Chapter 3
Chapter three
Luka
My plan to Luka love-bomb the captain isn’t going well.
I’m apparently impressing everyone here except him.
I thought for sure when Coach picked me to be a part of the power play team that Reid would finally start to see that I belong here, but he only looks at me when he’s telling me what to do or what I did wrong.
I thought when he invited me to lunch that he might actually be coming around, but then he spent the whole time telling me all the things I need to do to make it in the NHL, the first thing being listening to him and doing what he tells me.
I guess he is the captain, but they chose me because I impressed them with the way I play.
The trick plays are part of that, and if I wait for Reid to tell me to try one, I’ll go through this whole season never showing the coaches or the crowd what I can really do.
But I’m not giving up. He’ll see I belong here, that I can be a team player and a standout.
I’ll make him see, but first I have to do things his way.
So I spent the second session on the ice after lunch doing every single thing Reid said.
Every directive was followed by a “Yes, Cap.” And while I think it irritated him at first, I swear I caught the smallest of smiles the last time I said it before pulling off the give-and-go with flawless precision, passing at full speed and with Gunther and White closing in on me.
“Get some rest, kid. We’ll meet in the dining hall for breakfast and run through what your program will look like for the rest of the week.”
“I usually eat at home.”
“And now you eat here. Is that going to be a problem?” he asks, that same irritated tone in his voice he’s had for me since day one. Great. And here I was thinking this guy might have lightened up a bit.
“No. No problem at all. What time?”
“Seven, don’t be late.”
“You got it, Cap.”
***
I check my phone on the walk back to my parents’ condo.
Three missed calls from my college best friend, Cosmo.
I know he’s going to want to talk about his engagement, and although I’m happy for him, truly I am—Eli is wonderful—I’m not sure I could hide the hurt from my voice knowing that he’s about to promise his forever to someone else.
Everyone suspected there was something between us all through college, and little did Cosmo know how right they were.
At least with regard to me. Cosmo only ever saw me as a friend, though.
A straight friend. I didn’t exactly correct him on that either.
I like girls too, and I was totally ready to tell him how I felt when Eli showed up, but once I saw their connection, I knew there was no point in telling him I was bi and totally in love with him. His heart already belonged to Eli.
“Hey, Gus,” I say to the doorman on my way inside.
“Welcome home, Mr. Hart. How was training camp?” he asks, the same friendly greeting he’s given me the last few days.
“It was good. And again, please call me Luka.”
“Sorry, Mr. Hart, no can do. It’s the rules.”
“No one’s here to report you,” I reason as I glance around the foyer.
The cream and white checkered tile gives the whole place an old-time feel, and was what sold Mom on buying in this building in the first place.
They’d started looking the same day I was drafted to Philly.
My dad’s in construction, or at least he used to be.
Now he oversees twenty-plus crews working on jobs all across the country.
Mom used to be an Olympic figure skater and had me on the ice from before I could walk.
Did I imagine leaving college and moving back in with my parents?
No. But I also haven’t had time to house hunt, or I haven’t made time.
After four years living in a frat house with a bunch of guys, there’s something nice about walking through the door and smelling your childhood dinners.
Around the dinner table is where we’d always connect, talk about our day, our plans for the week, month, year of life.
Everything happened around that table, and in the four years I spent at Boston University, I think I missed that the most.
“I’m home,” I call out to Mom and Dad as I push through the door. I’m instantly hit with the most delicious scent of garlic and tomato. “What are you cooking? It smells delicious.”
“Hi, honey,” Mom replies, her sweet voice finding me from the kitchen. “I made your favorite.”
“Stuffed peppers, yum.”
“How was your day?”
“Fine,” I call back as I clip my LEGO keyring to its place by the door.
I made the key holder at a LEGO pop-up shop we visited during summer break back when I was in middle school.
Dad loved it and mounted it by the door, moving it to every house we shifted into following that.
I also made each of us mini figure keyrings that look like us to hang from our keys—mine changed over the years and now holds a little hockey stick that I had to super-glue into his hand to stop him from losing it.
I walk into the kitchen, and Mom stops serving up dinner to wrap me in her arms. It’s like being surrounded by a thermal blanket, her arms holding me tight, filling my whole body with the warmth of her love. My stomach growls, and she laughs.
“Can you set the table, please?”
“Sure,” I reply, grabbing cutlery and placemats from the drawers. Dad walks out of his office down the hall when I’m just done filling the water glasses.
“Smells delicious, love,” he says, wrapping his arms around Mom’s waist and kissing her cheek.
“You say that about everything I cook.”
“Everything you cook is delicious,” he replies, and I snort.
“Watch it, kid. You should know by now, never offend the person who keeps you fed,” Dad says, picking a chunk of beef off the plate in front of him and popping it in his mouth before Mom can swat his hand away.
“Sit down, boys,” Mom says.
She places my plate down, the rich tomato filling my nose and making my mouth water before the first bite even touches my lips.
“So, has Raines wised up to your awesomeness yet, kid?” Dad asks.
“Hardly.”
“He will,” Mom adds.
“Coach has me training in the power play one unit, so maybe if I pull that off, he’ll come around,” I say, my voice so full of hope.
“PP-one, that’s great, Luka,” Mom says.
“Yes,” Dad agrees, waving his fork my way. “The coaching team must see your potential, that’s what matters.”
“I’d like Reid to see it too. Oh, I have to eat breakfast at the rink now, apparently.”
“Why? What’s wrong with my breakfasts?” Mom asks.
“Nothing. Reid just said I need to. I don’t mind, though, because the more time I spend with him, the more chances I’ll have to impress him.”
“He’ll come around, honey,” Mom says confidently. “From what I’ve heard, he’s not very social with the team, spends all his time with his younger brothers. So sad what happened to his parents.”
“Yeah. I can’t imagine losing you two.”
Everyone knows what happened to Reid’s parents; it was all over the news his rookie year.
Everyone expected him to postpone his rookie season—no one would have blamed him either—but he got out there and helped bring home the cup for Philly that year with a hat trick in the final, which as a defenseman is so fucking unheard of that it’s only ever happened twice before in the thousands of games played.
I remember watching the game with my parents, crying my eyes out because my team, the Seattle Sabers, was the one he beat.
“So, enough about me. What’s new with you two?” I ask, and Mom smiles.
“I taught my first beginner’s ice-skating class today.”
“Wow, Mom, that’s great.”
Dad nods from across the table.
“Those are some lucky kids,” he says, shoveling more dinner into his mouth and talking through chews. “Any Olympic hopefuls?”
I laugh. “She just started, give her time, and I bet she’ll have more than one qualifying in no time,” I say, but she shakes her head.
“I don’t know about that, but it did feel good to teach again. There’s this one little boy, Curtis, he’s six and reminds me so much of you. He’s obsessed with hockey too. Maybe you can pop over one day when you don’t have training and say hi?”
“Sure, Mom. Hey, maybe I can get a few of the guys to come with me. Do you know who his favorite player is?”
She bites her lip in the way she does when she’s delaying delivering bad news. It’s the same face I saw when I asked her if she’d seen my hamster when I got home one day and couldn’t find him. Poor Mr. Cuddles.
“Don’t say it,” I plead.
“Sorry, kid. But it’s Reid Raines.”
“Figures the kid would like the one player who’s determined not to like me.”
“Don’t say that. He doesn’t know you. When he does, he’ll love you. You’ll see.”
I laugh.
“Pretty sure I’ve got a better chance of scoring the winning goal in the cup final.”
Dad waves his fork my way again. “You’ve got every chance of that happening.”
“From your lips to God’s ears.”
I don’t actually need Reid to love me; I just need him not to hate me.
Maybe Mom’s right, he might just need time to get to know me.
I’m dedicated to this sport and this team—his team.
Maybe if he sees that, he’ll stop underestimating what I can do here.
I’ll show him. I’ll get in extra early to practice the power play moves and stay late too if that’s what it takes.
I will win over Reid, just wait and see.
***
I’m at the rink an hour early, plenty of time to get warmed up and run through some drills before breakfast with Reid. What will that even look like? He scowls opposite me as I eat, probably waiting to point out all the ways I’m chewing wrong. Yay, can’t wait.
I take it slow, focusing on my position on the ice more than anything else, and after about half an hour, I’m confident on two of the plays and getting there on the others when I hear Henry’s voice.
“You’re in early,” he says, joining me on the ice.
“I haven’t been here long. Just thought I’d get in a quick skate before breakfast.”
“It’s intense, isn’t it?”
“Camp?”
“Camp, the NHL, all of it.”
“Yeah, I guess. I’m trying not to think too much about the gravity of it all.”
He drops into a butterfly stretch, and I try not to laugh because no matter how many times I see it, it still basically looks like he’s trying to fuck the ice.
“Try all you like. When you skate out here in your first game, the gravity of it all will hit you like a ton of bricks.”
“Any tips on not getting crushed by it, then?”
“Don’t try to block it out. Feel it. Let it be the thing that energizes you.”
“Is that what you do?”
“Pretty much. I love it out here on the ice. I think I must have been a penguin in a past life, because I feel more at home here than I do anywhere else. Plus, I have Tom and Jerry to help keep me grounded,” he replies, getting to his feet.
“I’m going to do some laps, but you should get inside before you’re late for breakfast and White steals all the bacon. ”
“I’m more of a sausage guy,” I reply, and his eyebrows rise as a playful grin spreads across his lips.
“Me too, just ask my boyfriend, AJ.”
“Dude, not what I meant.”
“Sure it isn’t,” he replies.
“Thanks for the advice. I should get inside.”
“See you after,” he replies and then skates off to the net, fist-bumping each side like he’s greeting old friends. Goalies are weird.
I get my skates off and I’m up to the dining hall right on time. Reid is already waiting at one of the tables.
“Good morning,” I say, taking the seat opposite him. I notice he’s got a sheet of paper in front of him with the words “Meal Plan” written on top. “What’s that?”
“I asked the nutritionist to work you up a meal plan.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re about to play one of the most grueling sports in the world.”
“And I studied nutrition in college. I know what to eat to get the best out of my body.”
“Okay, so tell me, as a winger, what’s an ideal breakfast for a training camp or game day?”
“Fast carbs, lean protein, low fat, and lots of hydration,” I reply with a smirk.
“Alright, show me.”
“Huh?”
“Go collect what you think you need, and we’ll see how it measures up to the nutritionist’s plan.”
“And what do I win if it does?” I ask, standing.
“Breakfast,” he replies dryly, and I shake my head but head over to the buffet. My stomach growls as I collect a tray and make my way to the omelet bar.
“What will it be?” the chef asks.
“Vegetable omelet with two whole eggs plus three egg whites, please.”
The chef starts on my order, and I look around to check what I’ll grab next. I glance back to Reid, who’s tapping away on his phone. I wonder if he’s eaten yet.
“Here you go,” the chef says, passing me a plate with my perfectly cooked omelet.
“Actually, can I have another one, this time three whole eggs and two egg whites, with just spinach and peppers, please?”
I collect everything else I need and return to the table with stacked plates and bowls. Reid’s eyebrows rise.
“You can’t seriously be preparing to eat all of that,” he says, as I set the bowl filled with rice cream, topped with banana slices and berries and drizzled with honey for a touch of sweetness, in front of my seat.
“I’m guessing you haven’t eaten yet either, so I got yours too.”
“You got me breakfast?”
“Yep, and don’t worry, we learned about the different nutritional needs of big buff defensemen in class too. I got you.”
With all the plates and bowls divided up, and a coffee, electrolyte smoothie, and bottle of water set beside each, I pick up my knife and fork.
“So, how did I do?” I ask, and his gaze skims the sheet in his hands, then he folds it in half and slides it into his pocket.
“Great, except for the banana,” he says, picking up the whole one I grabbed for him and placing it down beside my plate before taking my apple.
“Bananas are great, they’re quick fuel, full of potassium, and aren’t too heavy,” I reason, but he scrunches up his nose in an adorable way.
“Yeah, but they’re also slimy and just . . . wrong.”
I chuckle.
“Okay, got it. Next time, no banana for you.”
“Next time?”
“Yeah, I mean, like, if you’re here, we could eat together. Maybe you could give me some pointers on what the coaches are actually looking for, and any other tips you think I should know. If you have the time, and like, if you were already going to be eating here and everything.”
“I’ll be here,” he replies, his gaze moving to my mouth for a moment before he licks his lips. My stomach swirls, and I quickly turn my attention to my omelet, hoping it’s simply hunger making it feel that way, because no way do I need to be crushing on the captain.