him, and we barely see him.
“So all of you have girls?” OC asks.
“Not our friend Holmes.” Eli pats me on the back with a knowing smile crossing his lips. “Although, there’s a girl he wished—”
“Can you shut the fuck up?” I ask, knowing exactly where that was headed.
Jesus Christ. I never should have told these idiots about my crush on Blakely because they haven’t been able to shut up about it.
They think in some miraculous fashion, if they talk about it enough, she’ll become single, and I’ll get my chance.
Manifestation, they tell me. They’re all fucking morons.
Blakely is not breaking up with her boyfriend.
She’s madly in love—something I’ve not only heard from the source itself but also from Penny and Winnie.
And because of that, I’ve moved on. A crush is just that, a crush. I can walk away from it . . .
At least that’s what I’m trying to convince myself.
“You have a crush?” OC asks. “On whom?”
Great, now the new guy’s involved.
Feeling the tension grow in my shoulders, I say, “Doesn’t matter. She’s—”
“Halsey!”
My name is projected from the hallway, drawing all of our attention toward the locker room entrance.
“Halsey!” The scream is shrill, practically at a pitch only dogs can hear. “Halllllllllsey!”
“What the fuck is that?” Hornsby asks.
“Is that . . . Posey?” Pacey asks just as Posey comes barreling into the locker room, looking slightly disheveled and breathing heavily.
“Halsey,” he repeats, this time out of breath.
“What the hell is going on?” Hornsby asks before I can.
Posey hangs on to the open doorway while his lungs work overtime. “It’s happened.”
“What’s happened?” Pacey asks.
Posey presses his hands to his knees while bending over. The fucker skates for a living, and he’s out of breath? That doesn’t bode well for our defense.
“Fuck, the adrenaline,” he mutters, then stands tall again. Hands on his hips, he says, “The news we’ve been waiting for.” He takes a few steps into the round locker, and with a bizarre expression of glee, he announces, “The time has come.”
We all look around at each other, trying to see if anyone understands him.
That would be a no.
“The time has come for what?” Hornsby asks, his patience wearing thin just like the rest of us.
“Stop being a nitwit and fucking tell us,” Silas says, walking up to the group. When did he get here?
Posey looks me dead in the eyes with a huge smile and says, “She’s a free woman, man.”
Silence falls over the locker room once again as we all attempt to decipher what the fuck he’s talking about. Did he eat some bad bologna?
Finally, Pacey—while pinching the bridge of his nose—says, “For the love of God, make sense.”
“I am,” Posey says in defense. “Blakely . . . she’s a free woman.”
Wait . . . what? Blakely?
Free?
As in . . .
“Holy shit,” Hornsby says while gripping my leg. “Dude. . .”
“Who’s Blakely?” OC asks, looking confused.
“You have to ask her out,” Posey says, approaching us now. “Want me to formulate a plan?”
“Yes, a plan. That’s what we need,” Hornsby says.
“We could do a flash mob,” Posey suggests.
“Over my dead body,” Silas replies. “Don’t be a douche about it. Just ask her out.”
“Don’t be a douche?” Pacey asks with a shake of his head. “Coming from the guy who had to fake-date someone to fall in love.”
“You fake-dated someone?” OC asks. “What the hell is going on here?”
“It’s simple,” Posey says, leaning against Pacey’s chair.
“Pacey, here, was the start of the love train. He fell in love with a hopeless wanderer up in Banff. Her name is Winnie, and she got lost in the woods, stayed the night in Silas’s cabin with the rest of us like the true champ that she is, and Pacey peed on her, said she was his, and now they’re engaged. ”
“I didn’t pee on her,” Pacey interjects.
“That brings us to Eli Hornsby. Our former ladies’ man—”
“Coming from the biggest ladies’ man on the team,” Hornsby says, gesturing to Posey—which, that’s a fact. He is. He just doesn’t get called out for it.
Posey continues. “On his birthday, he was looking for someone to bang, and he found her, Pacey’s sister.”
“Can you not say it that way?” Hornsby asks.
“And he got her pregnant,” Posey says with gusto.
The fucking storyteller of the group. “It was a long road for them. Jesus, the amount of time it took for Eli to finally realize he could give in to loving her. Some might say the author of his story could have cut out the last fifteen percent, and everyone would have still been pleased with the outcome.”
“Not everyone can magically fall in love like Pacey,” Hornsby complains. “Love isn’t always perfect all at once. You have to earn it.”
Ignoring him, Posey moves on. “But with Penny in our life, we met Blakely, who works for the team in VIP sales and marketing. We got to know Blakely even better when she filled in for Penny during her maternity leave. I thought our friend Halsey was next when it came to hopping on the love train, but nope, Silas pops in with a fake-dating relationship with . . .” Posey leans in and whispers, “A girl ten years his junior.”
“You’re an idiot,” Silas says.
“And he almost didn’t win her over, but thanks to my clever text messaging, he now has a live-in girlfriend, apparently the best sex he’s ever had.”
“Dude . . . be respectful,” Silas growls.
Posey holds his hands up. “Your words, not mine.” He smirks like the dick he is and continues.
“But this entire time, we’ve watched Halsey slowly grow more and more infatuated with Blakely, trying to pretend he doesn’t care about her by masking his love with late nights with random women, but we all know he wishes those women were Blakely.
And that he could hold her hand and go home to her warm, tender arms and bury his head right into her ample—”
“Enough!” I yell.
Posey continues to smirk. “And today, fellas . . . well, today is the day. Halsey Malachi Holmes is finally going to ask her out.”
All the boys turn toward me. Their waiting faces ready as if I’m about to raise my pointer finger and proclaim that today is the day.
Not going to fucking happen.
I shake my head. “No, I’m not. And my middle name isn’t Malachi.”
Posey’s gleeful expression falls flat. “What do you mean you’re not? Dude, she’s a free woman, ask her out.”
“Ooo . . . who are we asking out?” that very familiar female voice, who haunts me late at night, says as she enters the room.
Motherfucker, did she hear us?