1. Tennant #2
September. Man... Where the hell had summer gone? Oh yeah, it had been swallowed up by searching for a new condo, packing, visiting the folks, and making sure my address was changed at the post office.
The first thing I’d noticed, as I crossed the Pennsylvania border with the last of my personal belongings in the back of my Jeep Wrangler, had been the lack of palm trees.
No, seriously. Like, I’d known logically that there would be no palm trees, but actually not seeing any had been a jolt.
There were lots of other trees, but nothing with a palm frond.
Which meant winter was a part of life here.
That was uncool. A beach baby like me and temps under forty did not play well—not at all.
A checkmark under ‘This might not be an okay thing after all’ was mentally made.
Thankfully, my aunt was a realtor and had scored me one hell of a nice midtown condo on Front Street with a view of the Susquehanna River from a rooftop deck.
The building was massive, brick, and was filled with “grace and charm”, to quote my aunt.
I’d picked up a two-bedroom unit for the same cost as my one-bedroom back in Dallas.
Overall, I was happy with the place and had plans to turn the second bedroom into a gym.
My furniture had arrived the day after I had, and it looked stupid.
The western motif had worked back in Big D.
Here in Harrisburg, it looked moronic. I’d sold off the old stuff within a week and was now working on filling the big, empty rooms with furnishings that said I was one successful urbanite.
So far, I had a recliner and a bed. Oh, and the TV and my PS4. The essentials were covered, at least.
Entering the kitchen, I flipped on a light, then made breakfast, which consisted of a protein shake and a mushroom and cheese omelet.
Mom and Dad had been up over the weekend, and she had filled the freezer and every shelf of the fridge with good food, aka healthy food.
The six-pack had gotten a dark look, but she hadn’t told me about how fattening it was or how stupid I acted with two beers under my belt.
This time. Like I didn’t know I had zero tolerance for alcohol?
As I ate, I scanned the local news apps on my phone.
Every single one had something to say about the Railers.
Most centered on the argument that the state could not support three pro hockey teams. Which was maybe right—time would tell.
Hockey was growing in popularity, but it had a long way to go to catch up with football, baseball, or basketball here in the States.
There were a few articles about me and the hopes the sports beat writers had for the team’s offense now that they had a top six center.
Scoring had been an issue last season, as had a weak defense.
It would take time to build a good roster; the expansion draft only did so much for the team.
The alarm on my phone went off as I was tossing my dirty plate into the dishwasher. My stomach knotted up.
Training camp for the experienced guys like me started today.
The rookies on the team had been required to show up yesterday.
Today would be all about medicals, fitness testing, and media.
The press would be all over me like chocolate on a Ring Ding.
Which was kind of cool. It would probably feel good to get some of that spotlight that had always used to shine on Tate.
Hell, even growing up I was always hearing, “Oh, you’re Brady/Jamie’s little brother!
I hope you’re half the student/player he/they are!
” from teachers and coaches. This was my time now, and I was going to bask in the limelight until I was burned.
A quick shower, and I was off to the training facility out in Rutherford, about twenty minutes from my condo.
Glass Animals supplied the ride-to-work music.
Pulling into the parking lot of the East River Arena, home of the Harrisburg Railers Hockey team and seeing press vans scattered around filled me with nervous excitement.
I slipped inside without being noticed, the crush of reporters only getting a peek at me when I jogged down a flight of steps to check out the ice.
I closed my eyes, inhaled the smell of hockey into my lungs, and smiled.
There was nothing like it. The cold air, the sound of blades on ice, the grunts and shouts, the impact of man against glass and board, and the flash of the goal light.
It was as good as sex. The ice looked perfect.
Pity we veterans wouldn’t be on it until tomorrow.
“Tennant! Hey, welcome to Harrisburg! What do you think you’ll bring to the team?”
I looked over the shoulder of my brand new Railers hoodie at the lean guy hustling down the concrete stairs. He had wild brown hair and big googly eyes. He held his hand out, shook, then glanced at the cell phone in his hand.
“Bob Riggs,” he said. “I run an online site that deals exclusively with ice hockey in the Harrisburg area. From the pros to peewee.”
“Nice. Feel free to tape.”
I leaned against the glass, folded my arms over my chest, and began answering questions.
Within five minutes there were probably twenty people gathered around me at ice level.
I did my best to answer every question they threw at me.
I told them how excited I was to be there, how I hoped I could contribute to the team and the city in a positive way, and how cool it was that professional hockey was expanding.
It was an impromptu kind of meet-and-greet, my favorite kind.
I related much better to this kind of setting, as opposed to the strictly regulated media day things the teams always set up.
Those always felt so staged and stiff. I was about to reply to a question from a burly dude in a tracksuit who had no hair on his head but had massive amounts of it growing out of his ears, when someone pounded on the glass behind me.
I jumped and spun, my gaze locking with and then getting lost in the most beautiful light blue eyes I had ever seen.
Familiar eyes, too, now that the shock began to pass.
They belonged to Jared Madsen, or “Mads” as he was known in our house.
I hadn’t seen him in years. He looked so different, and yet the same, if that made any sense.
He was incredibly hot now. Had he always been that way?
I’d been probably ten or maybe twelve when I’d last seen him, so I totally hadn’t been aware of men, or how attracted to them I would be a few years later.
Had his hair always been that shade of golden wheat, his eyes that piercing, his shoulders that broad… ?