Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
cole
“Shift your balance to the left, Davies!” Coach Henderson shouts, his voice carrying across the rink. “Push yourself! Atta boy.”
“You heard the man!” Logan whoops, the sound a little maniacal. “Shift left!”
Cameron grumbles an insult at Logan as he skates past me.
He doesn’t do well with constructive criticism, focusing on the criticism aspect instead of learning from the constructive part.
For someone who’s six-four, over two hundred pounds, and could give Oscar the Grouch a run for his money, he’s very sensitive.
“Brush it off, man,” I advise in a stern voice. The ozone smell of the arena—the one I’ve associated with home for so long—surrounds me as I sweep past him. The air here is always chilly, but our constant movement keeps us warm. “Unless you want to repeat this goddamn drill.”
“Then tell Logan to stop being so him,” he responds with a scowl.
Since the guy’s natural disposition can be described as scowly, the way his dark brows are pulled together over his dark green eyes isn’t anything out of the ordinary.
Coach makes us run the drill again anyway.
And again. And again, until the sweat dripping down my face almost obscures my vision.
Holy hell. The edge work drills can best be described as a methodical way to slowly kill someone’s will to live.
Though I give it my all, my legs and lungs burn.
And that’s saying something, considering I push myself harder than just about any of the guys on the team.
Apparently, last night’s win wasn’t enough to prove to Coach Henderson that we do indeed know how to play nice with one another.
He claps, praising Logan as he takes a sharp turn. “Nice and tight, Logan. Keep it up.”
“Oh, I can keep it up.” His sky-blue eyes light up with mischief. “Especially when it’s nice and tight.”
Cam’s bigger size gives him an advantage as our goalie, but on top of that, it makes people underestimate just how fast he is.
His reflexes and speed are just as honed as the nimbler players.
It’s why Logan doesn’t move out of the way in time before Cameron barrels into him, side-checking him into the board.
Once he’s steadied himself, Logan simply grins at Cameron, unflappable. Though his borderline sociopathic tendency to incense people is usually directed at the other team, none of us are safe from his constant chatter. It used to drive me insane, but I’ve learned to tune him out.
I bring myself to an abrupt stop, ready to intervene, but Coach Henderson blows his whistle to end the practice before it can go any further.
“That’s it for today, boys. Be at the arena by five tonight.” He dismisses the team with a flick of his arm. “Berrett. I need a quick word.”
“Someone’s in trouble,” Logan sings as I skate past him. I swear he’s worse than a mouthy grandma playing bridge.
While the rest of the team shuffles off the rink to guzzle water and towel off, I skate to where Coach is camped out on a bench a good distance away.
Every inch of the worn seat is covered in printouts of plays and strategies.
I’ve always admired Coach Henderson. Not only is he one of the most successful hockey coaches in history, but he somehow balances his professional life and personal life with an ease I’ve never seen from anyone.
He’s got stress lines on his forehead and laugh lines around his eyes and lips to prove it.
“You good?” he asks, his brows dipping.
I take a swig of my Gatorade and swipe at the excess that dribbles down my chin. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“You’ve been ballsy with your defense,” he notes with a raised brow. “Something going on?”
I grab a nearby towel and run it over my face. “Honestly?”
He folds his arms over his chest, his gaze steady. “I don’t pay you to lie to me.”
“You don’t pay me for my opinion either,” I point out with a teasing grin.
His lips twitch, but that’s the only reaction he gives me. “Fair enough, but I’m curious. Humor me.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I confirm that none of my teammates are close enough to overhear our conversation. “Jefferson’s favoring zones.”
Coach nods but doesn’t speak, signaling I should continue.
“He needs to know when to swap spots,” I say, dragging my towel over my sweat-soaked hair. “Momentary two-on-ones are fine, but he needs to communicate better with the other defenseman on when to move, especially toward the support zone.”
“Hmm.” He leans back, arms crossed. “Any idea who to pair him with?”
“Erickson,” I reply without hesitation.
Freddy Erickson is a beast of a defenseman. He’s intense, but he’ll correct Jefferson in a way that’ll make the rookie scared to fuck up.
When I’ve explained my logic, Coach nods thoughtfully. “Smart thinking. Your mind for strategy is one of the reasons you’ve been chosen as our team’s new captain.”
I squint, as if that’ll help me make sense of his out-of-pocket comment. “What?”
“Not exactly the response I was hoping for,” he says with a gravelly chuckle.
Our longtime captain retired from the sport at the end of last season, leaving a vacancy.
The team turned in their nominations anonymously, but Coach has been clear that there’s no rush to fill the big shoes he left behind, leading us to believe that a decision wouldn’t be confirmed by management until much later in the season.
My throat constricts with emotion, making my words gruff. “Wow, um, no. Thank you. I’m shocked, is all. I thought—well, I thought you were holding off on the decision.”
With a shrug, he runs a hand through his thick gray hair. “We just wanted to make sure the player with the most nominations from the team lined up with our opinion of who would emerge as the team’s unofficial leader.”
Nerves zip up my spine. “You think I’m that leader?”
“I know you’re that leader,” he says without hesitation
“Thank you,” I mutter, my cheeks heating in a way that has nothing to do with my work on the ice. “I won’t let the team down.”
Coach Henderson explains when and how they’ll make the announcement, but it all goes in one ear and out the other.
Captains are chosen for a variety of reasons, mainly for their leadership abilities, communication skills, and knowledge of the game and team.
It means the rest of the team respects and trusts me to lead them in the right direction. It’s a huge responsibility and honor.
I’m still on cloud nine as I head out to my car after I’m dismissed.
“About damn time,” Jake calls from where he’s leaning against my slate-gray Porsche Cayenne. We live in the same neighborhood and carpool to practice, saving the environment one shared drive at a time. “What the hell took so long, Berrett?”
“That’s Captain to you,” I share, unable to tamp down on a wide smile.
Jake’s eyes widen, and he barrels into me. I grunt as he half tackles, half hugs me, his full weight pushing me back a few steps.
“Fuck, man,” he shouts, pounding me on the back. “You’re serious?”
I sketch a dramatic bow and slip my keys from my pocket. “Yup. They’re announcing it tomorrow after the game.”
As I slide into the driver’s seat, I relish the sensation of the cool leather on my still heated back. Jake hops in a little less gracefully and messes with the heat as I navigate out of the parking lot, then settles in for the thirty-minute drive back from the practice arena.
“Have you talked to your girl recently?” Jake asks.
My chest pinches, but I ignore the sensation. “My girl?”
He snorts. “Seriously? Don’t play dumb with me, Berrett.”
I keep my focus trained on the road. Considering I haven’t shown interest in anyone but Maya in months—years, really—I don’t have to ask for clarification.
Honestly, I can’t get her out of my head.
I feel like a goddamn teenager when I get myself off imagining her hips pressed against mine as I kiss her breathless.
But… “This isn’t a good time for me to get involved with someone. ”
“Why?” he demands. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to act all high and mighty now that you’re captain.”
I press my lips together, still avoiding his gaze. “It has nothing to do with that.”
Although it does make things more complicated.
Now I’ll be the one who’s studying practice and game film with a magnifying glass.
I’ll be the first one at practice and the last to leave, and I’ll be the guy making sure our strategy is executed on the ice.
Being captain means the margin for distraction shrinks down to zero.
I don’t need to look at Jake to know he’s studying me. He majored in psychology in college, and despite never having experience in the field under his belt, he likes to think he can accurately analyze us all. It’s funny when I’m drunk but annoying as hell when I’m trapped in a car with him.
Eventually, he sighs. “Then what is it?”
“I missed my flight.” I shift in my seat. The answer is lame as fuck, but there’s no point in lying.
For several seconds, he stares at me. Then, abruptly, he throws his head back and laughs far too loud for such a confined space. “Cole, dude. You’ve got to be shitting me. You slept through your alarms and missed the flight, and you’re blaming Maya for it?”
I shake my head, frustration trickling into my veins.
“No, no, I don’t blame her at all. But I’ve been playing professional hockey for almost ten years, and the one time I miss a flight just happens to coincide with the one time I show interest in someone.
There’s a correlation there. I need to stay focused. ”
“Man, you can’t—” Jake sighs and runs a hand through his unmanageable hair. “Listen, Cole. Enough is enough. It’s time to stop this. You can’t spend the rest of your life basing every decision you make on whether it’ll affect your training or sleep. That’s not healthy.”
“I don’t—”
“Yes, you do.” He hits me with a stern lecture-ready scowl.
“The only people you hang out with outside of the arena are those of us you already see there. Your whole life is the game. Balance isn’t the enemy, bro.
Since Nate died, you’ve thrown yourself into hockey even more.
I get it, I do, but at some point, you have to step off the ice long enough to actually live. ”
The words hit harder than I expect. I suck in an unsteady breath, caught somewhere between shock and uncertainty. Silence settles between us, broken only by an Ed Sheeran song humming through the speakers.
“I’m not trying to be a dick by bringing up Nate,” Jake adds, his tone gentler, “but you need something in your life that isn’t hockey. When was the last time you did anything for yourself? Not for your career?”
I grip the steering wheel harder, making the leather creek beneath my hands, and open my mouth to argue.
But nothing comes out. I snap it shut again, pissed at my lack of defense.
Since Nate died, I’ve dedicated myself even more wholly to the game.
The rink is where the two of us grew up, and when I’m out on the ice, surrounded by the sound of a puck thumping into the goalie’s glove, blades scraping across the surface, and the roar of the crowd, I can drown out the missing part of me and pretend that he’s not gone, even if for a short while.
“He wasn’t my brother by blood,” Jake continues, “but he was my family, too.”
I pull the car to a smooth stop at a red light and glance over, heart thumping painfully against my sternum.
He’s frowning, his usually easy-going demeanor darkened.
Nathan and Jake played college hockey together and got drafted to the same team as rookies.
Back then, people joked that Jake was our triplet.
That’s probably the only reason I haven’t thrown a punch.
It’s for the best. He’d be more likely to come out on top in a fight between the two of us; the guy’s got a mean left hook.
“I know, man,” I finally say, shoulders deflating.
He surveys me, his expression thoughtful. “He’d want what’s best for you, just like I do. I’m not saying that’s Maya, but I don’t think it’d be the end of the world for you to fucking text her. Ask her on a date or slide into her DMs. Whatever the kids are doing these days.”
Running my hand through my hair, I shoot him a small smile. “Can’t believe I’m considering taking dating advice from someone who’s sworn off relationships.”
Jake narrows his eyes at me, his mood darkening. “If you’d had four stepmoms before you hit thirty, you’d understand why.”
“Fair enough,” I admit.
“And despite my lack of dating knowledge, I’m almost positive asking the woman out is a solid step one.”
I chuckle at the annoyance in his tone. “I’m sure I can figure it out.”
“I’d sure as shit hope so.” He breaks into a satisfied grin. “You are captain now, after all.”