7. Leo
Leo
Coach Sawyer blows the whistle. We all instantly change direction on the ice, skating to the opposite side.
“I wanna see some hustle out there,” he hollers.
Sweat falls into my eyes as I pump my legs harder and faster. Speed drills suck, but Coach Sawyer loves to put us through them when we’ve got an important game coming up.
We’re playing Utah University in a couple of days, and they beat us the last time we played them. He wants us in tip-top shape so we stand a chance against them this time.
“Move, move, move,” he booms.
I speed to the boards, then flip around and race to the other end.
It’s hell skating this hard and this fast in all this gear, but I’m used to tough practices.
I’m sure I’ll have even tougher ones once I start playing for Vegas.
And I don’t want to be the rookie lagging behind.
I wanna keep up. I wanna show Vegas that I was a worthy draft pick and can hold my own.
Coach blows the whistle twice, and we all stop skating. We’re all hunched over, our gloved hands braced on our legs, gasping for air.
“Damn, that sucked,” Blake says between breaths.
“Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad,” Nick says through a smile. He’s breathing slightly harder than normal. Dude’s a freak of nature. He drank a pitcher of beer last night, but you’d never guess it from how quickly he moves on the ice.
“Good work, gentlemen,” Coach says. “Especially St. George and Peretti. You really showed up today.”
“Thanks, Coach,” I say.
Coach Tremblay, the new assistant coach, leads us through a cool-down. When we finish, we circle around Coach Sawyer, who gives us a few closing remarks at the end of practice.
He turns to Coach Tremblay. “Anything else you want to add?”
“One quick thing,” Coach Tremblay says. “Rick is going on paternity leave at the end of the month, which means we’ll be down a physio for the team. We should be good with the two others who are on staff, but if things get a little hectic, be patient, okay?”
We all nod in understanding.
The coaches dismiss us, and we head to the locker room to get cleaned up.
I’m walking out of the shower and back to my stall when I see my phone buzz with a text.
When I see it’s from my dad, I instantly tense.
I don’t bother to check it. I take my time getting dressed and gathering my stuff.
It’s not till I’m walking out of the building that I read his message.
Don’t slack on your diet. You’ve got that game against Utah coming up, and I don’t want to see you looking sluggish on the ice.
I roll my eyes.
Me: My diet is fine.
Dad: Really? Because the last time I checked, you drink beer. Even though you know you shouldn’t. You know that’s trash for your body.
Me: I have a beer every once in a while. It won’t kill me.
Dad: Oh, really? How many top athletes do you know who drink beer regularly?
I grit my teeth as I make my way through campus.
Dad: You should only be fueling your body with clean food. Organic food. Not toxic trash.
Me: K
I shouldn’t have texted him that. He fucking hates it when I respond with such a passive-aggressive text, but I’m tired of him lecturing me. I’m not a baby. I know what I’m doing when it comes to my diet.
Quit being such a goddamn brat, Leo. Lay off the junk food. Stay the hell away from beer.
I’m fuming when I finish reading his message. I’m tired of him trying to control every aspect of my life.
I walk in the direction of my house, restless. My plan was to go home, make a protein shake, then eat the lunch I prepped earlier in the week: grilled fish with sweet potatoes and broccoli.
But I can’t help the streak of stubbornness firing through me.
I’m a grown man. I eat perfectly ninety-five percent of the time.
Yeah, I let loose with a beer a couple times a week and an indulgent meal at the diner with my teammates.
But that’s after a game when I’ve burned thousands of calories.
I’m supposed to refuel so my body can recover properly.
Frustration and anger twist through me. I’m tired of this. My dad doesn’t get to tell me what to eat or drink.
“Fuck this,” I mutter before changing direction and walking toward the Mile High Diner.
* * *
I walk into the diner, my stomach growling. The hostess greets me and sits me down at a small table against the wall.
I thank her when she hands me a menu. I skim through it, even though I already know what I want.
“Hi, I’m Lucy. I’ll be taking care of you today. Can I start you off with something to…Oh, shit…”
I look up and see the pretty redhead who I saw here at the diner the other day. The pretty redhead I got fired from her barista job.
For a second, I just stare at her, shocked to see her again.
“Um, hi,” I finally say.
Her eyes, which are big with surprise, narrow at me. She frowns down at the small notepad in her hand. “What do you want to eat?”
An uneasy feeling swoops through me. Guilt mixed with anger. At myself for how I got her fired.
“You work here?” I ask.
She lifts her eyebrow at me, her expression incredulous. “Nope. I just stole a uniform because I love cosplaying as a diner waitress.”
There’s a tick at the back of my throat. The urge to laugh. I swallow it back. That was funny, but I don’t think she’d like it if I laughed right now.
I clear my throat. “It’s cool you got a job here.”
“Yeah. Super, duper cool,” she mutters at her notepad. “I’ll give you a sec to look at the menu.”
“No, it’s okay. I know what I want.” That must have been why I saw her here the other day. She was applying for a job. I’m glad she got it. “Could I have the double cheeseburger with fries, please?”
She scribbles on her notepad. “Anything to drink?”
I think about what would piss my dad off the most. “A Coke. And a vanilla milkshake. And could I get a piece of cherry cheesecake for dessert?”
“Wow. Big appetite.” Her tone is still on the edge of sharp, but it’s a little softer too.
I start to smile. “I just came from practice. I’m on the Hollis U men’s hockey team.”
She looks up from her notepad and studies me for a long second. “I should have known. You’re built like a brick shithouse.”
I burst out laughing.
She quirks her eyebrow at me. Not like she’s annoyed. More like amused.
“No one’s ever called me that before.”
“That surprises me, considering how big you are,” she says.
“I’m not that big.”
She tilts her head at me. “Are you kidding me?”
“I’m not. Not compared to some other guys who play hockey. Believe me, I’ve played against plenty of them.”
“Okay, sure, compared to the Jolly Green Giant, you’re small. But next to regular humans like me, you’re huge.”
I grin. “Okay, fair point.”
“I’ll be back with your drinks in a sec.”
She walks off. That tension in my muscles starts to fade. I like this. I like that we’re talking instead of arguing. I like how blunt and sarcastic she is and that she’s teasing me about my size.
I still feel guilty about getting her fired though. But now that she works at the diner, maybe I can make up for it.
I’ll ask her to be my server every time I come here, alone and with the guys. And I’ll be sure to tip her a lot each time we eat here. It won’t erase the fact that I got her fired, but it’s something I can do to help her.
I thank her when she brings me my drinks. I take a long sip of the milkshake, close my eyes, and hum.
“You and that milkshake should get a room,” she says.
I cough and laugh at once. I grab a napkin and wipe my mouth as I watch her walk off. She’s a ballbuster. I kind of like it.
A few minutes later, she drops off my food. My phone buzzes as I eat with another text from my dad, but I ignore it. I’m not letting him ruin this.
Lucy drops off the check when I finish.
“Here, I don’t need change,” I say when I set a stack of cash on the table.
Her sapphire eyes widen. “That’s way too much.”
“It’s not. The rest is your tip.”
Her mouth parts open, and she stares at me.
I slide out of the booth and turn to her. “Thanks, Lucy. Sorry again for how I messed things up at your old job,” I say quietly as I walk off.
“Wait.”
I turn around.
“What’s your name?” she asks, her tone softer now. My chest squeezes. I like it when her voice sounds like that.
“Leo.”
Her expression softens. “Thanks, Leo.”
I nod and walk out of the diner.