Chapter 11
REN
My blades sliced across the rink and the carving sound of steel on ice sent a spike of adrenaline and pleasure through me.
My skin prickled under my protective gear and the borrowed uniform the Homeward Bladezillas had given me.
It’d been a long time since my body had sung like this.
The high was the same one I got when tattoo needles touched my skin.
I didn’t have much room left for new ink, but I had plenty of energy for this.
My hockey stick was heavy in my palms, and each time I struck a puck, a thrill shot through me.
My blood was on fire, and I moved with the speed that had made me famous in school.
I could’ve gone further, maybe even joined the NHL with Ripley, but I’d never wanted to be under the public microscope. No privacy.
Tattooing had always been my dream.
We went through drills, and I zigzagged between cones and ran the puck. My handling skills were rusty, but it didn’t take long before I was moving with ease. I shot past one of the other guys trying out and flicked my wrist, the puck flying into the top shelf of the net.
“Fuck yeah!” I laughed and skated toward the lineup of guys waiting for their turn.
The captain of the Bladezillas, TJ Addacott, or Addy as they called him, whistled. He was a stout guy with a long curly brown beard who was an axe away from being a Lord of the Rings extra. “You got skills, Booth. Why haven’t you played on a team since high school?”
“Family drama,” I said. No one gave a shit about other people’s lives, especially not strangers. “But I’m back and ready to kick ass.”
Another Bladezilla, Rocky, snorted. His brown hair was wet from sweat.
“Amen, brother. We need to show these assholes from Vert Island that money doesn’t buy skills.
” He ran a gloved hand over his short dark beard.
He had the cage of his helmet up, giving me a view of his crooked nose and a few chipped teeth that I would bet my savings had come from hockey.
“You only want to prove a point to that dickhead you have a personal vendetta against. What the fuck was his name?” Petey was a second line center and smaller than I’d expected from someone playing hockey. But then again, this was a beer league team. No one had to be a professional.
“Hackett,” Rocky spat, his face twisting in immense dislike. “Ironic, because he can’t hack it when he loses.”
Petey snickered, and I had a feeling he’d known this Vert Island player’s name and wanted to rile up Rocky. As if he’d read my mind, he nudged me with his elbow and winked.
I chuckled. If anyone understood vendettas, it was me. Or the old me, anyway.
My gaze slid over to the stands where KC and Oliver were sitting.
They’d cozied up to a couple of the wives and family members of the guys trying out, and they were in an active discussion with a curvy blonde who had a bright smile.
She nodded eagerly at something they’d said, and they all chuckled.
KC’s gaze met mine and he murmured to Oliver. Soon they were both looking at me. Oliver jumped to his feet, and even from here his flushed cheeks stood out as he raised his arms and waved. KC joined him and whistled using his fingers. They yelled a mixture of “go Ren!” and “Ren is the best!”
How were they so fucking adorable? My chest went all warm and it wasn’t because of the layers of protective gear and clothing.
I’d never had someone up in the stands to support me. My parents were always too busy to come see me play and my siblings had no desire.
Now, I had two boyfriends cheering me on. The sight of their excited faces thawed the ice around my heart. I pressed my glove against my chest before stretching it out toward them, smiling.
“You done being a lover boy, Booth?” Addy grinned smugly. “Because we’re switching it up to test your defensive and offensive tactics. You up for it?”
I smirked in reply. “The question is, can you guys keep up?”
Rocky hooked a thumb in my direction as he spoke to Addy. “This guy, right? Fucking balls on him.”
Addy nodded. “It’s what we need. Let’s go, boys!”
I blew KC and Oliver an obnoxious kiss before I took off.
We spent two hours doing drills. Finally, a shrill whistle pierced the air.
“Hit the showers, boys. Me and Rocky need to talk,” Addy yelled.
Off we went.
The visitor’s locker room smelled like concentrated sweaty dick and rank armpits, but that wasn’t unusual when you had a lot of guys in a confined space.
No one ever prepares someone for the smell of a hockey locker room.
Unless you’ve played hockey yourself, it’s difficult to understand.
So, I was reliving a deeply imbedded sense memory.
I sat on the bench in front of my locker and leaned my elbows on my knees, then exhaled roughly through my nose.
We’d run a hundred drills out there on the ice to show the level of our skills.
I couldn’t remember the last time—outside of KC and Oliver—I’d enjoyed myself so much.
I hadn’t played hockey after high school, since three seconds after tossing my cap, I’d spent all my free time focused on creating a plan for revenge.
A plan that had barely lasted three weeks once I’d attempted to enact it.
I sucked at this whole retribution thing, apparently. I blamed my boyfriends.
“Hey.” The guy next to me—Robby, he’d said at the start of tryouts—leaned on his knees like I had and grinned.
He was a massive dude with shoulders broader than mine and sweat-soaked blond waves that fell across his eyes.
He was a D-man, and he was built like one, too.
“So, those guys in the stands. They related to you or something?”
“They’re my boyfriends.” I shrugged. I’d never given a shit about what people thought about my bisexuality.
There had been times when I’d needed to defend myself, especially in locker rooms, and I’d fucked up guys for saying homophobic shit, too.
Everyone loved to run their mouth until they saw a fist cruising toward their face.
“No shit?” Robby sounded impressed and went as far as to whistle. He held out his gloved fist. “Nice pull, dude.”
I gave him the fist bump. “You gay?” I asked.
He laughed. “Nah, man. Straight, but I don’t discriminate.
That’s my motto. My girl would kill me if I was even a tiny bit homophobic, racist, et cetera, et cetera.
” He waved his hand with the et ceteras.
“She’d probably bury me ten feet under. Not six.
Ten. Make sure no one knew I existed in the first place. ”
I snorted. “Don’t know her, but I already like her.”
“Yeah, me too.” Robby cackled. “Probably why I put a ring on it, you know? When you got someone—” He paused, grinning. “And someones who are good, you’d be stupid to let them go.”
“Was your girl here?”
His face did something I could only explain as a lovesick pout. His eyes softened and his jaw went slack. Is that what I looked like when I thought about my boyfriends? “Yeah, she was talking to your boys. The blonde. Her name’s Aria.”
“If KC and Oliver were talking to her, she must be nice. They looked like they enjoyed her company.” I stood and stretched my aching muscles before yanking at the protective layers.
“Maybe we should go on a double date one day. Where are you from, Ren Booth?” Robby stripped his shoulder pads and sweat-drenched shirt. His muscles shifted under his skin. He was fit, but it wasn’t his abs that caught my attention.
I whistled at the tats spread across his chest, an array of black ink spiraling over sun-kissed skin. “Who did the work? That’s talent.”
He glanced down at his chest and chuckled. “Guy back home in Toronto. I moved here last month, so I haven’t found someone else. What about yours?”
“An employee of mine. He works in my shop here in the city now. I brought him with me from LA.” I assessed the lines. In terms of technique, his artist was good. Real good. A pro. I yanked my compression shirt off and threw it onto the bench in front of me.
The sound of the showers being switched on made my muscles ache harder, craving the feel of hot pounding water.
“Do you ink?” Robby asked as we dumped the rest of our gear.
Seeing other guys naked in the locker room wasn’t anything new, so I didn’t bat an eye at the nudity as we made our way into the shower room. I switched on the knobs and sighed in relief as hot water cascaded down my shoulders. Ducking my head under the spray, I hummed in delight.
“You didn’t answer the question. Are you a tattoo artist?” Robby asked again.
I answered with an affirmative sound in the back of my throat.
“Nice. What’s your shop?”
We got lost in a conversation while we showered. I’d learned a lot about Robby in the ten minutes it took to wash off the sweat and grime from a hard workout. By the time we got back into the locker room, Addy and Rocky were waiting for the group, so we quickly dressed and settled on the benches.
“Rocky and I want to thank everyone for trying out.” Addy clutched a tablet between his palms, an apologetic smile curving his full lips. “As you all know, not everyone will get a position on our team. We’ve already got a great lineup and needed some extras.”
The guys around the room nodded. I scrubbed my hands over my face. Part of me knew I was the best one out there and it wasn’t ego. Still, concern flickered through me. I needed this. I was flying out on the ice and didn’t want to give this up.
Not again.
And how would I face KC and Oliver if I was cut before I even began? I’d never live it down. They would be upset on my behalf, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.
Addy cleared his throat. “We’ve chosen three guys today. Kyle Robinson. Anthony Mitchell. Renshaw Booth.” He lowered the tablet. “Thanks to everyone else for trying out.”
Relief swamped me and I groaned, letting my head rock back against the locker behind me.
Beside me, Robby laughed. “Relieved?”