11. Riley
Nova Scotia had four professional hockey organizations: the Nova Scotia Sentinels PWHL team, the Halifax Towers Junior Hockey team, the Nova Scotia Admirals, and finally, the NHL team launching next season called the Halifax Citadels.
Riley had been drafted by the NHL when he was nineteen, but he chose college instead, staying with Jake in Nova Scotia and playing for the Towers while he finished his education.
When he aged out, he joined the Admirals and gained the interest of a few teams, but then news broke about the Citadels.
His agent advised him to wait and see what offer they would make him, since Riley wanted to stay as close to home as possible.
He went from playing well to playing the best hockey of his life, and with every point he earned and every game the Admirals won, he gained more intrigue from the right people.
And sure, Jake’s dad was one of the two owners of the Citadels, but that didn’t mean he would get a spot on the team. Everett Valero was a nice guy, but he didn’t do favours for anyone. Everything had to be earned, so if Riley wasn’t good enough, then he wasn’t good enough. End of story.
But with trade deadlines looming and the launch of the Citadels approaching faster each day, Riley had to give his all over the next few weeks or risk being forced to take a contract somewhere he didn’t want.
So, when he showed up for practice that morning and saw Khan Bannerjee and Dylan Carr, the second line right and left winger for the Citadels, lacing up their skates, he knew shit was about to get real.
Even more terrifying than the rookie players was their head coach, Briar Sullivan, who had a brilliant mind for hockey and was the perfect person to lead the Citadels.
She had been a star player herself on Vancouver’s PWHL team but had recently retired due to a shoulder injury that put her out of the game permanently.
Riley respected the hell out of her. Being the first trans woman in hockey had already been a progressive step forward—but being the first trans woman and the head coach of a new team? Fucking impressive.
Riley was so entranced by the scene unfolding in the locker room, watching Coach Sullivan gather her red hair into a neat ponytail to secure it before tightening her skates, that he didn’t hear Sloan sneak up behind him.
“The fuck are you doing? Practicing your pylon moves off the ice? Get out of the way.”
A lot of guys looked up at the sound of Sloan’s obnoxious voice, their eyes flicking between them and the Citadel players like they were bracing for a fight.
Riley couldn’t afford to draw negative attention to himself, so instead of turning and punching Sloan in the face like he wanted to, he went to his cubby and sat without saying another word.
Sloan was all sneers until his one brain cell computed his surroundings, but by then, Coach Sullivan was giving him a flat, unimpressed stare.
“Skates on, Sloan. Today’s the day you put your money where your mouth is,” said Coach Sullivan. “Or do you need to hold hands with your friends and get your big feelings out before you hit the ice?”
Sloan walked to his cubby and sat down, keeping his gaze locked on the floor. “No.”
Riley had never seen anyone neutralize Sloan so fast. Either he was trying to behave around someone who might soon be his head coach, or he was intimidated by the fierce woman challenging him, but it was nice to hear the silence.
Riley put his gear on and left the room to escape the suffocating tension that was sucking the oxygen out of the building. More Citadel guys were showing up, and he had a feeling that this was going to be a frenzied joint training session to assess chemistry and skill sets.
To say he was terrified was an understatement, but the adrenaline moved him forward as his blades touched the ice and he pushed himself into a sprint down the sheet.
Riley did a lap to warm up and then found a spot by the red line to stretch, giving his muscles time to get on board with whatever was about to happen.
Bannerjee and Carr were the next ones out, talking curtly with each other as Carr grabbed a puck and started doing passes toward the net.
Riley had heard about them and their rivalry because the story had been played no less than a thousand times since they had made it on the Citadel roster, but seeing it up close was next level.
They weren’t being friendly, and they obviously thrived on outdoing one another as the passes became more intense, but it was a healthy rivalry.
Anyone watching would think that Carr and Bannerjee had been playing together for years. The way they could read each other’s moves and anticipate the next pass—and they weren’t even practicing for real yet.
Riley scoffed and glared at the ice under his gloves. He knew he was no star player, but he would give anything to have a tiny piece of what those two had. Not the fame and the skills, but the exhilaration of playing with someone who moved like an extension of his own body.
Jake had been that person. It was Jake who had lit the fire in his soul to play hockey, and without him there, it felt…
“You could have at least waited for me,” Sloan growled, sounding like an angry mutt as he dropped to the ice beside Riley. “What’s the point in having a roommate who works with you if they take off before you get out of bed?”
“Oh, gee. It sounds like your roommate hates you and was purposely avoiding you,” Riley said, switching legs and angling his body away from Sloan’s before he had to look at him.
“I shared my hamburgers with you last week,” Sloan bit back, sounding like a whiny child. “That was a truce, you bastard.”
Riley whirled around and narrowed his eyes at his smirking tormentor. “You made hamburgers with my meat! How is it a truce if you’re stealing from me?”
Sloan’s left eyebrow went up, and Riley’s anger faltered. “Your meat, eh?”
There was more noise now that the majority of the guys were on the ice, but Riley still glanced around to make sure no one had overheard their borderline sexual conversation. When the coast was clear, he turned on Sloan again, weighing the outcomes of busting his lip.
The smug asshole.
“What’s the deal with you?” Riley snapped. “You butt heads with me constantly and then cry whenever I hint that I don’t like you. What reaction do you expect to get out of me when you do nothing but harass me?”
Sloan whipped his helmet off, like his glare would be more effective with his visor out of the way.
“You East Coasters are soft. You can’t take a little ribbing without crying about being bullied, and you think minus twenty is cold. Fucking grow a beard and stop being a bitch.”
Riley wanted to snap his stick in half and impale Sloan with the sharp end, but again, he didn’t want to go to jail.
“Oh, and you think out west is better?” Riley pushed onto his skates and spat on the ice in front of him.
“You call me soft, but didn’t you come here because you weren’t a good fit for the Edmonton team and they pushed you out?
Sounds like someone left because no one liked them. I can’t fathom why.”
And then Sloan was on his feet, and Riley couldn’t believe he had once thought the guy was pretty because he was wearing an ugly expression now.
“Speaking of getting pushed out, I hear that shitty beer league is calling you. Why don’t you go play hockey with that washed-up forward you were giving pick-me vibes to and stop wasting everyone’s time? We both know this is the highest level you’re going to reach.”
Rage bubbled from the pit of Riley’s stomach into his throat, and his fist was raised when the whistle blew, which shocked some sense into him before he could think to throw it.
“Everyone, gather here,” Coach Sullivan shouted, her voice carrying over the ice. “We’re going to discuss the plan for today.”
Riley still had his fist raised, and Sloan was still smirking like he was daring him to punch him, but it wasn’t worth it.
Sloan wasn’t fucking worth it.
Jaw clenched, Riley skated to where the rest of the guys were huddling and took a knee beside one of the Citadel players. He made the mistake of meeting Sullivan’s eyes as Sloan dropped down beside him, accidentally scowling at her in his discomfort.
Her glance between him and Sloan was subtle, but Riley felt his cheeks burn from the silent scolding. It was obvious that neither one of them was making a great impression, and at this rate, Sloan would be playing beer league hockey with him and Jake by the end of the week.
“We’re going to split the two teams evenly and play on half ice,” Sullivan began. “I want to see how fast you can think under pressure, especially since this will be the first time we’re mixing the teams.”
The goal, Riley understood, was to test who could keep up with the guys playing on the NHL level. They were looking for Admiral players good enough to compete if there were injuries on the Citadel roster throughout the season—and it wasn’t a secret that that roster still wasn’t finalized.
Riley listened to the rest of the explanation of what was expected of him, and then he was up and ready to start. They had put the Citadel goalie, Markus Castillo, in the net. Castillo wasn’t a veteran goalie, but at twenty-one years old, he had helped get the Los Angeles team to a Stanley Cup win.
In other words, he wasn’t a pushover.
And to make matters even more intense, Riley found himself facing Sloan, who now had fuel to make his life hell after their argument.
“You need to find a way to deal with him.”
Riley looked up from his stick, coming face to face with Khan Bannerjee. Brown-hazel eyes bore into him from behind sweat-dampened black hair, and his frown was so serious that Riley thought the guy was angry until he remembered Bannerjee was known for his resting bitch face.
“Deal with Sloan?” Riley asked.
A single nod was all he received, and then Bannerjee’s attention turned to Sloan, who was chatting it up with Dylan Carr.