4. Ace
FOUR
ACE
There were only a few lights dotting the skyscraper across from mine. Morning. My favorite time of day. The rest of the world is still sleeping and I have space to think. My childhood had been spent in the country, where we’d wake up before the sun to drive the forty minutes to the small town rink. It’s where Gideon and I found our love for hockey.
Every young hockey player dreams of playing in the national league, but the one thing that they don’t tell you, is that you’ll be a city boy the whole time. The pond we skated on in the back field was surrounded by frogs in the summer, the kind whose song came alive in the spring. Now, as winter draws nearer to spring, the only thing I’ll hear is the ding of the elevator as it reaches my floor.
My running shoes crunched on the snow as I sprinted through the quiet streets. Toronto and Chicago had similar climates to where I grew up in Northern Michigan, so I was used to the brutal cold. I was also thankful that they had great food options, and that I wasn’t stuck in the rain of Seattle, or in Winnipeg.
I drove my classic pickup truck to the arena and parked alongside Gideon’s pretentious Range Rover. I was wearing my workout clothes and sprinted through the building to the gym.
“Acer!” Harrison, one of the defensemen raised a fist for me to bump as I entered the weight room.
“Banksy.”
Gideon was at one of the squat racks. He cast me a glance and gave a cursory nod before returning to his Bulgarian split squats.
The assistant coach, a guy named Jamie, shook his head as I entered. “What did I tell you about running?”
“I didn’t run. I sprinted.” I grinned. Jamie didn’t want me doing too much cardio and sacrificing the gains he was trying to put on my body. I was naturally lean, and if I didn’t eat at least five thousand calories a day, I would start to drop weight faster than my brother loses a faceoff.
“Good.” Jamie grunted. He handed me a shaker bottle with his secret concoction of what I assumed was protein and creatine...and bull cum. Whatever it was, it tasted like chalk and vanilla had had a baby, and that baby had thrown up in the shaker. “Now, go spot your brother.”
I narrowed my lips and thought about protesting. “Sure, boss.” The relationship between me and Gideon was described as a rivalry, but those who were close, knew that it was closer to hatred. My brother was an asshole, and if it were up to him, he’d have me traded to some European league and never speak to me again.
“I don’t need a spot.” Gideon grunted.
His quads shook as he pressed up and placed the bar on the rack. “I’m done anyway.” He threw his towel over his shoulder and moved on to the free weights.
I shrugged. “You don’t need a spotter when you’re only squatting…” I paused to count the plates on the bar. “Jesus Christ.” I couldn’t hide my reaction. The guy was squatting more than anyone on the team. Gideon watched in the mirror with a smirk on his face as I removed four plates from the squat rack.
Banksy and I alternated our squats while the rest of the team sauntered into the weight room. It was my leg day, but some of the other guys were doing explosive work, jumping on the bike and sprinting as hard as they could and then pumping iron, before returning to the bike. The Tigers’ training was far more grueling than when I had played for Chicago, and I think that’s because Coach Swanson is a big guy, and he puts a lot of value into size.
I didn’t agree. I felt faster when I was lighter, and as a winger, I needed speed, not brawn. Gideon had always played center, and comparisons had been made between him and Eric Lindros, who, back in the 1990s, was known for being big and fast, something that was a rarity. To this day, Gideon was compared to the former star—whose career had been cut short from head injuries, something that both Gideon and I had experienced. In fact, one more bad TBI would likely end our time in the league.
Jamie came over to the squat rack and made some notes on his clipboard. “Coach wants to see more power, Acer.”
“I know.” I grunted as I completed my reps. “If I had something to skate for, it would make it easier to put on the jets.”
In the last game, the passes had been missing, or nonexistent. Gideon was supposed to pass me the puck, but instead, he took a slap shot from the blue line right before the buzzer. I had exploded into position, only to watch the goalie snatch the puck out of the air like it was a feather floating by on a light breeze.
Jamie nodded. “I think that Coach is going to have you guys work on some passing accuracy this afternoon.”
Harrison Banks was on the second line and, like me, was new to the team. “He’s working us too hard,” Harrison muttered under his breath.
I agreed, but I wasn’t going to shit-talk the coach in the weight room. “I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.” I shrugged.
Gideon dropped the dumbbells and they thudded on the floor. “Maybe if you two would shut up and work out, we’d be able to score some goals.”
Ethan bent over to pick up the dumbbells and shoved them into my brother’s hands. “Maybe if management didn’t have us parading around in our underwear, we’d be able to focus on the game. Leave your shitty attitude at the door, Giddy.”
My brother’s face was stone-cold. He rarely showed emotion, and today was no exception. He took the dumbbells from Ethan Turner and continued working out. Ethan was right. The camaraderie on the team was the worst I’d ever experienced, and Gideon wasn’t the only guy in the room with a bad attitude.
“Is he always like that?” Harrison whispered under his breath.
“No.” I grinned into the mirror, knowing that Gideon was listening. “Only since he was seven.”
Gideon shook his head and put his noise-cancelling headphones back on his ears.
Harrison and I worked out together for the rest of the session. “Are you doing an ice bath today?” he asked as we stretched our hamstrings next to the full-length mirror.
“I’ll do whatever Bobby recommends.” Bob was one of our trainers who liked ice baths for injuries and recovery, but most days just told us to get into the sauna. I hoped for a hot day. “I feel like I could sweat out a few toxins, and that dunk in Lake Ontario on the weekend has gotta count for at least three sessions.”
Harrison raised his eyebrows. “Were you out partying last night or something?”
“I wish.” I had whacked off in the shower and watched game tapes until I fell asleep on the sofa. “I would love to let loose, but I think that I need a reason to celebrate first.”
“A win.” Harrison’s voice was grim.
“Yeah. This is the biggest losing streak I’ve ever experienced.”
“I think it’s the biggest losing streak any of us has ever experienced. Ever since the trade…” Harrison’s voice trailed off. It wasn’t a secret that the guys on the team thought that the Bailey brothers had brought a curse onto the Tigers. “Shit. Sorry. No offense,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean anything by that.”
I pulled my sweatshirt over my head and chugged some water. “None taken. It’s the truth.” The Tigers had traded two of their best players for me and Gideon. It was the first time we’d played together since the Juniors, and the two of us on the ice were like two pigs in a farting contest.
As we exited the weight room, Bobby pointed to the sauna.
Harrison, Ethan, and I all stripped naked, wrapped towels around our waists, and stepped into the cedar-lined hot box. We all clambered to the top bench. I immediately broke a sweat and it felt damn good.
Ethan stretched his arms above his head and leaned against the wall. “Are you still banging that brunette bunny?” he asked.
“Who, me?” Harrison pointed to his chest.
Ethan barked out a laugh. “Yeah, you. Unless Mister Celibacy has a brunette he’s keeping a secret.”
I rolled my eyes. “I am focused on getting this team out of last place.” For someone who prided himself on not being superstitious, I was fully sold on the idea that having sex ruined my game. Maybe it was a good thing that Goldie had totally rejected me. I would’ve had blue balls from hell if I spent any more time with her. Sweat beaded on my forehead and even though it was one hundred and twenty degrees in the sauna, thoughts of Goldie made it feel more like two hundred.
“Yeah.” Harrison poured some water over the rocks and they sizzled and steamed. “She’s actually pretty cool.”
I looked at Ethan and he shot me a questioning look. Harry had a reputation, a bunny killer. He ran through the adoring crowd of wavy-haired, lip-glossed girls like it was a full-time job.
“Banksy’s in looooove,” Ethan cooed.
Harry still had the metal ladle in his hand and tossed a scoop of cold water at Ethan. It totally missed and hit me directly in the face. “Joke’s on you, Harry. That felt good.”
Harrison grabbed the bucket and was about to toss its contents at me when the sauna door opened and Gideon walked in. The air sucked out of the room like it had been turned into a hyperbaric chamber.
“Grow up,” Gideon grumbled. He took the bucket from Harrison and set it on the bottom bench. He climbed to take a seat in the corner on the top bench, as far away from us as he could get.
Ethan cleared his throat. “What’s so cool about this girl?” he asked.
Harrison’s cheeks seemed to turn a shade pinker. “She actually knows about hockey.”
I smiled, remembering my conversation with Goldie. She could talk about the game like someone who had played it at a serious level. “That’s pretty hot,” I agreed.
“And she does this thing with her tongue.” His eyes glinted.
“Here we go.” Ethan laughed. “She would have to be pretty freaky deaky to stay on Harry’s call list for more than one or two nights.”
Harry made a ball-cupping motion. “She gets them both in her…”
“Enough,” Gideon boomed. “I came in here to relax after my workout, not hang out with a bunch of high school kids.” He got up.
“Gideon.” Ethan started to stand. “You don’t have to leave. We can talk about hockey…” His voice faded. It was obvious he had no idea what else Gideon was into, other than the game. If the guys knew that he loved reading cozy mysteries and was obsessive about Ping-Pong as a kid, it might have helped his likability with the team.
I shivered as Gideon held open the door and a gust of room-temperature air flooded the sauna. “No. You guys can go back to talking about how many balls your girl can fit in her mouth. But, Harry, keep an eye on Ace. He might try to fill her mouth up with his mini sack when you’re not looking.”
It was impossible to slam the sauna door, but Gideon managed to do it anyway. “Who pissed in his cornflakes?” Harry muttered, but gave me a wary glance.
“I think that the pressure is getting to him.” I wasn’t exactly giving an excuse for my brother’s behavior—he was being a dick—but I knew how hard he worked. I also knew that no matter how many times I tried to tell him that I hadn’t slept with his girlfriend, even almost a year later, it would always be her lying words against mine.
The question hung in the steam between us. They wanted to ask, but didn’t.
I didn’t sleep with my brother’s girlfriend. But he doesn’t believe me and it has made him hate my guts. We only got physical about it once. I ended up with two black eyes, and he broke his hand. Neither of us could play for months; it’s hard to skate and score goals when you can’t see or your hands don’t work.
“So…Banksy, tell us about this trick.” It was obvious that Ethan was trying to change the subject, and I appreciated the gesture.
Banksy’s lips pulled into a grin and the air instantly cleared.
“I’ll keep that a secret. I don’t want Ace to steal her away from me.”
Ouch. It hurt, but I pretended it didn’t. I smacked Banksy on the arm. “I’d be more worried about Ethan, or Mikey Holmes.” I gestured to Ethan with my thumb.
“Nah.” Ethan wiped the sweat off his face with the corner of his towel. “My balls are too big.”
Gideon was right. We were immature little bastards. Even I was getting tired of the ball talk. I also wanted to get as far away from the lingering question in the air: Did Ace Bailey really fuck his brother’s girlfriend?
Instead, I asked the question that had been plaguing me all morning. “Have any of you ever had a girl you know…reject you?”
The two of them looked at each other and then burst into laugher. “Dude.” Ethan grinned. “I play in the NHL.”
Harrison tapped his bottom lip with his fingertip. “Not for a few years. Once when I was a junior, I wanted to date this figure skater named Josie. She flat-out said that she would only date me if I wasn’t a hockey player.”
“Did you think about quitting?” I asked.
“Not for a second. Hockey has always come first. Right, Ethan?”
Ethan nodded. “You?” he asked.
“Hockey first,” I agreed with them.
Harry poured more water on the sauna rocks. “Tell us exactly how an NHL hockey player who makes millions of dollars a year, drives that badass pickup truck, and got offered an underwear sponsorship gets shot down.”
I sighed. “I wish I knew. We went out to lunch and had a great time. At the end, I asked her on another date and she said that she doesn’t date hockey players.”
Harry’s eyes widened. “Was her name Josie Green?”
We all laughed. “No. But, she did have a weird name. Goldie.”
Ethan stretched his arms over his head. “That is a weird name. I guess you just found the one woman in Toronto who is immune to good-looking pro athletes.”
“Yeah.” Harry ran his hand through his hair. “With a name like that, you probably dodged a bullet.”
“Well. It doesn’t matter. I even saved her damn dog from drowning and I still couldn’t get a second date. Maybe she’s married.”
“Or maybe she’s a figure skater.” Harry shrugged.
“Or maybe she’s smart.” Ethan gave me a sly grin.
That got to me. Unlike Gideon, I didn’t like to read nerdy books, or talk about philosophy, or whatever it is that smart people talk about. Somehow, Ethan touched the nerve that I’d hidden with my success, and it zapped me. I wasn’t smart enough for a girl like Goldie. I was, and always will be, just a dumb hockey player.
“Hey, Harry.” I got up.
“Yeah?” he turned. “I think that you forgot something.”
His brow furrowed. “What?”
I picked up the bucket and tossed the ice-cold water at him. Drips ran down the wall behind him like a splatter pattern in a crime scene. “Got ya.” I laughed and pointed.
Gideon might be a better hockey player than me. He might be bigger, smarter, and richer. He was the kind of guy that a girl like Goldie would want. But I was the one making friends on the team. I was the one people liked. That had to stand for something, right?