Chapter 29
LIVELY
“Rise and shine, you lazy bastards!” I called out cheerfully, watching my teammates stumble around like zombies in the crisp morning air. The sun was barely peeking over the mountaintops, painting the sky in streaks of pink and orange that reflected off the frost-covered grass.
“Jesus Christ, Lively,” Mason groaned, slumping against the boards. “First you and your demon second,” he meant Hailey and I really liked the sound of that, “make us watch two hours of video review last night—”
“My eyes are still burning from staring at that screen,” Evan cut in, rubbing his face dramatically. “Who the hell wants to analyze their own skating mechanics during dinner? That's torture, man.”
Thing was; these little shits could only do the bitching in front of me .
Today, Hailey was leading the sessions, and they obviously didn’t have the balls to whine like this in front of her face.
My eyes flicked towards center ice, but her compelling silhouette was no longer there.
Minutes ago, she’d stood there, whistle hanging from her neck, barking orders with that no-nonsense tone that never failed to make my cock twitch.
Damn it, where’d she go?
Dylan snorted, fumbling with his laces. “Yeah, and Summers just sat there taking notes like a goddamn honors student. Probably drawing little hearts around Baleman's commentary—”
“Damn, you saw that, too?”
“The video review was actually really helpful,” I pointed out, trying to maintain some semblance of captain dignity. “The defensive coverage patterns—”
“Oh my god, he's even starting to sound like her,” Matt interrupted, clutching his chest in mock horror. “Next thing you know, he'll be making us do extra suicides just because she bats her eyes at him.”
“Speaking of which,” Matt piped up, pushing off from where he'd been leaning against the plexiglass, “who the hell schedules practice at ass o'clock in the morning? This isn't the NHL, for fuck's sake.”
These little...Did they think they came here for chips and funsies or something? ‘This isn't the NHL’? Since when did they get the balls to start making such irresponsible comments? And in front of me, to boot?
This time, I did arch my brow. “You little shits,” I said, my tone going stone cold. “I've been too easy on you, is that it? You think we came here to chase ass or something?”
Matt's eyes flew wide at the cold look in my eyes. “No, Cap, I was just—”
“You think because we're two-time champions of the NCAA Championships, we get to slack off?” But I wasn't by any means done. “You think you're good because you have talent? You think I'm going to let a team member slack the hell off and drag the rest of us down with him?”
“Ah, shit, Matt, that bastard.” Dylan was muttering off to the side. “He should know what to say and what not to say by now.”
“Yeah, shit, now we're all gonna catch strays because of him—”
I clenched my jaw and took in a sharp breath. “Dylan.” I called, and my Vice Captain sighed.
“Yeah, man?” He sounded exhausted.
“From watching yesterday's review, what's Matt's problem?” I asked, never once breaking eye contact with the object of my annoyance. It wasn't like I liked being so damn harsh with my teammates, but I was not going to tolerate laziness or complacency from any of them. This was my lifeline, too.
After a beat, Dylan sighed again and said, “He leaves too much open on his angles. When the puck comes his way, he takes an extra couple of seconds to drop to his knees—and that delay will end up costing the team.”
“So, tell me, Matt,” I held his gaze. “What are you going to do about that?”
Matt was fighting a scowl from fully forming on his face, but he didn't back down. “I know my reflexes aren't as sharp as they should be. I'm working on my lateral movement drills every day—”
“Working on lateral movement is fine,” Dylan interjected, “but you’re letting your pad positioning drop. When you’re set, you need to be like a brick wall, otherwise you’ll leave yourself vulnerable for those quick breakaways.”
I sighed. “Matt, you’re a damn goalie. You have to own that crease. Get lower, get faster, and for god’s sake, keep your eyes on the puck like it’s your only lover in the world.”
Matt's eyes narrowed. “And what do you suggest, Captain? That I do a hundred suicides until I’m a human pretzel?”
“Yes.” I replied and he flinched at the finality in my tone.
“Drill after drill, hustle your legs like they’re on fire.
Work on your reflexes with a rebounder. If you can learn to react in under half a second, you’ll cover more angles.
And stop looking away when the puck comes in.
Your head movement is off—too slow, too lazy. You need to react like you're a cat.”
The silence that followed my words was heavy, and I could see a flicker of irritation in Matt's gaze, and I knew he wasn’t thrilled with the ribbing—but deep down, I hoped it would drive him to push harder.
“Maybe we should set up extra practice sessions for goalies,” I said, and Matt's expression crumpled into a look of distaste.
“Ah, shit. I'm fucked.” He grumbled. “If Zoe finds out about this, she's never gonna let me live this down.”
“Pfft!” Evan and Mason threw their hands over their mouths, but their laughter still broke through.
“So do you still think the review video was a waste of time?” I arched my brow at all of them. They couldn't deny that it hadn't been necessary. I sniffed, “You can thank Captain Baleman for the schedule adjustment and the practice drills video review from last night, too.”
Dylan scoffed. “Wow, all of that just to defend your ice queen, huh?” He said, and the other guys grunted in solidarity with his observation.
I rolled my eyes, shrugging once. “My lady knows her hockey. You got a problem with that?”
“Your lady knows how to wrap you around her finger. That’s what she knows,” Dylan replied, his tone teasing. “One look from those brown eyes and suddenly—” He froze mid-chirp, his eyes going wide as he looked past me. “Uh…”
“No, go ahead. I'd like to hear,” Hailey's dry tone came from behind me, “what suddenly happens with one look from my ‘brown eyes’.”
I turned to find her standing in her practice gear, hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, those frosty eyes staring Dylan down. She embodied every bit of the aloof, commanding presence that she'd come to be known for.
Ah. I want those eyes on me. I thought, with every inch of me already craving her attention like the Hailey-junkie I was, pulse kicking even as I forced my body to remain relaxed.
Dylan seemed to snap back to himself at the sound of her voice, before taking a step back. “Uh, it's nothing, Baleman...uh, we were just... talking about your brilliant idea to have us review our practice drills yesterday.”
The others were nodding like their heads had turned into bobble toys. “Yeah, it's a solid idea to find out weaknesses before training begins!” That was Logan.
And they were all edging backwards with each syllable, their eyes shaking inside the sockets.
“So, we'll just go back to our drills, uh…” Dylan gave me a pointed look as he turned, mouthing the words, “Shit, her eyes are so scary.”
I barely suppressed the half smirk trying to curve my lips up. Scary, huh? Well, that didn't matter to me; I wanted her eyes on me. I wanted her to look only at me—man, what I wouldn't give for that.
Look at me, Hailstorm. Come on, look at me , I was thinking, the words repeating over and over in my head like a litany.
When her cool gaze finally caught mine, it hit me like a shot of whiskey hitting an empty stomach: hot, dizzying, spreading through my limbs until my bones felt like they were melting.
My knees went weak, and fuck if that wasn't the most embarrassing cliché, but there it was—I was literally swaying on my feet all because Hailey Baleman decided to look at me.
Ah, shit .
Hailey jerked her head towards the equipment shed. “Coaches want us to grab some extra pylons and practice nets from storage.”
My heart did that stupid flutter thing it always did whenever I had a thought in my head about her, but I somehow managed a slow smile back at her.
“Sure.” I drawled, hoping to God I didn't look like an idiot right then.
Hailey narrowed her eyes at me in a wordless warning, and I couldn't help but recall what she'd said last night:
“You are not allowed to flirt with me.”
I flashed the most innocent smile I could muster back at her. “Good morning, Hailstorm.”
“I told you to stop calling me that!” She pointed one finger in my direction, her tone ice.
And give up the tiniest delusion I harbored that I was at least connected to her via this little pet name I'd given her? Hell no .
Good thing I learned how to bargain pretty early on in my life. “Hmm, what do you say about us coming to a compromise on that?”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, it's not like you don't have a name you call me, so we just balance each other out, don't you think?” I said, and she scoffed.
“ Fuckface ?”
I grinned. “That's the one.”
“You freak, you actually like it when I call you that!” She snapped and I had to press my lips together to suppress my laugh.
Well, I couldn't deny that. So, instead of replying, I just continued walking. “Aren't you coming?” I called back to her when she just kept standing there and glaring at me.
Blowing out a harsh breath, she finally followed, and I forced my body to stay calm, even though I was nearly shifting out of my skin.
We walked in silence, our boots crunching on the gravel path that wound between the practice rinks and the main facilities. The morning mist had long since burned off, revealing the crystal-clear sky that made this place famous among hockey camps.
Over on Rink Three, some of the Blizzard Belles were already deep into their morning drills. I couldn't help watching as we passed.