The Best Parts of Him (Vermont Trailblazers #1)

Chapter 1

chapter one

JULY

“Nice work, everyone.” Kyle Dabbs held out a hand, fist bumping the nine- and ten-year-olds that had been assigned to his co-ed group at the annual Vermont Trailblazers Youth Hockey Camp.

“But we lost, Coach Dabbs.” A camper with long blond pigtails slumped onto the bench in the locker room of one of Burlington, Vermont’s community arenas. Pouting, she kicked at the floor with one skated foot. “That sucks.”

“It does suck,” Dabbs agreed as the kids began to remove their skates and uniforms. It always sucked to lose. As captain of the Vermont Trailblazers, Dabbs knew that more than most.

Of course, the Trailblazers had won the Stanley Cup just last month, but as a thirty-two-year-old hockey player, he’d had his share of losses as well as wins.

“But did you learn new skills this week?” he asked.

A chorus of unenthusiastic “Yeah” echoed around the room.

“Did you have fun?”

A second chorus of “Yeah,” this one slightly more engaged.

“Did you make new friends?”

“Yeah!”

“That’s what’s important. Never let the desire to win interfere with having fun.”

Players got paid to win at the NHL level, but he didn’t need to disillusion a bunch of kids with that reality.

The campers had just played their final game on the last day of camp, which they’d played against the other group of nine- and ten-year-olds, led by one of Dabbs’ teammates.

A win would’ve sent them off with smiles and stories to tell their friends and family.

But they’d all received participation trophies, and as they trooped out of the locker room to find their guardians, Dabbs noticed more than one kid clutched their trophy as though they had won the cup instead of the Trailblazers.

A few minutes later, he stood in the arena’s entranceway with the last few campers who were awaiting their rides home. It was controlled chaos as kids aged five to twelve waited in groups with their camp counselors, showing off their trophies and talking loudly over each other.

Dabbs met the blue-eyed gaze of his teammate and roommate, Bellamy Jordan, over the kids’ heads, and they shared a why-are-they-so-loud look of commiseration.

“Thank you so much.”

He turned toward an approaching parent.

“Sierra loved coming to your camp.”

Sierra, she of the blond pigtails who’d been upset about losing, muttered a sulky “Mom” under her breath and her shoulders hiked up to her ears.

“She didn’t like her counselor at the camp I signed her up for last summer,” Sierra’s mom said. “But she said you were nice and always had a word of encouragement, so thank you for that.”

“No need to thank me,” Dabbs said, shrugging off the compliment. It cost him nothing to be kind, a lesson his dad had never learned. To Sierra, he added, “I hope to see you next year.”

“You will,” she said brightly, all embarrassment gone. “Bye, Coach Dabbs.” She left with her mom, skipping through the automatic doors and into the bright July sunshine.

Sandro Zanetti, a teammate and fellow camp counselor, rested his elbow on Dabbs’ shoulder. “This was the most exhausting week of my life.”

Dabbs chuckled. “And yet you’re doing it again at the end of the month.”

“With the thirteen- to eighteen-year-olds. It’ll be a whole different atmosphere.” Zanetti took his elbow back and flicked dark hair off his forehead. “Anyway. I’m headed out. I want to start my drive home tonight.”

“Are you staying the night somewhere?” Dabbs asked, knowing the drive from Burlington, Vermont, to Zanetti’s hometown of Tobermory, Ontario, was more than ten hours—and that was without stops.

It was after four already, so a ten-hour drive would put his arrival in Tobermory after two in the morning, and that was assuming no delays at the border.

“Probably halfway, in Kingston most likely.” He gave Dabbs a jaunty salute. “See you later.”

“Drive safe.”

Once all the kids had gone, Dabbs waved goodbye to the arena’s staff and joined his roommate for the short walk to his vehicle.

“So?” Bellamy bumped their shoulders. “Still coming with me to Maplewood tonight?”

“Are you sure I won’t be intruding?”

Bellamy scoffed. “It’s a campout in Jason’s backyard with his siblings, niece, and nephew. There’s nothing to intrude on.”

Jason, Bellamy’s boyfriend, was from the small town of Maplewood, which was, according to Bellamy, the queerest town in Vermont.

Dabbs had never been—had never heard of it until Bellamy had been traded to the Trailblazers earlier this year.

Bellamy’s grandparents had retired there, and it had been on a visit to see them that he’d met Jason in town.

He spent most of his available free time in Maplewood.

Sometimes Dabbs forgot he had a roommate other than his dogs.

Tugging open the driver’s side door of his SUV, Dabbs said, “I thought you didn’t do camping.”

“I don’t,” Bellamy confirmed, hopping into the passenger seat. “But a tent pitched in someone’s backyard? That, I can handle. I figure we pack an overnight bag when we get home, drop the dogs off at Hughes’, and head out by . . . five-ish?”

“Sounds good.”

Up until a month ago, Dabbs and Bellamy had been living in separate units of the same building owned by their organization.

Those units, while large, fully furnished, and offering gorgeous views of Lake Champlain, weren’t meant for long-term stays; they were for housing newly traded players or visiting stakeholders.

Bellamy had been there because he’d been a recent trade from Nevada, and Dabbs because he’d gotten kicked out of his old place when his landlord had found out about his dogs.

Cue neither of them being interested in—or having the energy for—looking for a more permanent place to live, so when Zanetti had casually mentioned that there was an available two-bedroom townhouse-style unit in his building, they’d jumped on it.

Half the time, having Bellamy home meant Jason was there too, but Dabbs didn’t mind. Their rooms were on opposite ends of the second floor, so whatever Bellamy and Jason got up to in the privacy of their bedroom, Dabbs couldn’t hear it.

Usually. There was that time when—

Nope. Not going there. There wasn’t enough brain bleach in the world to un-hear that.

His phone rang, showing Head Coach Madolora’s name on the screen on his dashboard. He tapped the button on his steering wheel to answer the call as he navigated out of the parking lot. “Hey, Coach. What’s up?”

“Dabbs, got a minute? I want to run something by you.”

“Sure, but I’m driving, so I’ve got you on speaker, and Bellamy’s in the car with me.”

Bellamy waved, even though Coach couldn’t see him. “Hey, Coach. I can pretend not to hear whatever you’re about to discuss if it’s for Dabbs’ ears only.”

It wouldn’t be the first time Dabbs had taken a call from Coach that was for his ears only. As captain, he was often privy to information before the rest of the team.

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind getting your opinion,” Coach said. “But this all stays between us for now. Understood?”

“Copy that,” Dabbs murmured over Bellamy’s “You got it.”

“We’ve been approached by a producer interested in a Trailblazers documentary. They’re talking a six-part limited series with each episode focused on a different topic or aspect of the game.”

“Cool,” Bellamy said, wide-eyed, while Dabbs’ stomach dropped to his toes.

“Cool, in theory,” Coach agreed. “But they want to document training camp all the way to the playoffs. It’ll mean giving cameras access to the locker room, the players, players’ homes, the arena.”

“Nowhere would be sacred,” Dabbs muttered.

“Now, that’s not entirely true. We’d have agreements in place outlining what they would and wouldn’t have access to.”

Dabbs turned onto Main Street, his hands white-knuckling the steering wheel. “Filming would begin this year?”

“Oh, hell no.” Coach made a derisive sound.

“We’re still in preliminary talks with the producer, and we have a thousand questions about a thousand different things before we sign on the dotted line.

If anything, filming would start at the beginning of next season.

But before any decisions are made, I wanted to get your general feel for the idea. ”

Dabbs’ general feel was that of a colony of ants crawling up his spine.

After growing up with a father who couldn’t find a kind word for anyone—including his children—the thought of being in the spotlight, where he could be ridiculed or talked down to or harshly criticized for the smallest perceived error, was about as appealing as bashing himself over the head with his own hockey stick.

He couldn’t avoid the spotlight entirely. He was team captain—avoiding the spotlight would be like trying to avoid a late-summer swarm of gnats while walking his dogs. But he could minimize it, and, in turn, minimize the negativity in his life.

It was why he’d chosen a pseudonym under which he’d publish the middle-grade books he’d written over the past few years. They’d been a labor of love and passion, and he planned on donating the royalties to a charity that specialized in providing resources to kids who struggled in their home life.

But the books weren’t about him—they were for kids facing daily challenges at home.

Ergo, the pseudonym.

So, yeah. His general feel over camera people setting up camp in the Trailblazers’ locker room and in his and his teammates’ homes—places that were supposed to be safe—was that of dread that crawled up the back of his throat.

“Dabbs? You still there?”

“Yeah, I was just . . . thinking.”

“I love the idea,” Bellamy piped in, leaning forward in his seat. “A whole series on how hard we work and how dedicated we are to the team? That can only be a good thing. Think of the new fans it would attract.”

“True,” Dabbs had to concede. “Conversely, it means there will be people in all of our spaces. For months. And we have guys on the team who are very private.” Like me, he wanted to say. “Guys who are protective of their personal lives, their families, their kids.”

“That’s one of the questions we have for the producer,” Coach said.

“There’s no way I’d allow a camera person into everyone’s homes twenty-four seven for the entire season.

Not just for privacy reasons, but for the mental health of the players.

If we do decide to move forward with this project, we’d protect everyone’s privacy as much as possible. ”

Dabbs pulled into his and Bellamy’s driveway. “It sounds like you’re leaning toward making this happen.”

“I’m not leaning toward anything. I just wanted to get your thoughts on it.”

“My thoughts are that we both have more questions than answers. Once we have those answers, I’ll be better able to make a judgment call. But on the whole . . . ” He didn’t want to admit it, but he had to. “I think most of the guys will go for it.”

Bellamy pumped a fist.

“That’s what my gut is telling me too.” Coach grunted and paper rustled on his end of the line. “Send me the questions you have for the producer. I’ll add them to mine and Ramsey’s.”

That was the team’s general manager.

“Will do, Coach.”

They signed off, and Dabbs turned off the car.

“You hate the idea,” Bellamy stated before Dabbs could exit the vehicle.

Dabbs opened the door just to let some air in as the sun began to heat the interior. “I don’t hate it.”

“You hate it.”

Despite his mom taking him and his sisters away from their father when he was ten, and despite years of therapy, it was tough for Dabbs to willingly put himself in a position to be verbally abused, even when he did everything right.

Hell, he’d once strutted into the house like a proud peacock, brandishing a seventeen out of twenty on a third-grade math quiz, and his dad had ripped it up and told him unless it was twenty out of twenty, it wasn’t good enough.

Hockey was different. He was an NHL player—he knew he was skilled. And when he had an off day, there wasn’t anything a disappointed fan could say about his shitty game that he wasn’t already kicking himself in the ass for.

But letting someone into his home, his personal life, his mental state, his psyche? Letting a documentary filmmaker dig into what made him tick and what his game-day routine looked like and how he coped with challenging games and losses?

That was a whole new set of rules.

“I reserve judgment until I have answers to all my questions,” he finally said, climbing out of the car.

Bellamy grumbled something unintelligible and followed him into their house.