20. Spencer
It’s been a couple weeks since Oli’s injury, and he hasn’t been cleared to drive yet. Which leaves me as the new chauffeur for our trio. I miss my micro-naps in the backseat, but not nearly as much as Oli misses driving. He winces and hisses and stomps on an imaginary brake pedal every time another vehicle gets within fifty feet of us, and it’s more distracting than anything anyone else on the road could possibly do. Eli has a good laugh, but he’s not the one getting a hole bored into the side of his head by Oli’s laser eyes of judgment.
We’re one of the first groups to arrive to practice, everyone else taking advantage of the later than normal start time due to us not playing a game tonight. But Oli has an appointment with the trainers, and Eli and I were going to do some stick handling drills in the hallway until we need to get dressed. It’s how we find ourselves walking down the hall outside the coaches’ offices in the nearly silent arena. And how we happen to come across Tori sneaking out of Logan’s office like a thief in the night.
She doesn’t see us right away, more focused on closing the door silently, which gives me a moment to study her. She’s dressed professionally, wearing slacks and a dark-colored blouse, the bag I got her for Christmas slung across her torso. Her golden hair is thrown up in a high ponytail, the tresses hanging sleek and straight with the tips brushing the spot between her shoulder blades. When she turns, I can’t help but notice the flush on the exposed skin of her chest and face. But her makeup doesn’t look mussed or smudged, though I’ve seen Tori sobbing in a perfectly pristine smokey eye, so that’s not as comforting as it should be.
“Hey, Tori! You’re here early!” Eli calls out, a slight edge to his excitement that I’m not sure anyone except the people in this hallway would catch.
Tori jumps and whips around, her flush disappearing as she pales from surprise. But her expression settles into a soft smile as she realizes it’s just us. I keep my guard up as my roommates and I move together to close the distance between us and our omega.
“I should be saying that to you. I’ve been on the clock for over an hour now,” she throws back, not missing a beat.
When we’re at arm’s length from her, I take a deep breath and have to swallow my growl. She’s drenched in Logan’s scent, so much so that I can barely pick up any of her sweet tea and magnolias under his spiced apples. I try to keep my emotions off my face as she makes small talk with Oli and Eli. We’ve been doing our best to stick to the plan. Don’t get too close. Only hang out after games or practices. Make sure we use scent-destroying soaps. Hell, we’ve made it a point to not be alone in a room with her during work hours this whole week, simply to avoid even the temptation to do something unprofessional.
Logan orders us around on the ice, but when it comes to pack matters, he’s our equal. We agreed to a set of rules, and we all have to follow them. Tori’s boss might be on our side, but there’s still a whole building full of people who can’t know about our relationships until we’re ready to go public. And if Oli can’t go to lunch with Tori because it might be misconstrued, then Logan can’t have her in his office, doing whatever the hell he pleases before we have to spend the day in close quarters with the team and staff.
What’s good for the geese has to be good for the gander. So I’ll be damned if I let this blatant hypocrisy fly.
We part ways soon after, Tori heading back up to her office while we make our way toward the medical wing, Oli taking point with me and Eli flanking. We don’t speak until the sound of Tori’s heels on the concrete fades completely.
“Logan’s got a lot of nerve,” Oli starts, barely above a whisper, but the words are drenched in irritation.
Eli and I don’t bother asking for clarification. I glance at the Swede out of the corner of my eye and smirk as I catch the devious grin pulling at his plump lips.
“I can take care of it. You go get checked out, and I’ll see you in the locker room,” he says, not giving either of us a chance to respond before he peels off in the opposite direction.
Oli and I exchange a glance, my worry mirrored on his rugged face. The odds of Eli doing something ridiculously stupid and risky are very low, though we both know they aren’t zero.
Thankfully, we don’t have to wait long to figure out what the fuck Eli did. Oli’s appointment is quick, and he’s one week closer to getting back out on the ice for non-contact drills. He’s healing fast but still has to sit in on practices, even if he’s not traveling with the team on every trip. Eli rejoins us in the locker room as more guys file in and get dressed, and he does a great job at pretending nothing is out of the ordinary.
That all changes the moment the team steps out of the tunnel and onto the ice to start practice.
The first thing out of place is the cones already set up along the edges of the faceoff circles, followed closely by the missing nets. The second is Logan himself, skating in lazy circles around the ice, not even stopping when we circle up for stretches. His stare burns against the back of my neck, and there’s a flutter of danger in my stomach, like I’m being stalked and circled by a great white shark. And once stretches are done, Logan goes in for the kill.
“Bouchy. Kala. You’re with Decker in the hall. You’re gonna work on reflexes. The rest of you chucklefucks are with me,” he snaps, not a hint of amusement in his voice.
Everyone exchanges looks as our goalies glide off the ice to find Jason Decker, our goaltending coach, the silence in the arena deafening. There’s no press today, which is honestly for the best, given Coach’s mood. But that means no witnesses to whatever is about to happen.
“We’re doing peanuts. Count off by fours and then the ones line up by the far corner cone,” he says, skating away while we get organized.
I’m in the first group, while Eli ends up around the outside with the rest of the guys, shuffling nervously as we wait for the signal to start. I fucking hate this drill; weaving in and out of the cones over and over should be easy, but the required speed makes it more difficult, especially when you’re trying not to trip on someone’s stick.
“We’re gonna go until either one of you fesses up to switching out my blades, or they get broken in. Am I clear?”
I swallow, but mutter the obligatory “yes, Coach,” along with everyone, trying to look as confused as the rest of the guys. Taking off at the whistle, I fall in between Markus Dahlberg and Wyatt Huges, moving together as a unit around the cones while everyone else starts to circle the outside.
“If I lap you, then you’re doing pushups. Move those feet!”
When I look up for a moment, I find Logan skating just inside the group on the outside, setting a hard pace and forcing everyone to keep up with him. But I don’t get to watch more, as I need to focus on what I’m doing to avoid blowing a tire on one of the tight turns. It feels like forever before the whistle chirps again, calling the second group to the peanut route while the rest of us make our way to the outside.
“I didn’t say stop and get in line! Let’s go!”
Careful to keep an eye on my peripherals so I don’t get lapped, I try to breathe through the motions. I’m fast, one of the fastest on our team, and it shouldn’t be difficult to outskate a man who hasn’t played professional hockey in over a decade. But he’s always right there at our heels, pushing us faster until everyone is breathing a little harder.
Group two switches out on the next whistle, and Eli heads to the center with the third group, but I lose track of him. Logan comes up level with me and starts skating backward, executing the turns perfectly without even looking.
“Was it you, BlackJack? I remember you pulled this shit back in Michigan. Admit it and I’ll stop this,” Logan taunts, sticking with me as we round the corner toward the benches.
“No, Coach,” I snap, pushing harder to get ahead of him.
Leaving me be for the moment, he calls out for the next change. The inner group stops dead and joins the outer circle, but I raise my eyes just in time to catch Eli’s wink to Oli on the bench, and then watch the plume of ultra-fine ice chips explode up from his skates and cover Logan in a layer of snow as they pass each other.
Logan lets out a fully alpha growl, but Eli doesn’t appear phased in the slightest. He just joins the rest of us in our laps, grinning from ear to ear.
“That was fucking stupid, and you know it, Jokes,” I mutter as we fall into step together.
“Yeah, but the look on his face was worth it.” He chuckles to himself.
“Do you have a death wish or something?” Dallas snarls as he comes up behind us, skirting around the outside to thump Eli on the back of his helmet.
“Or something,” Eli says, still laughing.
The drill goes for almost half an hour before Logan finally calls it and we move on to running plays. Not that he slows off the intensity of the practice or anything. My legs are screaming by the time we’re calling it a day, and no one speaks as we make our way back to the locker room. Oli’s on his feet, waiting for Eli and me at the back of the group. But before we can follow the rest of the team to the locker room, Logan blocks our exit, arms crossed over his chest.
“Logan—”
“It’s Coach while we’re on the clock, Jokinson.”
I shiver as Logan cuts over Eli’s attempt at speech, dominance rolling off his frame in fiery cinnamon-scented waves. I swallow hard, already worried, even though I didn’t technically do anything.
“Coach,” Eli starts again, over emphasizing the word, “it was just a joke. And besides, you were due for a blade change anyway. So, you’re welcome.”
“It’s not about the blades, and we all fucking know it.” Logan drops his voice to another near growl as the last bits of chatter fade from the tunnel behind him.
“And what was that about, then?” Oli challenges, stepping forward slightly to put himself between Logan and us.
“Tori texted me.”
I frown at his simple response, waiting for him to elaborate or, hell, even maybe apologize for being a hypocrite. But he simply stares back, like he’s waiting for us to say something. Eventually, he rolls his shoulders and lets out a frustrated sigh.
“She told me she ran into yous guys when she was leaving this morning,” he says.
“Weird that she would text you and not us,” Oli mutters, not bothering to keep the suspicion out of his words.
“Yeah, it is. Or maybe you told her not to, because you knew you’d done something wrong,” I snap, finally letting out some of the venom I’ve been holding on to all day.
Logan opens his mouth to respond, but then seems to think better of it. His jaw snaps closed so fast that his teeth click together, his long exhale through his nose filling the chilled air around us. I shiver as he looks at each of our faces, his expression hard to read. But then he rocks his weight onto his heels, crossing his arms over his chest.
“It appears that we need to get some things straightened out,” Logan starts.
“ We don’t have anything to straighten out, Logan,” Eli snaps back, emphasizing the first word pointedly as he stretches his spine until he’s at full height.
My rubbery legs wobble under me as I sigh. Oli looks ready to dig his heels in and have it out right here, and Eli looks ready to drop his gloves. On any other day, I might be right there with them, but all I want right now is to sit the fuck down and maybe ice my quads.
“Text Tori, and both of y’all can come over after she gets off work,” I say, speaking before Oli can continue the confrontation.
Eli and Oli whip around to look at me with a mixture of shock and irritation, but I ignore them, focusing on Logan. He softens a little as I lean heavily on my stick, shoulders coming down from around his ears.
“Fine. I’ll bring something for dinner, and we can talk,” he agrees, finally stepping out of the way.
I don’t even care that this probably means another lecture, so long as I can get off my feet for a little while before I have to drive us home.