Chapter 4 – Greyson
It’s game day, I mean, it’s a pre-season game, but they’re still my favorite days. Usually, I’m locked in and one hundred percent focused. Today is a different story. I woke up from a dream starring none other than my new friend Hannah. In this one, she was walking through our practice facility, telling me about an idea she had. Everything was going great until she morphed into Kara. The dread I feel this morning is suffocating. I should feel grateful; I’m playing for my dream team. Let’s not even get started on the number of people who would kill to be in my shoes. Yet here I am, going through the motions, feeling like there's a ball and chain wrapped around my ankle.
I yelled at multiple teammates and broke one of my sticks before we were even on the ice. Morning Skate was quite literally a train wreck. I bag skated after we were done, and it still wasn’t enough to calm my restless mind. “What if today is the day your team realizes you’re a fraud?” “Is this really the best you can do?” “Don’t slip up, Wilder. You’re easily replaceable.”
With a mess of thoughts rolling around in my head, I decide to go for a run. In typical Florida fashion, it’s sunny one minute and pouring down rain the next. Not the greatest experience mid-run. It doesn’t bother me, though; in fact, I have a one-track mind at the moment. Blueberry muffins from Beautiful Pour.
I pull the door open and step inside, shaking the rain from my hair before pushing it back out of my face. The comforting smell of roasted beans and baked goods wraps around me, warm and inviting. But what stops me and stills my mess of a mind isn’t the ambiance-it’s her. Sitting in the corner, legs pulled under her as she sits in one of the shop’s many oversized beanbag chairs. Her fingers fly across the key on her laptop, an iced coffee sits on the table in front of her. The same tug I felt the other day pulls me in her direction once again.
“Well, if it isn’t the queen of caffeine herself.” I tease.
Her head pops up, and I watch her face light up with a genuine smile. Not the polite, professional, very practiced one she threw my way the last time we spoke. Her eyes hold mine, and for a second, the noise in my head goes completely silent.
“Bulldozer,” her voice playful, but there’s something else there. An inviting warmth that makes my chest tighten. “How lovely to see you.” She removes her headphones, resting her chin in one of her hands as if she has all the time in the world for me.
“What brings you here so early?” My hand runs through my hair once again, the weight of the rain making it flop in my face. When I glance back at her, she’s already watching me.
“Oh, the usual,” she replies, the corners of her mouth pulling into a soft grin. “Brain fuel, post-workout recharge, a change of scenery to get some work done. Maybe a bit of people-watching.” Her voice dips as she leans in my direction. Before I realize it, I’m mirroring her movement, closing the distance between us like she’s going to tell me a secret. “My favorite pastime is making up stories about people as they walk in. Like the poor guy who walked in shaking his hair out like a wet dog.”
Her eyes dance with mischief, a deep rumble sounds from my chest; I shake my head, flinging water droplets everywhere, causing her to giggle and put her hands in front of her face to shield herself from the water. “Ouch!” I bring my hand to my chest, feigning hurt. “Shots fired. ”
“What are you working on?” I ask as I plop myself down in the beanbag across the table from her.
She pauses, fingers hovering over the keyboard as she looks up at me, her gaze lingering just a second too long. “Wouldn’t you like to know? She teases.
I lean back, putting my hands behind my head, and a smirk slides across my face. “I would actually.”
Her eyes narrow, and she doesn’t look away. She shakes her head a little, and when she looks back up at me, professional Hannah is back. All traces of her playfulness are gone.
“Well, I was going to talk to you and some of the guys on the team about this when you had some free time.” She turns her computer until it faces me; the words “Tampa Times Charity Event” are typed out across the top, and a list of bullet points falls under it.
Furrowing my brow, I ask, “What does that have to do with the team?”
“My boss put me in charge of planning the event; she thought it would be beneficial if some of you guys could help, too. It’s for some of the local youth sports programs; if you’re too busy, she said even donating something we could use for the auction part would be a huge help.”
“I have a few minutes. Let me get my muffin and some coffee, and I’ll be right back. Then you can tell me about it. Is that okay?”
“Yes, of course, take your time.” But I don’t. I hurried to the counter, ordering my blueberry muffin and my cold brew coffee with 2% milk and a couple of shots of vanilla, and found my way back to the fluffy chair across from her.
“So, what’s the event? And what do you need from me? ”
The weight of the morning lifts further as her voice fills with excitement. She weaves a vivid picture of a charity event unlike any I’ve been to. Instead of the usual formal gala, she wants to hold a carnival on one of the piers. Her passion is contagious, and I find myself captivated by her ideas.
“I mean, it’s for the kids,” her voice brimming with excitement. “So why not make it something they’d actually enjoy? No fancy dresses, no schmoozing-just good-hearted fun.”
As she outlines her plans, I find it impossible not to get drawn in. She has ideas for everything, from a dunk tank where kids can dunk their favorite athletes to multiple carnival games. Instead of having food catered by the big names around town, she wants local vendors to bring in food and snacks, be it mom-and-pop restaurants, food trucks, or those who show up to local farmers' markets to sell their unique creations.
“For the auction,” she claps her hands in front of her, a smile plastered on her face. “You can help me with some of it. Anything you’d like to sign and donate would be fantastic. I was thinking maybe we could see about getting tickets to a game, too. I’ll talk to your PR director about it. We’re going to see if we can get some from the Pirates and the Strikers, too.”
I find myself nodding along, but my attention has slipped from the carnival to her. Her eyes sparkle with such intensity, and that’s all I can see. Her smile doesn’t falter for a second. She’s completely immersed in her vision, and the way she gestures with her hands is mesmerizing. It’s adorable, really. There’s a passion here that goes beyond the event; it’s like getting an inside look at the heart of this woman.
“What do you think?” she asks, snapping me out of my thoughts .
“I think it sounds like a lot of fun. My younger brother, Tatum, plays for the Strikers. I can ask him if he can get me some signed jerseys, maybe a signed soccer ball. My dad also played for the Hawks back in his day. I know for a fact that he’d sign one of anything you asked for to auction off. If you didn’t want to do typical carnival games or wanted an alternative, we could get some guys from the other local teams to split a section of the pier where kids could come and try out the sport with some of the players. See what they take an interest in if they’re still looking for their perfect fit.”
“Oh my gosh. Grey, that’s brilliant!” Grey, I’ve never liked the shortened version of my name, it reminds me of a storm cloud, which hits a little too close to home. But coming from her, I like it a lot.
We talk a bit longer as we finish our coffee; I get her phone number so I can continue to offer my brilliant ideas whenever they pop into my head. Yep! That’s totally the only reason I got it. “See you tonight, Kitten. Thanks for being my coffee date.”
I throw her a wink, and the most adorable blush covers her cheeks; she lightly shakes her head, and a smirk graces her lips.
“Later, Dozer, if I don’t see you before you head out to the ice, don’t knock anyone over, and go kick some butt.” With a smile and a nod, I’m out the door. The five-minute walk back to my apartment is spent replaying our interaction. There’s something so intriguing about her. She’s like a code I want to crack.
Just as I reach my building, the dream from last night replays, tread lightly Greyson. The last thing I need is a repeat of my last relationship; everything I love is here. My whole family is here, and that’s the main reason I fought so hard to be traded here .
I pull out my phone as I walk up the stairs and search, “How not fall for someone at the drop of a hat?” The results are entirely unhelpful. God knew I’d be unstoppable if he made me mentally stable with the ability to slow my roll when it comes to women. So, instead, he made me obsessed with the thought of having a family of my own while struggling with depression and pockets of uncontrollable anger as a side effect. Winning.
My mood has drastically improved since this morning. I took a nap, then had some avocado toast on the balcony, letting the sun melt away my stress. By the time I get to the rink, I’m in a completely different frame of mind. The flip-flop of my brain some days gives me whiplash. As I shut the door to my SUV, Monroe comes up beside me, clapping his hand over my shoulder.
“Sorry for biting your head off earlier.”
“We all have our days. Are you doing any better?” I nod as we fall into step toward the players' entrance. The silence feels easy, each of us slipping into game mode. By the time we reach the locker room, we’re met with the usual pre-game energy.
We go through our game day routines; this part of the day is sacred. Superstitions remember? My routine is simple: get dressed, put my left skate on first, and pop my gummy bears right before heading to the ice. Today, though, I added something extra. I snap the collar around my ankle before putting my sock and shin gua rd on. Grabbing my phone out of my bag, I angle it just right and snap a picture. It may be ridiculous, but who cares?
Before I can overthink it, I fire off a text, already chuckling to myself.
Greyson: Brilliant idea #2 Picture of cat collar on ankle under skate.
Greyson: Thanks for my new lucky charm, Kitten.
Hannah: You did not. I’m honored, Bulldozer.
Greyson: You should be. If we win, this is my new superstition. Look out, gummy bears.
Hannah: Oh no, not the gummy bears! Make sure you meow in your victory speech. ??
Greyson: Meow-velous idea, Kitten. See you later. ??
––––––––
Popping my three gummy bears in my mouth, I toss my phone in my locker and head out, with extra caution this time, of course. I don’t need any more laid-out journalists.
I smile as I step onto the ice; the arena is magnetic, and the crowd is loud for a pre-season game. The ice is fresh and shiny, the air is crisp like it should hurt to take a deep inhale, but instead, it lights a fire in my bloodstream. Putting my head down, I run through our stretches and warm-up shots, skate some laps around the net, crack some jokes with the guys, then hop on the bench, ready to kick some Tennessee Patriot ass to the curb.
The game is scoreless at the end of the first period, which doesn’t sit well for Coach Stevens. He gives us what he calls a pep talk, which is just a bunch of “get your damn heads in the game.” “I’ve seen toddlers work better as a team.” And my personal favorite “You’re not polar bears, you don’t get paid to lay on the ice, get the puck into the net.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re back, and Coach is calling our line to get ready. Reed, Monroe, and I are up and ready to hop the boards. We do so at such a well-timed moment; the puck slides past our bench seconds before Reed’s skates hit the ice. He snatches it up and sprints toward the Patriot’s goal.
Cradling it in his stick, he moves around a defenseman before passing it back to Monroe. I see another defender coming up behind him, and I tap my stick on the ice to let him know I’m here and that I have an opening. With one of the cleanest backhanded passes I’ve ever seen, Monroe delivers the puck to the middle of my stick. With a wind-up, I hit the puck hard, making a slapshot right in the middle of the goalies’ legs. “Five hole!” I shout right before I’m being pushed into the boards by my celebrating teammates. All traces of this morning have been forgotten; this is what I do best.
Once that first goal went in, we gained some much-needed momentum. It’s easy to score and then get sloppy or too confident. Yeah, we get slammed into the boards, and yeah, we get in fights, but the hardest part, in my opinion, is keeping my thoughts on the future plays and not the scoring drives we’ve had already. We ended the game 2-0. Maverick scored the second goal in the third period, sinking the puck in the upper right corner from behind the net; the goalie’s blocker was half a second too late. It was a beautiful play.
Well, well, well, I have some meowing to do.