Chapter One #2
“Wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot stick,” I called out and, skating backward, passed to Peter, instinctively knowing he’d be there to pick up the puck.
With the crowd roaring, and flanked by two defensemen, he sped down the ice, passed off to Seb, who fought for control amid three Snow Caps, and smacked it to Chitty, who took a shot on goal that went wide.
“Fuck,” he screamed, but I had to rein him in.
“Not the time for egos. You’ll get it next time,” I yelled to him. “Regroup. Let’s do it now.”
Once again, it was Vlad and me fighting for dominance, but I managed to slap it away to Seb.
In a breakaway, he motored to the Snow Caps side, where Dumas, the Caps’ right winger and one of the best in the league, caught up with him, and they fought it out with sticks and a couple of elbows thrown.
Dumas got hold of the puck and sent it zipping across center ice, but the buzzer rang out before anyone on their team could attempt a shot on goal.
We won, and I dropped my stick and pumped my fist in the air. We celebrated this win as if we’d taken the Cup. The entire team filled the ice, congratulating each other while the crowd cheered and clapped. Always good to start the second half of the season with a win.
Coach clapped each of us on the back as we passed by. Everyone except me. He nodded, and his smile faltered. “Good game, Tremaine.”
I smothered my response—Don’t worry. You can’t catch gay—and simply nodded with the same pseudo quirk of my lips.
“Thanks.”
We met the media outside, and Seb and I flanked Coach, who fielded the questions.
“The Blades had a solid first forty games. How does it look for keeping the momentum going?” Jerry Pasquale from Channel 62 Sports yelled out.
“How did it look tonight?” Coach joked, and Seb and I exchanged grins.
“Seriously? I think we have the strongest team in years. A great mix of veterans, like Rip and Seb here, two of the best in the league, and with the addition of our rookie, Chitty, we’re stronger than ever in every position.
Our bench is deep, as you’ve seen so far. ”
“Rip, do you agree? Are you gonna bring the Cup to New York this year?” Martin Price from City News asked.
“I know personally I’m ready for it.”
“Any problems with you and Denis Bouvier working together?” Dara Benton from Hockey News called out. “Any bad blood between you two because of the breakup?”
“I’ll answer the same as Coach. How did it look like it went tonight?
” I joked. “It’s all good. Denis and I are professionals, and I think we proved tonight that we can put our personal problems aside and play hockey.
Our mutual goal is to win games, and that’s what we’ll do.
” I rose. “Thanks, everyone. Time to get out of the uniform.”
We disbanded, but as I passed by another media circus, I heard Denis bragging to the crowd surrounding him.
“I fended off more shots on goal tonight than usual. I don’t know if the rest of our team wasn’t on their game, especially the defense, but we pulled it off. I’m sure they’ll get themselves together.”
I struggled against the instinct to jump in and defend my teammates and friends, but realized that wouldn’t be a good look.
I kept my head down and trudged on. In the locker room, the mood was jubilant and the music blasting.
I stripped out of my pads and protective gear, hopped on the bike for a bit to cool off and stretch the muscles, then took a shower.
The trainers checked me over for any injuries that might’ve popped up.
“Looking good, Rip.” Dr. Mike Hutchinson, head of the medical team, finished his checklist. “You’re cleared to go.”
“Thanks. See you tomorrow.”
“You got it.”
Wearing only briefs, I headed back to the locker room. Most everyone was either with the trainers, showering, or almost dressed to go home. I opened my locker and pulled out my clothes.
“Rip?” The voice sounded familiar, and I turned around. A blond, good-looking man gazed at me with fearful eyes and a hopeful smile on his reddened cheeks. “Hi.”
I thought fast and hard. Wait a sec…I knew him. “Adrian? Holy shit, it’s been a minute.”
Relieved, he laughed and nodded. “Yeah. A long time. I wasn’t sure you’d remember me.”
“Little brother Adrian? Of course I would. What’s it been? Eight, nine years?”
“More than that. Yours and Neil’s college graduation party.”
“Damn, you’re right. I can’t believe it’s been that long. You were just a kid.” I subtly eyed him.
He sure as hell had changed from the gangly, awkward teen I’d last seen at my college graduation.
A perfect, chiseled face that could’ve graced the cover of any fashion magazine, broad shoulders tapering to a trim, lean body…
Damn. I’d better chill the fuck out, because this was someone I’d grown up with and considered my little brother, yet here I was, having anything but brotherly feelings for him.
His face burned bright red. “Uh, yeah. I graduated with a degree in broadcast journalism. I’m working at Channel 8 News.” He swallowed. “I’m an intern with Louie Rozner in the sports department.”
“Really? Wow, uh, that’s…great.” Apparently I hadn’t learned to hide my surprised face because Adrian lifted a shoulder.
“I know what you’re thinking. What the hell does he know about sports?”
A grin kicked up the corner of my lips. “Well, yeah, now that you said it. I thought you wanted to be a news anchor or something like that. Last I heard, you were in the middle of Nebraska? Or was that New Mexico?” When we were kids, Adrian would follow Neil and me around with a pretend microphone, trying to interview us about our practice after school or our games.
Eight years younger, he’d wanted to be with us all the time.
We’d tolerated him but had never paid much attention to him.
Adrian had always been…there. On the sidelines.
Never with his own friends. Always alone.
His smile came and went, quick and nervous. “Uh, North Carolina, but I’m home now.” His shoulders drooped. “It, uh, didn’t work out.”
“Hey, I was close. It starts with an N. And congratulations. I’m sure Neil and Lisa are happy you’re close to home.”
“Yeah. I haven’t seen the kids in a while, so I was happy to get a job nearer to everyone.”
“That’s great, but why are you here and not Louie?” I asked, instantly regretting my words at his wince. Dammit. Sometimes my mouth reacted before my brain had a chance to think. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”
His lips twitched. “It’s okay. I’m, uh, filling in for him.
Trust me, I know I was their last choice for this assignment, but no one else answered their phones or texts, I guess.
” At my raised brow, he continued. “Seriously, Louie skidded on the West Side Highway and got into a crash on the way in. He’s at the hospital now.
I was the only one available. The intern extraordinaire. ”
I grinned. “Adrian, do you even know the difference between a hockey stick and a puck?”
He rolled his eyes. “Ha-ha. Yeah. Trust me, I watched you and Neil often enough.” He bit his lip.
“Rip, please, I need to do this assignment, or they’ll fire me.
I said I could do this. I, uh, sort of mentioned I understood hockey and might be able to get an exclusive.
” He flicked his gaze below my waist briefly, and I didn’t miss the bob of his throat as he swallowed hard.
“Could you—can you put some clothes on and give me an interview? Please?”
Oh, God. I was tired, aching, and wanted something to eat and a drink.
My adrenaline was crashing, and I should be getting ready to celebrate our win with my friends.
But Adrian was family, the closest thing I had to one, and I couldn’t let him down.
“Okay, but it’s gotta be quick. A bunch of us are meeting up for dinner and a celebration drink after we’re all finished here.
” I put on a T-shirt, jammed a Blades cap on my head, and stepped into a pair of team sweats. “Let’s do this.”
In the area outside the locker room, a cameraman lounged against the wall with equipment hanging from his shoulder. Seeing me, he jumped to attention. “Ripley Tremaine? Whoa, you really weren’t lying, huh, kid? Great game. Congrats.”
I gave him my best camera-ready smile. “Thanks.” Adrian stood off to the side, straightening his tie. “Ready?”
Scared as a trapped fawn, Adrian stared at me, his big blue eyes panicked.
Frantic, he motioned to me. “Rip. Y-you were right. I-I don’t know anything about hockey.
” His breath hitched, and beads of sweat popped up on his brow.
I could smell his fear. “This is ridiculous. I don’t know what to ask or say.
I’ll make an idiot of myself and get fired anyway.
I shouldn’t have lied. I’m so stupid. I knew I couldn’t do this. ”
Watching him lose his nerve, a wave of protectiveness rolled through me.
“Adrian. Chill out. I’ll help you. It’ll be okay. Feed me questions about the trades and our rookies. Then, ask what was the turning point of the game for the team. Last, ask me what I’m looking forward to most for the season.”
He chewed his lip and nodded. “Th-thanks. I thought I’d have to know statistics and how to play the game.”
The cameraman snickered. “Sports not your thing, huh? I kinda figured that.”
Adrian flushed and deflated before my eyes, and that pissed me off. This jackass had decided to stereotype him, and that wasn’t going to fly with me. I advanced a few steps and towered over the cameraman. “Yeah? Why’s that?”
The smarmy grin on his face faded. “Uh, he-he kinda mentioned it on the way here. Said he didn’t know what to ask.”
“Adrian, c’mere.” Still pink-faced, he took a few steps toward me. “Don’t worry. I don’t bite.” I winked at him and waited for the cameraman to get set.
“They’re ready,” Adrian muttered and jerked his head. “Start rolling.”
The little red light came on, and Adrian miraculously changed from a nervous kid to a strong-jawed, stiff-shouldered man. This wasn’t the silent little boy watching us from the stands, the whiny brother constantly asking questions, or the scared man from moments earlier.
Truth be told, he was fucking hot.
“Good evening. This is Adrian Hunt, and I’m here tonight with the star center of the Brooklyn Bladers, Ripley Tremaine. Rip, how are you feeling tonight after the win?”
“Well, Adrian, every win is awesome, but this one feels great. The Caps and Blades have a rivalry, so it’s nice when we can put one in the win column.”
He wet his lips, and I hoped he could follow through. “What game was most important? I mean…” His attempt to correct himself failed as well. “What do you think of…uh…”
I jumped in. “I think the most important play of the game was when Chitty stole the puck, ducked the bodycheck, passed to Peter, and we scored. The momentum shifted, and we dug in.” I slung an arm around his neck and didn’t miss the hitch of his breath.
“Thank you, Rip. Do you think your new teammates acquired in the trade have blended well with the rest of the players?” Adrian shifted under my arm, and I liked how he settled into place.
He wasn’t a small guy by any means, and hard muscles bunched through the fabric of his shirt.
To my shock, heat blasted through me, which I immediately quashed as inappropriate.
This was my best friend’s younger brother.
We’d grown up together. I wasn’t supposed to be having dirty thoughts about him, especially during an interview.
But with my entire focus on coming into the season strong, I hadn’t thought about anything except training and our games.
“Really well, I think. We’re all one cohesive unit that’s only gonna get better the more we play together.”
Adrian nodded, his face intent. “Uh, do you think you’re going to retire after this season?”
I blinked. That wasn’t one of the questions I’d prepared for.
In fact, I refused to let it cross my mind.
Not since my agent had asked me the same question a year earlier, to which I almost took his head off with my ferocious, negative response.
I couldn’t answer Adrian the same way without losing my nice-guy image, so I forced a smile and dropped my arm.
“No. Not at all. I’m only thirty-six. I’ve got a few more good years left, and I intend to give our fans a championship.”
While I wouldn’t admit it to anyone but myself, the rays of the sun setting on my career were blinding, and I wasn’t quite sure what the hell I was going to do without hockey in my life. At one point I’d thought Denis and I would get married and start a family, but that dream was dead and buried.
Perhaps sensing my annoyance, Adrian put some distance between us.
“Uh, sorry. Thanks for the interview, Rip, and congratulations on the great win.” He faced the camera.
“That was the All-Star center for the Brooklyn Bladers, Ripley Tremaine, talking about his winning game. This is Adrian Hunt with Channel 8 News.”
“And…we’re done.” The cameraman pointed his finger at us. “That’s a wrap. Great game, Ripley.” With a chuckle, he turned to Adrian. “And kid—it’s the Brooklyn Blades, not Bladers.”
Wide-eyed and pale, Adrian stammered, “Oh, my God. I’m such an idiot. Can we redo it?”
My irritation over his retirement question faded, and I felt sorry for him instead. “It was live, but don’t worry about it. No one will pick up on it. Heat of the moment and all that.” I stretched and rolled my shoulders. “All right. I’m gonna get going.”
He left first, head hanging and shoulders slumped in defeat. Poor guy. He really was out of his element. Before I knew what I was saying, I called out after him, “Adrian.” He stopped but didn’t turn around. “Come meet me at Slapshots for dinner later. It’s only a few blocks from here.”
He peered over his shoulder. “Who? Me?”
I threw him a wink. “Yeah. You owe me one for calling my team by the wrong name.”