Chapter 5
FIVE
NICK
Banging pucks is my favorite thing to do.
I didn’t start my career as a goalie. Like most kids, I wanted to be a forward.
The star. The one leading the power play up the ice.
It wasn’t until AAA when our goalie and the backup goalie got food poisoning and were both out for an away game.
I stepped in and, as Coach said, I was a natural.
It was fun being on the other side of the puck, staring down a player, trying to figure out their next move.
I was hooked.
But I missed skating. Coach Coalman and I have history, and because of that, he let me come in early and do just that—skate. I left my goalie skates and stick in the dressing room and put on regular skates to go out and fly.
The Chance Rapids arena was one of the old-school barns, and the smell of the cleaning solution and canteen popcorn brought me right back to my childhood.
The lights were down low, and I couldn’t figure out how to put on music, so the only sound in the rink was the slicing of my blades into the hard ice.
Growing up in the foster system wasn’t easy.
After my parents died, I was one of the lucky kids who was placed in a good home, a home where my foster parents believed in the power of sport—and the importance of it to keep kids out of trouble.
Over the years, hockey teams became my family.
Some coaches took on father-figure roles, but Coalman was not one of them.
He was tough and mean, but he got the W.
He was my Coach for two years before we both moved on.
I joined the Northern Professional Hockey League in upstate New York and he crossed the country to coach the Bobcats.
Steamy puffs from my exertion filled the air as I imagined deking around players and flicking the puck into the net.
I was deep into my practice session when the arena lights flickered on and voices started echoing across the ice. Pausing my shot, I glided around the net and watched as fans started filling the seats. The Coca-Cola clock next to the scoreboard read 1:20 and practice didn’t start until 2:00.
A kid wearing a Bobcats jersey—not the cool kind like Janie had behind the desk, a current version—ran at full speed around the boards to the Zamboni doors. “Nick Tinsel, can I get your autograph,” he shouted. His high-pitched voice was almost a squeal. The kid was excited.
The crowd kept pouring into the arena. What the hell was going on? Did people come and watch this team…practice?
I skidded to a stop and leaned on the boards. “How do you know who I am?”
The kid grinned. He was at that awkward stage where he was missing some teeth. “I know all the Bobcats. We’re so excited that you’re here. The last goalie…” He shook his head and grumbled like an old man.
He planted a glossy magazine next to my elbow and pulled a Sharpie from behind his ear. “I’ve got all of the team’s autographs, I just need yours.”
It was a Christmas Carnival magazine. I flipped through the pages, but it didn’t take long to get to the hockey section. Each player had their own page, and the kid had been busy—every player had scrawled their name in his book.
“You can sign on the old goalie’s page. You’re too new to be in this book.” He pointed to the page where the old number nine’s face stared out from behind his goalie cage.
The Laketown Otters were a popular team. We had fans, but none of them showed up hours early to watch us practice. I thought that GJ might have been an outlier, but the Chance Rapids Bobcats appeared to have a cultlike following.
“Sure, kid. What’s your name?” I bit the cap of the Sharpie and held it in between my teeth.
“It’s George.”
“What position do you play, George,” I asked through the cap.
“Left wing. I’m going to play in the NHL.”
Sure kid. We all are.
I was an asshole, but not cruel, so I didn’t say it out loud. The chances of making it to the NHL were against him, but I didn’t want to be the one to burst his bubble. And, hell, maybe he would be one of the lucky ones. I scrawled my name with the number nine attached to the L in Tinsel.
“Thanks, Nick.” He fanned the magazine before closing it and held it to his chest while he waited for me to return his marker.
“We’re so excited for the Christmas Classic.
We’re going to win this year. I know it.
Everyone is going to celebrate. My mom is going to bake a cake and we’re going to have a party after the game to celebrate. ”
“Sounds like fun,” I grumbled.
“There’s Logan.” George’s eyes widened as he looked past me.
I turned to see one of hockey’s legends step on the ice. Logan Brush was a former NHL star who had bought the Bobcats. Coach Coalman told me that he was involved with the team, but I hadn’t expected to see him on the ice.
My guts churned and I wondered if the Swamp Monster was going to make a reappearance.
It wasn’t food poisoning, it was nerves.
I thought that I was going to show up, play a few games in a league that no one cared about, get what I came for, and leave.
I didn’t expect the team to have a fan base that could rival any NHL team.
George had run back to the stands, his eyes glued on Logan Brush. I squared my shoulders and skated to the team bench.
“Nick Tinsel?” Logan extended his hand. “I’m Logan Brush. Coach Coalman will be out shortly. I didn’t expect to see you out here on the ice. I was hoping to have a chat before practice.”
I shook his hand. “Coach said it was all right for me to come and get my legs warmed up.”
Logan nodded. “Makes sense. How are you doing with the altitude? That’s usually what kicks people’s asses, especially coming from the Eastern Seaboard.”
Pausing, I started to wonder if the dizzy, light-headed feeling I got around Evie wasn’t a surprise infatuation, but just a result of being too high—literally. “I haven’t really noticed it, but I just got in last night. I’m staying at the Snowy Peaks Inn until I find a place to live.”
“Oh, I know.” Logan had a perfect smile.
He was the same height as me, six foot four, and even though he was a couple decades older, looked like he could give me a run for my money in speed drills.
“GJ has her book club searching high and low for an apartment for the hunky new goalie.” He laughed. “Her words, not mine.”
“Dear Lord.” I shook my head, but this news didn’t surprise me. “She told me she was going to help out.”
“You’re lucky to have her.” Logan picked up a clipboard. “It can be tough to find rentals here, but in the winter it’s almost impossible. If you haven’t noticed, half of Australia is in town to make sure skiers don’t fall off the chairlifts.”
“The only people I’ve met are GJ’s crew, her granddaughter, and Muriel.”
Logan scribbled something on his notes. “Don’t worry. You will meet everyone soon enough. You’re going to be a celebrity here. I’d advise you not to get involved with any of the puck bunnies, it’s a small town, word gets around pretty quick.”
My thoughts immediately went to Evie and her sexy braids.
She definitely wasn’t a puck bunny. “I’ll keep that in mind.
” I crossed my arms. Logan Brush seemed cool, but I didn’t appreciate being told what to do.
If I wanted to bang my way through every bunny in town, that was my decision—not the team owner’s.
But defiance is what got me suspended from the Otters, so I bit my lip and nodded.
“I’m sure that there are non-bunnies in town that I could take out on a date. ”
He chuckled and pulled a pair of glasses out of his pocket.
“Getting old, Tinsel. I knew it would happen, I just didn’t think it would happen to me.
” The glasses had granny strings. Logan managed to shimmy the string over his Bobcats baseball cap and let the readers rest on his chest. “Just, be smart. That’s all I’m saying.
People will talk. Especially GJ.” He pried open the arms of his glasses and put them on, glaring at me from over the top of the lenses.
I think it was his way of telling me not to mess around with Evie. Or, maybe not. Maybe he wasn’t inferring anything at all, and I just had her on my mind. All I wanted to do was get the job done and get the hell out of Chance Rapids, hopefully right after the Christmas Classic.
“Got it.”
Logan turned his head and raised his eyebrows. I felt like I needed to say that I wasn’t going to give his team a bad reputation, that I wasn’t going to sleep with the innkeeper’s granddaughter. “I’ll stay away from Evie.”
He smiled and nodded. He was talking about her.
“She’s not really my type anyway.” I felt like I needed to cement it with my new boss. “There was this hot brunette dressed in black at the G-Spot. I like my women a little bit older.” I winked.
The color drained from Logan’s face. He pointed to the dressing room. “Suit up before you’re late.” His voice had lowered to a growl. I thought that taking the attention away from Evie would help me. What had I done wrong?
“I should get ready for practice.”
“Isn’t that what I just said?” He slammed the clipboard on the bench. Number Eleven from the Bobcats walked by and raised his eyebrows.
“Right.” I grabbed my stick and made my way to the dressing room.
So much for starting out on a good foot, but at least if the owner hated me, it would make fucking up his Christmas Classic and bailing on the team a hell of a lot easier.
I had already decided I wasn’t going to make any friends.
If I was going to let them all down, it would be easier if I didn’t like any of them.