Chapter 8
KELLER
“Hustle, boys! Gotta go faster because Edmonton is the absolute definition of it.”
I push my legs harder, relishing the burn of my quads. It’s exactly what I need after the events of the last two days.
Practice couldn’t come soon enough today.
Being cooped up in my apartment suddenly became my worst nightmare, and I tried everything to distract myself from texting Chloe again.
I played video games, scrolled through countless streaming apps for something to watch, and even bought and assembled a new cat tower, even though Percy didn’t need one.
None of it worked. I couldn’t stop thinking of her, so when my alarm went off this morning—the one I was already awake for—I sprang out of bed and got dressed in record time before hopping into my Audi R8.
Sure, pushing the car to the max speed limit I could manage on Seattle streets was nice, but it’s nothing compared to being out on the ice and feeling that cold air against my cheeks.
Like every Canadian kid, I grew up loving hockey with dreams of making it to the show. I worked my ass off for it, so when I was passed up the first year I was eligible for the draft, I accepted that my dream would likely never come true. I made peace with it.
Then, unexpectedly, it happened the next year—I was drafted by New York.
Even then, I still didn’t think I’d make it.
If I were lucky, I’d play a few years in the minors and call it a career.
But that’s not what happened. I kept working on my game.
I committed to getting better. And in my freshman year, I had a breakthrough.
I wasn’t just racking up points for Denver, I was getting noticed.
I was making a name for myself. By the summer before my senior year, it paid off.
I remember getting that call saying I’d be signing a two-year entry-level deal, and I recall the look on Chloe’s face, too.
She was scared. The possibility of me playing was always there, but it never felt within reach.
Suddenly, it was real, more real than anything else had ever been until that point.
She thought I’d leave her and never look back.
It couldn’t have been further from what was going through my mind, which was exactly why I got down on one knee and proposed to her in my shitty apartment, which I shared with too many of my teammates.
And it’s why she said yes, too. She was afraid to lose me, to lose us.
Sometimes I wonder if everyone was right to call us crazy back then, because let’s face it—we were.
Then I remember how I felt in that moment, like everything I ever wanted was clicking into place, and it wasn’t just because of hockey.
It was Chloe, too. I still feel that way about her, and I still feel that way about hockey.
“Keller!”
I snap my head up, looking at our assistant coach, who is waiting for me to join the scrimmage.
I don’t bother apologizing; I just dig right in and get to work.
I battle against my teammate for the puck.
It might just be practice, but we still give it our all, which is why we’re both cursing and sweating by the time I get it free.
I zip it over to Locke, who is not-so-patiently waiting for it, and he shoots it toward Fox.
He catches it easily, then chucks it to the side.
We start all over again. The team runs drills until we’re all gasping for air, then gathers in a circle around Coach Smith.
“Great practice, boys,” he says. “Playing hard, which we need more than ever right now. Every point before the break counts. I know some of you have big plans for it”—he looks at Hutch, who is finally marrying his billionaire fiancée—“but we can’t forget about getting ready for what’s to come after it.
So, these next few weeks mean a lot. It’s the difference between playing hard until the last game of the regular season and being able to breathe and give a couple of guys a rest. So, let’s play smart, yeah? Fight hard. We fucking got this.”
A few cheers go up in agreement, but I stay silent.
I’ve been so distracted by Chloe showing up that I almost forgot how much work we still have to do to get into a better playoff spot.
Sure, we’re sitting pretty right now, but Coach is right—every point matters.
Every shift, every game. I don’t have time for distractions…
but I don’t think I could stay away if I tried.
“All right. Let’s call it for the day. Hutch, my office in ten. The rest of you check in where needed before you leave. You know what to do to be ready to play tonight.”
We acknowledge that we’ve heard him before he skates off the ice. A few guys break away to work on other aspects of their game, while others head straight for the dressing room, likely meeting with trainers and checking in with medical before taking off.
I stay. I spend another thirty minutes out there, pretending I don’t notice the way several of the Singles are waiting around for me. I saw their texts in the group chat last night, and I know they have questions. I wasn’t ready to answer them quite yet, and I’m still not.
When my legs are nice and tired and most of my excess energy is burned off, I head to the changing room.
They follow, but I keep ignoring them, going to the showers after stripping off my sweaty gear.
To my surprise, they give me space, but the same can’t be said for when I make it back to the room to find them still waiting.
“Aw, come on!” Hayes yells when I drop my towel at my stall. “My eyes!”
“Then stop following me around like a bunch of fucking weirdos,” I tell him, pulling on my boxer briefs. “And you’re lucky to look at my ass. It’s fantastic.”
“It is. Rory keeps asking me to get your workout routine,” Lawson says.
I flip him off just because I can, and he pretends to catch it, holding it against his heart.
I roll my eyes, then slide my jeans over my legs. “Can we just get this over with already?”
“Fine,” Hutch says, looking genuinely concerned. “Nobody has heard from you since yesterday morning, and we’re worried.”
“I got your messages in the group chat. You know I have. You can see that I’ve read them.”
They were ridiculous, and a few times I wanted to chime in, but I wasn’t in the mood.
“Right, but you never messaged back. And, usually, you’re like super annoying.”
“You’re fucking kidding, right?” I look at the rest of the guys, then point to Lawson. “He’s fucking kidding, isn’t he?”
They all shrug, likely because Lawson isn’t joking around for a change.
I run a hand through my wet hair. “Look, guys, I am fine.”
“Okay, you say that, but—”
“No, no buts,” I snap, cutting Hayes off. “I am good. I talked to Chloe and—”
“Chloe? Is that her name?” Fox asks.
I close my eyes for a second before I nod. “Yes, that’s my wife’s name.”
They all exchange glances again, and it’s so damn frustrating that they keep doing it.
“What?” I bark when nobody speaks, even though they clearly have something to say.
“I don’t know. It’s just kind of cute that you guys have the same initials, no?” Lawson says.
When we get married, we’re going to have the same initials.
Clover Keller, Callum Keller. Has a nice little ring to it, huh?
I remember saying that to her in college.
It was a wild statement, completely out of pocket, especially for a nineteen-year-old.
But it didn’t mean I meant it any less. I knew even then she was the one for me.
“How come you never go by Cal—” Lawson holds his hands up before he even finishes my first name, and I can guarantee it has to do with the look on my face that says Don’t you fucking dare. “Okay, no to the first name still. Noted.”
It’s not like people don’t call me by it—of course they do.
But most of the time, I’m just Keller. Except for with her.
It’s always been Callum, so when she left, I didn’t want to hear my first name at all.
I was simply Keller from then on out. I’d even ignore the media in pressers if they didn’t call me by my last name. They picked up on it quickly.
“Moving on,” Lawson mumbles. “Am I allowed to ask more questions about the cat, or not?”
“Dude.” Hayes pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s as tired of his teammate’s shit as I am. “Come on, Lawsy.”
“What? You can’t tell me you’re not curious about it too.”
Nobody responds, which is enough of an answer to tell me that, yeah, they’re curious. But I’ve opened myself up far too much over the last few days, and I’d rather not continue that trend.
“If you really want to know more, ask your girlfriend.”
“Rory knows you have a cat?!” He throws his hands in the air. “That’s it. I give up.” He marches toward the door, then stops, turning to look back at everyone still staring at me. “Well? Aren’t you guys coming?”
“For once, I agree with him. You guys should go, because I’m going too. I have shit to do, because in case you all forgot, we have a game to play tonight. Like you said in the chat, I need some time, okay?”
They hesitate but eventually agree, then slowly start making their way toward the door.
Well, everyone except Hutch.
“You guys go on,” he tells them, and they follow his request. I wonder if it has to do with him being the captain or if they can hear the solemnity in his tone, too.
Once they all file out, I quirk a brow at him. “Can I help you?”
He doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by my attitude, which I suppose makes sense for him. Before he got together with his fiancée, he could have rivaled me with grumpiness. Now that he’s all in love and happy, he’s still grumpy; he just saves it for the ice.
“Uh, Auden wanted to know if we need to adjust the seating chart for the wedding.”
I tip my head to the side. “Not following.”