5. Luke
CHAPTER 5
LUKE
I chewed on this all night long and came to the conclusion in the wee hours of the morning.
Gabe needs to pick a new captain.
A week of drills and scrimmages has done nothing to make the guys accept me as captain. A few have—such as Ethan McKennen, who plays defense like me. But he’s probably distracted by his upcoming wedding, which I somehow got invited to.
Two of the guys I crossed paths with during my time with the Barracudas. Wade Pierce, aka the Cowboy because he’s from Texas and calls himself a ‘puck wrangler.’ I couldn’t stop the eye roll on that one, but he’s a lot of talk and mostly a marshmallow. And Mathéo Barbier, who’s our center. Sometimes, they call him the Barbie Man because of his last name and his blond hair. He says he hates the nickname, but I’m convinced he secretly likes it. I share a mutual respect with these guys that comes with competition.
Then there are the ones who seem more aloof. Like Elias Brunner, but that could be because he’s Swiss, and they’re known for their neutrality—that’s the running joke, anyway. And Payton… Payton Maxwell, the third, to be correct, which he is—very proper and polite.
But I suspect this guy has a wild side hidden somewhere. He must…to be a hockey player. Although he’s only a year older than me, his British formality makes him appear closer to Gabe’s age. I wonder if his reservedness has more to do with shyness. He rarely says anything unless we’re on the ice.
When I approach the glass wall separating the coaches’ office from the main locker room, Gabe and Derek are standing in front of a whiteboard with a rink diagram covered in red and blue marks.
I clear my throat as I walk in. Both cast looks over their shoulders before turning around as they cap their markers.
Gabe’s welcoming grin encourages me to move forward with my plan. “How’s it going, Luke?”
I close the door for privacy since several of the guys are changing to get ready for practice. Derek shoots a semi-concerned glance at Gabe, whose smile appears more like an attempt to stay positive than a reaction to seeing me. I’m guessing they expected this visit from me, so I’ll get right to the point.
“I think you should pick a different captain.”
Gabe leans on the edge of his desk thoughtfully. “What makes you say that?”
I let out a soft snort. Surely they’ve noticed how the guys behave around me. Maybe if they’d integrated me into the team first, gave me time to prove myself, and then made me captain, this would have worked. But as the saying goes, the cat’s out of the bag, and there’s no way to get it back in without getting scratched.
Derek keeps his stance by the whiteboard and crosses his arms but says nothing. His expression remains unreadable, but I’ve noticed that’s his MO most of the time.
“I think it’s pretty obvious. Don’t you? ”
Gabe clasps his hands in front of him. “It’s only the first week, Luke. You need to give it more time.”
I run a hand over my mouth, realizing I didn’t shave. As the Kelly Cup playoffs get closer, I’ll quit shaving altogether, but in the interim, I prefer a smooth face. That just shows how distracted I was this morning with this decision.
“They trust Ethan. Make him captain.”
Gabe shakes his head, but before he can say anything, Derek jumps in.
“Just keep playing the game. They’ll catch on.”
I grunt but try to contain my pessimism…somewhat. “You really think that’ll do it?”
Judging by the way Derek retracts his head like a turtle, he’s making an effort not to react.
I sigh. “Look, I’m not trying to weasel out of anything. I just think this isn’t going to work.”
More like, I’m not sure I can make this work. Right now, this gig feels like a dumpster fire on the verge of turning into a full-blown inferno.
“Our first game is in a few weeks. That’s not much time.”
Gabe nods. “I know, but I have confidence in you, Luke. As I recall, you filled in for your captain on the Barracudas for a few games when he was injured.”
He’s talking about himself. And yes, I filled in because we didn’t have an alternate captain. “Yes, but that was different. The guys knew me. We had history.”
Derek’s expression turns incredulous. “Which is why I said to keep at it. Give the guys more time.”
I shove my hands into the pockets of my trainers. “For how long?”
Gabe’s voice is soft but firm. “For as long as it takes. You can do this, Luke. Derek and I discussed this for weeks before I approached you. In our minds, you’re the best one suited for the role.”
Weeks? Interesting…and both of them. I split my gaze between them, searching for any sign that they’re not still on the same page, but all I see is a solid wall of agreement.
Maybe they’re right that I need to give it more time. But the closer that first game comes, the more unsure I’m feeling.
Sure, I’ll admit it felt kind of good to get back on the ice. Okay, it felt great. Something lying dormant came alive again. Kind of like those resurrection ferns covering a low branch on the oak tree in my backyard. My mother used to love seeing them spring back to life when the rainy season started.
“All right. Fine. Then give me some pointers here. Something that will help.” I keep my eyes averted because I don’t want them to see what I’m really grappling with. This isn’t just about winning a bunch of guys over so they’ll accept my leadership. I haven’t played in almost two years. What if I’ve lost my edge and suck at the game? In a way, I have more to prove than the rookies. With them, there’s an expected learning curve, but for me? I’m at the risk of ranking as a subpar player—a plug. That’s not a good look.
And they won’t follow a player they don’t respect.
Derek looks at Gabe. His face splits with a grin, and his eyes have that confident sparkle that used to drive me nuts when I wound up playing opposite him in practices. “Just be yourself, man. You got this.”
A knock comes from behind me. When I turn around, Sophie gives me a wary look, then shifts her attention to Gabe and Derek. She smiles at them, so I’m guessing she feels put out by my reluctance to go willingly into her lair of journalistic exploitation. Or she’s still feeling salty about me not telling her I’m a hockey player.
But that’s her reality. Not mine. So why does it still bother me?
“I hope I’m not interrupting.” Even though she makes a statement, she lifts her brows in question .
Gabe rises to his feet. “We were just finishing up. What can we help you with?”
She steps inside, past the doorframe. “I wanted to thank you for the office you set up for me. It’s perfect for doing the interviews.”
He sits on the edge of his desk. “No problem. Let us know if you need anything else.”
She appears thoughtful for a moment. “I’d like to start scheduling individual interviews with the guys, but I don’t want to interfere with their schedules. What time would work best?”
Gabe and Derek glance at each other in silent communication and nod in agreement. Gabe swings his attention back to Sophie. “How about after practice when they’re done cleaning up?”
“That’ll work, but I would like to get some photos of them in uniform, sans sweat and stink, of course.” She finishes her statement with a soft giggle that spikes my pulse.
I’m also captivated by how her eyes become more almond-shaped when she laughs, which she does a lot.
“Let’s schedule a day before practice starts,” Derek interjects.
Gabe nods in agreement.
Sophie does as well. “I can take those shots quickly.”
I, however, am getting agitated at the idea. I’m not convinced she’ll find a way to keep my face less visible. Like I told her, I have my reasons for that, and they have nothing to do with my reticence to be in the limelight.
Her broad smile firmly in place, Sophie does a little bounce and puts her hands together in gratitude. She’s like a bubbly imp. “Thank you. I’ll get with the guys to schedule the interviews.”
Gabe gestures at me. “Start with Luke since he’s our captain. I’d like to think his take on the team and where we’re headed will help you with the rest.”
I can read between the lines. I know what Gabe’s doing—he’s reinforcing my position as captain as much for my benefit as the team’s. And I’m doing my best not to spiral down and walk out.
Sophie’s smile slips when she meets my gaze. “Sure. Sounds good.”
Her expression says she’s thinking the same thing I am. The idea of my interview guiding her with the rest of the guys will be as helpful as a hurricane watering a flower garden.
For the first time, I’m in total agreement.
Stepping into Sophie’s temporary office is disconcerting, to say the least. She’s obviously given this project a lot of thought in creating a space that’s inviting and comfortable, not only for her but for her interviewees.
Which I am now one of. I shift on the quilted gray bench seat situated opposite a small window that lets in enough light to keep the place from feeling like a cave. A large planter filled with something leafy and green sits to my right. I reach out and touch a leaf, fully expecting it to be artificial, but the surface is soft and yielding.
On the wall behind me hangs a banner with the Sun Kings’ blazing sun and crown logo. Not sure where she found that, but I’m kind of impressed to be honest. This feels way more professional than I expected.
To the left of the window sits a desk butted up against the wall. Sophie drags the chair out and spins it around to face me. Her hair is loose today and cascades over her shoulders like a waterfall of silk. Sunlight from the window reflects across her bangs as she sits down. My fingers twitch of their own accord with a desire to touch her hair, to find out if it feels as satiny as it looks .
She crosses her legs, bringing my attention to the hot pink toenail polish peeking out from her sandals. The first day Gabe introduced her to the team, she had on a top almost the same shade. And considering the rose pink accent pillow propped against the opposite side of the bench seat, I’m going to make a guess that pink is her favorite color.
A pang shoots through my chest as I stare at that pillow and realize the tufts of fabric are supposed to resemble roses. A wash of memories unfurl in my mind of the last rose bush I surprised my mother with for her birthday a week before the accident—her smile of pure delight at the color and scent of the blooms, how she stood by directing me where to dig the hole in her rose bed, and her warm embrace afterward to thank me for her beautiful gift.
After all this time, you’d think the pain of her loss would diminish more. In some ways, it has. I don’t feel like I have a bone-sucking cave in my chest anymore. More like a dull ache that I’ve grown accustomed to and almost don’t notice at times.
Almost…
“You okay, Luke?”
Sophie’s voice snaps me back to the present.
I mentally shake myself and clear the knot of emotion from my throat. “Yeah, I’m good.”
The slight tilt of her head suggests she’s not convinced.
I rub my hands down the top of my thighs. The soft fabric of my trainers against my palms feels soothing. When she told us she wanted shots of us in our regular clothes as well as our gear to go with the profile pieces, I found myself intrigued. “So, how does this work?”
She opens the notebook she always carries with her. “I have a list of questions I’ve created so that the profiles will have a continuity and flow to them.”
I nod, but my anticipation of what those questions will cover spikes my pulse like I’m back on the ice doing drills.
Then she stands up and sets the journal on her chair, open to the page she was studying, and grabs her phone off the desk. “I’ll ask each question and use this to record your answers.”
I point to her notebook. “You don’t just jot down notes?”
She gives me a hesitant smile. “No, I need my hands for my camera. I prefer candid shots and find the best ones happen when my subjects are talking about themselves or about something they love.”
The passion in her voice captivates me. And somehow being her ‘subject’ shoots an oddly warm sensation through my chest. Suddenly, this feels intimate and unexpected. I’m not a fan of surprises normally. Especially when I’m dealing with someone I don’t know very well.
But Sophie has this way about her. She’s like a free spirit, always embracing the world with a smile.
“Ready to start?”
I blink, realizing I was staring at her. And judging how she passes her camera back and forth in her hands, I may have made her uncomfortable. “Yeah, sorry. Just lost in thought.”
Her mouth tilts up in this cute manner that pushes her cheeks up. “Feel free to share.” Her eyes widen as she backpedals. “I mean, if it’s something you think fans would want to know about you.”
She jerks her camera in front of her face, leaving me to wonder if she did that more to cover her embarrassment than to snap photos of me.
I squelch the temptation to smirk and, instead, tuck my chin, determined not to give her any direct shots. Kinsley doesn’t need any more drama in her life, and the press has a way of creating it. Not that what happens here in Florida would affect her in New York, but I don’t want to take the risk. The more I wind up in the limelight, the more likely there will be ripple effects.
Sophie snaps a few pictures, then lowers her camera. “Let’s start with the most basic question. Why hockey?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose as I formulate my answer. “I started playing street hockey as a kid, just in the neighborhood with friends. Guess it just grew from there. I played in high school, then college.”
She leans over to check her notebook. “What about your family? Did they support you early on? Go to all of your games?”
My chest tightens, and a flash of heat rides up the back of my neck. I rein in my reaction and take a breath. “My father hasn’t been in the picture since I was eight, and yes, my mother would attend every game.”
Every single one except the last…
She lifts her camera again. “Would you say she’s your biggest fan, then?”
My gut twists. I turn my head away to keep my face shielded. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Sure.” Her whisper snaps my attention back. The way she’s blinking makes me realize how angry I sounded.
Inwardly groaning, I close my eyes and drop my head. “Sorry. I didn’t intend to sound angry.” I work more saliva into the desert of my mouth. “It’s still hard to talk about her.”
Sophie’s eyes widen. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I forgot about the accident. I didn’t get much time to research the team, so I’ve been trying to read up on all twenty of you. And the trainers and the staff. That’s a lot of information to absorb in just a few days when you think about it, and easy to confuse which player did what or experienced…” She catches her breath. “Experienced tragedy…sorry.”
The way her words tumble out in a rush, and the cute blush of her cheeks makes me want to reassure her I’m not angry, even though I am—just not at her. I’m mad at the world…and hockey. I guess blaming the world or the game is a break from blaming myself.
I rub my hand over my mouth, which sounds like sandpaper. I’m about to tell her it’s okay, but then my phone chimes— the special ring tone I assigned to Kinsley so I know when it’s her.
“Sorry. I need to take this.” I reach for my phone in my pocket as I stand.
“Oh, sure. I’ll wait.” She blinks at me, still appearing somewhat unsettled.
Once I’m out of earshot, I answer my sister’s call. “Hey, Kins, what’s up?”
There’s no answer at first, just a sniffle, which sends me into full fight mode.
“Kinsley, what’s wrong?” Free hand on my hip, I start pacing back and forth.
A shaky inhale seeps over our connection. “Nothing really.”
I stride to a somewhat secluded nook down the hallway. “Doesn’t sound like nothing. What’s wrong? Do you need me to come get you? I can leave?—”
“No, just stop, Luke. I’m fine. I’m not hurt or bleeding or kidnapped, okay?” The tinge of sarcasm in her voice reassures me she’s telling the truth.
I soften my tone, trying to emulate the way Mom used to handle Kinsley. “Then why are you upset?”
“I’m supposed to write a paper about someone who’s had the biggest influence in my life, which you and I both know is Mom. It’s just…writing about her brought up all these memories.” A soft sob stops her words.
“I know.” And I do. I just had a similar moment over a pink pillow. “It’s okay, Kins. Write about it. About her. No better way to honor her memory.”
“Just wish it didn’t still hurt so much.”
That knot of emotion returns to my throat, making my voice sound low and rough. “I know. Same here.”
“Yeah?” She sounds genuinely surprised.
“Of course.”
“You mean the Jammer has emotions?” My sarcastic kid sister is back in blazing glory .
She’ll never let me live that one down. The only time I let my temper get the best of me during a game earned me the nickname ‘Jammer.’ I roughed up a competing player after he elbowed a teammate in the jaw hard enough to knock him out. I got several taps on the ice and a new nickname that night.
I chuckle. “Shut up.”
“Nope.” She makes a loud popping sound of the ‘p,’ and she sounds less upset.
“You okay?”
Her reply is soft yet solid. “Yeah. I’m good now. Thanks, big bro.”
“Anytime, little sis.”
After ending the call, I head toward Sophie’s office.
She’s leaning against the doorway as if she’s been waiting for me and blasts me with that smile again. “Ready to finish?”
After dealing with her questions about my mother and then Kinsley, I’m too raw. I stare down at my phone, acutely aware of her lingering weight in my chest. “Can we finish this another time?”
Sophie pushes away from the door and takes a few tentative steps toward me. “Would it help if I showed you my list of questions? I promise there aren’t any more about parents. And I don’t have to ask you anything about your family at all if you’d rather?—”
I lift my hand to stop her adorable yet panicked rant. Again, I want to reassure her she’s fine, that it’s me who needs a minute to gather myself before I do something like react and show my anger. “Sure. Email me the list. I’ll let you know when I’m available.”
With that, I spin on my heel and walk away so I don’t have to see her reaction.
Could I have done a better job telling her I needed time? Most definitely. But I know when I’m pushed to my limit, and this is one of those times. The more I talk, the greater the risk of my anger showing. And that’s something I can’t let happen. Especially not with her, which doesn’t make sense, considering we don’t really know each other. Although she most likely thinks I’m a royal jerk by now.
Yet another thing in my life that I’ll have to figure out how to fix.