Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
TANK
I t’s day two of my second chance at the NHL, and I wake up with my jaw already clenched.
I barely slept. My mind was too busy spinning like a hamster on a wheel, replaying every garbage moment from yesterday’s shit show on my mental screen. From Coach Lauder’s announcement that the starting position was “ especially up for grabs,” to Garcia’s smirk every time I had to share the ice with him, to the pitying glances from the other veteran players.
Not to mention rolling into yoga class late after taking too long to purge my demons with the punching bag in the weight room and pushing Steph away, when I knew she was only trying to help.
I’m not as shitty at accepting support as I used to be, but I’m still not great at letting my guard down. Not when I’m as worked up as I was yesterday. I know I must have hurt her feelings, taking so long to check in, which only adds to the weight on my shoulders.
Guilt gnaws at me as I drag myself out of bed and into the shower. This woman who’s been nothing but good to me, there for me, who’s given me more reason to feel hopeful in a few weeks than most people have in my entire life, deserves better than that. A hell of a lot better.
Promising myself I’ll make it up to her somehow, make it right, I do my best to push my boyfriend failure aside and focus on the job ahead.
It’s time to put the past in the past and turn this shit around.
But that sure would be a lot easier without a certain shit turd rookie fucking with me every chance he gets…
I’ve barely set my gear bag down when Garcia chuckles from the opposite end of the long bench between the lockers. “Moving a little slow this morning, LiBassi.” His voice carries enough for the nearby players to hear, but not so loud that it might draw attention from the coaching staff prepping for the morning meeting on the other side of the room.
This kid is a pain in the ass, but he isn’t stupid.
“Late night?” he adds. “Or just feeling your age, old man?”
“I’m twenty-nine,” I say flatly, not bothering to glance his way.
He snorts. “Wow. Really? Could have fooled me. I thought you were pushing forty, dude.”
I ignore him, focusing on my laces, my routine.
Routine is good. Routine will keep me centered.
I breathe in through my nose for three, then out through slightly parted lips for four, the way Steph taught me. I will not let this guy get to me…no matter how much I’d like to show him how quickly this “old man” could have his jersey shoved up his ass and plugged with a practice puck.
Stone catches my gaze as he drops his bag on my other side, rolling his eyes in a way that makes it clear he agrees engaging would only feed the troll.
I’m halfway to achieving a bit of inner peace, releasing the tension in my jaw and focusing on slowing my heartrate, when Garcia adds, “Is that because of the pills? Did you like…look younger before?”
The air goes dead silent.
Even the rookies who were chuckling at Garcia’s shit a moment ago don’t make a fucking sound.
I go still, my hands frozen on my laces. I feel every eye on our bench on me, waiting to see how I’ll react. This isn’t just normal competitive trash talk—Garcia crossed an ugly line, and everyone knows it.
Now, I have to handle it.
Before I can decide if it’s time to teach Garcia a lesson, or if I really am Zen enough to let even shit like that go, Stone stands beside me, calling over my head in a deceptively light voice, “Hey Garcia. Shouldn’t you be in a stall taking that pre-practice shit you were so proud of yesterday? Seems like a better use of your time than flirting with Tank while he’s trying to get dressed.”
Garcia snorts. “What the fuck. I wasn’t flirting with anyone, least of?—”
“Right, right,” Stone cuts in with a knowing laugh. “It’s okay, buddy. Tank’s a sexy guy. I get it. I mean, look at those shoulders. They’re nice shoulders.”
I nod, my attention still fixed on my skates as I add, “And I’m flattered, man. I really am. But I’ve got a girlfriend, so…”
“Fuck you guys,” Garcia grumbles, storming away as he calls loud enough for the entire complex to hear, “I’m not gay!”
Stone tsks his tongue. “I don’t know about you guys, but I think he protests too much.”
A few of the other players chuckle, breaking the tension, and Nowicki gives me a friendly pat on the back as he starts toward the tunnel. “Good to have another adult on the team, brother.”
I nod his way, my lips curving. “Thanks. We grown-ups gotta stick together.” After Nowicki turns away, I add in a voice for Stone’s ears only, “Thanks for the save.”
“Anytime, dude,” he says. “Fuck that guy and his dumbass mouth. Let’s go wipe the rink with his weasel ass.”
“Pretty sure that’s an insult to weasels.” Cruise, our relentlessly upbeat team captain, pauses near the bench on his way to the ice, a serious expression on his face for once. He glances around before adding, “Let me know if he keeps up with that kind of crap, okay? That’s not going to fly on my team. Shit talking is one thing, but we don’t hit each other where it hurts.” His brown eyes narrow in a playful glare. “I’m also going to make sure everyone knows ageism isn’t cool. I mean, it was funny when I teased the old guys back in the day, but now that I’m a geriatric, it’s a hell of a lot less amusing.”
“I feel you,” Stone says, holding out a fist. “Geezer fist bump.”
Cruise obliges him with a grin and we join the rest of the team on the ice. I move through my warm-up routine methodically, focusing on the scrape of my skates on the ice and the rhythm of my breathing. By the time the coaching staff arrives to start practice, I’ve regained my composure.
Mostly.
But as the morning wears on, it becomes increasingly clear that Garcia’s mind games are just the tip of the iceberg. The coaching staff seems to be working from a script, one that doesn’t include me as the starter.
Coach Lauder divides us into groups for drills, and I find myself working with the second line while Garcia gets prime position with the first. It’s subtle, but the message comes through loud and clear.
“LiBassi,” Lauder barks after I make a routine save. “Sharpen it up. You’re a half-second slow on your glove side.”
I clench my jaw and nod, not trusting myself to speak. The save was textbook, and we both know it, but arguing won’t help my case.
Ten minutes later, Garcia makes almost the exact same save, but with an unnecessary flourish that has him sprawled dramatically across the crease.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Lauder calls out. “Great extension, Garcia!”
I grit my teeth and focus on the next shot.
By midday, my patience is wearing dangerously thin. During a scrimmage, I’m positioned in net for the “away” team, another not-so-subtle indicator of where I stand in the hierarchy. Garcia, naturally, defends for the home team.
But I lock in, stopping everything that comes my way. The veterans on my side, Stone included, are putting serious heat on Garcia, and he’s struggling. He’s flashy, sure, but his positioning is sloppy, and his rebound control is practically nonexistent.
I, on the other hand, am playing like I have something to prove.
Because I do.
“Shit, Tank,” one of the defensemen mutters after I make a particularly difficult save. “You’re a brick wall today.”
I should feel good about that, but all I can focus on is the way Lauder and his assistants keep huddling together, their eyes on Garcia despite his mediocre performance.
During a break, I overhear Hartley talking to one of the assistant coaches near the bench.
“Yeah, the kid’s got real star potential,” he says, the direction of his gaze leaving no doubt that he’s talking about Gracia. “Fan-friendly. Marketable. The kind of personality the team needs going forward.”
The assistant nods, his brow furrowed. “And LiBassi?”
Hartley lowers his voice, but not enough. “Solid backup. For now.”
For now…
What the fuck does that mean? I’ve left it all on the ice this morning. Anyone with eyes should be able to see that I’m starting goalie material. At the very least, I should have confirmed that I belong on the team for the foreseeable future, not just “for now.”
But they aren’t evaluating me with a clear gaze. They’re seeing me through the lens of their own prejudice and my past mistakes,
Mistakes Garcia has made damn sure to keep at the top of their minds…
The whistle blows, calling us back to the drill, and I push away from the boards with more force than necessary. The unfairness of it all is like acid in my gut. I’ve worked my ass off to get clean, to rebuild my skills, to earn another chance, but these guys have written me off before I’ve even had a fair shot.
As we line up for the next drill, Garcia skates past me with his typical smug expression, like he knows the starting position is already in the bag. And maybe he does. Maybe he and Hartley are just that chummy.
I stare straight ahead, refusing to engage.
But inside, I’m a volcano on the verge of eruption.
The drill starts, and I’m paired against Garcia in a goalie challenge. Shooters alternate between us and whoever allows the first goal loses. Simple enough.
The first few shots are routine—wrist shots from the slot that we both handle easily. Then they move to one-timers from the circle, increasing the difficulty.
Still, neither of us breaks.
Garcia starts to showboat, making windmill glove saves and dropping into butterfly splits for shots that could have been stopped with far less drama. The rookies eat it up, hollering and banging their sticks after each save.
I remain steady, efficient, relying on positioning and experience rather than flash. The veterans cheer me on like one of their own, a fact I’m grateful for, but Lauder’s expression remains unreadable.
Then Stone steps up for his shot on me. From our years of playing together in Seattle, I’m guessing he’ll go for a high glove, his signature move.
Except he doesn’t.
At the last second, he shifts his weight and fires low blocker side, a dirty fake that would have fooled most goalies. But I’m in the fucking zone today. I track the puck and kick out my right pad, deflecting it harmlessly to the corner.
Stone grins as he skates past. “Still can’t get one past you, asshole. One of these days…” He shakes a mock-angry fist in the air as he glides away, and I grin.
It’s a small victory, but it feels good.
Next up is Donovan, one of the Badgers top scorers, taking his shot on Garcia. He winds up for a slapper from the dot, and Garcia drops into his butterfly early, anticipating low. Donovan sees it and adjusts, roofing the puck over Garcia’s shoulder into the top corner.
“Fuck!” Garcia slams his stick against the post as the team erupts in a mixture of cheers and jeers.
“That’s game,” Lauder calls out. “Good challenge, gentlemen.”
I should feel satisfied.
I won the head-to-head, fair and square.
But Garcia’s reaction catches my attention. His face is twisted with rage as he skates to the bench, and he’s muttering under his breath. This kid doesn’t just want the starting job; he expects it. Feels entitled to it. And he’s not handling even this little setback well.
I file that observation away for later.
His entitlement might be something I can exploit later…
As we break for lunch, I settle at a table in the cafeteria with Stone and a few of the other vets, keeping to myself as I fuel up for the afternoon session. Garcia holds court at a table of rookies, laughing as he tells some story about the puck bunny he brought home last weekend. His laugh is loud, high-pitched, and loud , so loud I swear I can feel it giving me tinnitus in my right ear.
“Ignore him,” Stone advises around a mouthful of grilled chicken. “He’s compensating for getting shown up on the ice.”
“I know,” I say, stabbing at my salad. “But it’s not just him. Lauder and Hartley already have their minds made up. They’re with him, not me.”
Stone shakes his head. “It’s day two of camp, man. Lot of hockey left to play before opening night.”
He’s right, but it doesn’t ease the anxiety knot in my chest. This was supposed to be my redemption arc, my chance to prove that I’ve changed, that I’ve earned my way back. Instead, it feels like I’m trapped in an old story, one the people around me won’t let me escape, no matter how much I’ve changed.
The afternoon brings more of the same. During team drills, I’m consistently placed with the second and third lines, while Garcia works with the starters. When Lauder gives feedback, mine is always critical, focused on what I need to improve, while Garcia receives praise and encouragement.
It’s subtle, but unmistakable. The deck is stacked, and everyone can see it.
After a particularly intense scrimmage session, we move to the weight room for strength and conditioning. I’m at the squat rack, grinding through my third set, when I feel someone lurking nearby.
I rack the weights and turn to find Hartley watching me with that calculating look I’ve come to loathe.
“LiBassi,” he says with a nod. “Got a minute?”
I grab my towel, wiping sweat from my face. “Sure.”
He leads me to a quiet corner of the room, away from the rest of the team. Never a good sign.
“I wanted to touch base about what happened in the locker room this morning,” he begins. “Garcia mentioned there was some... tension.”
Of course he did. The little snake.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” I say, keeping my voice neutral.
Hartley studies me, his eyes cold. “Look, I know your history. And I know guys like you don’t change overnight.”
“Guys like me?” I repeat, a dangerous edge creeping into my voice.
“Addicts,” he says bluntly. “My brother-in-law was one. Always swore he was clean and had it under control. But he didn’t. Cost my sister her marriage and damn near broke her in the process.”
There it is. The real reason behind his hostility. Just like Stone said. This has nothing to do with me and everything to do with his own baggage.
“I’ve been clean for over two years,” I say evenly. “And I took a drug test yesterday. It was clear.”
Hartley looks unimpressed. “Good for you. But I know oxy only stays in the blood twenty-four hours, and you knew the test was coming. It’s going to take a few randomized screenings before you can hold those up as evidence.’
Evidence? What the fuck?
I suddenly feel like I’m on trial for a crime.
“Fine,” I say, even though it’s not fine. Not at all. “But I promise you, I’m too grateful for this chance to fuck it up. I’m not your brother-in-law, sir. I’m me. And not to put too fine a point on it, but I think I deserve the chance to be judged on my performance. Right here, right now. Not the past or bad experiences you’ve had with other people.”
His eyes narrow, his jaw clenching as he chews on that for a beat. “All right. Just know I have my eye on you. If we want this team back on top this year, we can’t afford any liabilities.”
The implication is clear: in his eyes, I’m still a liability. And I might always be. There might be no changing his mind. And if that’s the case, then I’m fucked.
“Is there anything else?” I ask, struggling to keep my tone professional as my thoughts continue to spiral.
“Nope, just get back to work,” he says. “You’ve got a lot to prove.”
He walks away, leaving me seething. I want to punch something, to tip my head back and roar at the ceiling, to find Garcia and show him exactly what happens when you push a man too far. But I can’t. That’s what they’re waiting for: proof that I haven’t changed, that I’m still the volatile hothead who will crack under pressure.
I go back to my breath, closing my eyes this time as I imagine Steph talking me through my three-part breathing until I’m calm enough that my blood is no longer rushing in my ears.
When I open them, Stone is already beside me. “You good?”
“Nope,” I admit. “But I’m holding it together.”
He glances around before lowering his voice. “I saw Hartley over here. What did he want?” I give him a brief sum-up of the conversation, confirming his suspicion that Hartley’s experience with his brother-in-law is definitely playing a part here.
Stone’s jaw tightens. “That’s bullshit.”
“Yeah, well, bullshit or not, it’s reality.” I run a hand through my sweat-dampened hair.
He exhales, his lips pressing together before he adds, “Look, I have an idea, something that might help change the narrative around here. Let’s grab a beer later and talk. Around seven of so?”
“I’m meeting Stephanie at the studio around then,” I say. “We need to work through some stuff, but I could meet up after if she’s cool with that. Around nine maybe?”
“Yeah, totally,” he says. “Just let me know. And if you need to stay with your lady, that’s fine. We can hook up on Wednesday sometime.”
I nod, grateful for his support. “Sounds good. Thanks, man.”
“That’s what friends are for,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “Just don’t do anything stupid between now and then, okay?”
I manage a weak smile. “No promises.”
The rest of the afternoon drags on, a blur of drills, conditioning exercises, and strategy sessions. I keep my head down and my mouth shut, focusing on performing at my best despite the increasingly obvious bias against me.
After we finally wrap up for the day, I shower and change quickly, eager to stuff something in my face for dinner and get to Steph. The prospect of seeing her is the only bright spot in an otherwise hellish day. I grab a burrito at a counter service place not far from the rink, chewing methodically as I stare out at the street, painted in golden, early evening light.
It’s already rosier than it was at this time last week.
Autumn, and the start of the season, is right around the corner. Just two days ago, I was so ready, so eager for October and that first game.
But now…
Now, I just need to go talk to Teach, before I fuck up the only thing that’s actually going right in my life.
The ride to her studio is exactly what I need. The cool evening air clears my head, and the focus required to navigate traffic forces me to stay in the moment instead of going back down the “today was another shit show” rabbit hole.
By the time I park outside the studio, I’m feeling better than I have all day. The lights are still on inside, a warm beacon against the gathering dark. The last few students are filtering out, their faces relaxed and peaceful after time with my girl.
She does that for people. She gives them peace, hope, the ability to find a safe space inside of themselves, even in the midst of life’s chaos.
She’s just…the best.
And I suddenly need to tell her.
Leaving my helmet clipped to the seat, I head inside, the familiar jingle of the bell above the door adding to the warmth spreading through my chest. The lobby is empty, but I hear movement in the studio, a faint snuffling I’m guessing is my buddy, Mr. Sniffles. I follow the sound, smile widening as soon as I see Steph there at the equipment shelf, her back turned to me as she straightens the blocks.
Thank God, she’s already alone.
“Hey, Teach,” I murmur. “Good to see you.”
She turns, and my smile falls away so fast I swear I can hear it shatter to pieces on the floor.
Steph’s eyes are red and her cheeks are wet. She quickly wipes at her face, but it’s too late. “Sorry, I was just?—”
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” I cut in, my chest tight. “ I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was a selfish shit yesterday. And I’m sorry I didn’t reach out sooner and was too distracted to text today. Everything’s shitty at camp, but that’s no excuse to be shitty to the best person I know.”
“I’m not the best,” she whispers, the vulnerability in her gaze gutting me. “I know I shouldn’t be putting pressure on you at a time like this, but I just…” Her breath hitches. “I just want you to want me as much as I want you.”
“Baby, I do,” I say, but she’s already pushing on.
“Even though I know you need to focus on hockey right now,” she says, her eyes beginning to shine again. “This is your last chance, and I’ll never forgive myself if I mess that up for you. But I don’t know how to step back after getting this close, Tank. And I can’t make myself break up with you, even though a part of me knows I should.”
I can’t handle another word of talk like that. I will not lose her, not if any amount of groveling can make this better.
I close the remaining distance between us and pull her into my arms, holding her tight. “Listen to me,” I murmur against her forehead. “You are the best thing in my life. The very best. I don’t want you to step back, Steph, and I sure as hell don’t want to break up.”
She sniffs against my chest. “You don’t?”
“Hell, no,” I say. “I want to put you in my pocket and keep your sexy little, snack-sized self with me twenty-four hours a day. Today, when things were going off the rails again, you were the only thing that kept me even a little bit sane. You were in my thoughts every fucking second. I’m sorry I didn’t reach out to let you know that. I’ll do better. I promise.”
She pulls back with a soft smile, and suddenly, I can breathe again. “It’s okay. I know how busy you guys are. I just…I just needed to know that you didn’t think this thing between us was a liability.”
“This thing?” I murmur, knowing it’s time to lay it all out there, to tell her just how important she’s become to me, even in such a short time. But as a man who’s been through hell, I guess I’m just better prepared than most people to recognize a piece of heaven when I see it. “You mean this thing where I’m crazy fucking in love with you?” Her breath catches, but the relief in her eyes gives me hope. “How could that be a liability?” I add in a softer voice. “Especially if…you might feel the same way?”
She blinks faster, her voice trembling as she says, “I do. I love you, too.”
My shoulders sag away from my ears with a rush of breath. “Thank God. Fuck. What a fucking relief. I promise I won’t make you regret it, baby. I will not fuck this up, Steph. I swear.”
Her smile widens. “I missed your filthy mouth last night.”
“Well, you won’t have to miss it tonight,” I promise, fingers curling into her hips through her yoga pants. “Assuming it’s okay for me to sleep over.”
“It’s very okay, I—” She’s interrupted by a snort from our feet.
We glance down to see Mr. Sniffles gazing up at us with an uncharacteristically chipper expression, especially for a pug of a certain age, who has fat folds hanging over his eyes.
Steph grins. “That’s right, buddy. I know you missed Tank, too.”
She bends to gather his sturdy body in one arm, lifting him up to join our little family hug.
Family…
I’ve never thought about family too much. I never had a family, really, not the kind you’d want to recreate anyway. And after the way things ended with Michelle, I figured I was better off riding solo. Or, at the very most, being the kind of guy who shacks up with a woman for a few months until she realizes he isn’t “keeper” material and moves on.
But with Steph’s arm around me and Mr. Sniffles snorting happily between us— putting his tongue to use on my neck with an enthusiasm that has Steph giggling again—I suddenly think maybe I might be able to make something like that happen.
A family. A future.
A home, with this incredible woman who finally makes me feel like I belong.
I’m pretty sure I’m about to say something sappy as fuck, when my phone buzzes in my back pocket.
Then buzzes again. And again.
Steph arches a brow. “Should you answer that?”
“Sorry, maybe,” I mutter, tugging my cell out to see Stone’s name on the screen. “It’s Stone, but I can talk to him later.”
She waves a hand before snuggling Mr. Sniffles closer. “No, get it. And tell him hi from me.”
“What’s up?” I ask, bringing the phone to my ear. “Steph says hi by the way.”
Stone doesn’t bother with any pleasantries. “Dude, we need to meet tonight. It can’t wait ‘til Wednesday. Sorry for interrupting, but this shit is serious and seriously dumb and has to stop. Now.”
“Okay. Where do you want to meet?” I ask, meeting Steph’s gaze. “I’m staying at Stephanie’s tonight. There are a couple pubs not far from her place. Donovan’s and…”
“Pickwicks,” she supplies in a whisper.
“Pickwicks,” I tell Stone, with a grateful smile her way.
“Yeah, I know Pickwicks,” he says. “That’s not far from my place. I’ll meet you there in say…an hour? Oh, and Cruise is coming, too. He’s pissed and wants to nip this thing in the bud before it’s too late.”
I exhale, my jaw working, torn between relief and worry about what he’s found out since we left camp today. “All right, thanks, man. I’ll see you there.” At the last minute, I add, “Oh, and can Steph come along? If she wants?”
“Of course,” Stone says, without missing a beat. “She’s smarter than all three of us put together. And way more level-headed. See you both soon.”
I end the call to find Stephanie already crossing the room toward the lobby.
I turn, meeting her gaze with a questioning one of my own.
“Well, come on. Hurry,” she says, a smile curving her lips. “We need to hustle if I’m going to have time to shower and change before we hit Pickwicks. I’ll drive with Mr. Sniffles, and we’ll meet you at my place?”
Relief spreads through my chest. “Yes, ma’am.”
And somehow, just like that, the weight I’ve been carrying all day feels lighter. I may be facing an uphill battle right now, but I’m not facing it alone.
Not anymore.