Chapter 7
Mason
Sweat poured down my face as I gulped air, lungs burning. My muscles screamed in protest, but it was the good kind of pain, the kind that promised I’d come back stronger tomorrow.
The Fusion trainers were putting me through the wringer, evaluating my conditioning. After a few weeks off, I was more than ready to get back into the grind of strength training, endurance work, and speed drills.
“Not bad, Callahan. Your endurance is solid, but we’ll need to work on your explosive power.” Rick, the Fusion’s strength coach, clapped me on the shoulder. “See you bright and early tomorrow.”
I grunted in response, too winded to answer.
As I reached for my water bottle, the gym door swung open, and four guys strolled in wearing street clothes.
I recognized the Fusion captain, Phoenix King, right away.
He gave me a nod, flanked by goalie Hunter Kovalenko and defenseman Sawyer Rhodes. I didn’t recognize the fourth guy.
“Callahan.” King folded his arms across his chest, tone unreadable.
I straightened, wiping my face with a towel. “Captain.”
“Well, well,” Sawyer drawled, stepping closer with a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “If it isn’t our new apex predator.”
Apex.
My gut twisted. Shit. Did they know about the Apex Gear deal? Or worse, the underwear shoot? I’d hoped to keep that buried. The ads only ran in Canada, so maybe...
The four of them formed a loose semicircle around me. It felt more like an ambush than a welcome.
“Lookin’ good, man,” Hunter said, flashing a grin. “Gotta keep those abs sharp.”
“Just doing my job,” I replied, trying to stay cool.
Sawyer’s smirk deepened. “Modest. But we’ve seen your… stats.”
I gave him a look. “Thanks. Looking forward to bringing the same energy here.”
The fourth guy looked like an eager puppy, just dying to jump into the conversation. “We’ve all seen your assets, Callahan. Impressive.”
“My assets, huh?” I narrowed my eyes, studying him. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. “And who the fuck are you?”
King chuckled. “Sorry, Callahan. I’m sure you know Kovalenko and Rhodes. This rookie is Declan Rexford.”
The kid stuck out his hand. “Call me Dex.”
I shook it. “Any relation to Rexford with Chicago?”
The smile slid from the kid’s face. “Yeah. That’s my brother.”
King clocked the kid’s reaction, but Sawyer was oblivious. “Okay, enough with the meet and greet. Let’s get back to Mr. Apex Predator here.”
So they did know.
I forced an easy smile. “You referring to my endorsement deals by any chance?”
“What, you really thought we wouldn’t find out our new defensive ringer moonlights as a lingerie model?” Hunter’s deep voice rumbled with amusement.
I gritted my teeth, hands instinctively curling into fists at my sides. So much for keeping a low profile in Miami. “It’s not lingerie,” I grumbled. “They’re performance briefs.”
Sawyer snorted. “Yeah, they’re performing, all right.” He pulled out his phone and angled the screen toward us.
There I was, stretched out on a stark white backdrop, wearing nothing but skintight black briefs, every muscle flexed, with a smoldering look on my face. The caption read: Miami Fusion’s new secret weapon—an apex predator on and off the ice.
“Jesus,” Hunter muttered, leaning in. “Callahan, is that thing even real?”
“It’s called good genes, losers.” I shook my head like they were hopeless.
Their laughter bounced off the gym walls, and I chuckled with them before I could stop myself.
Just the usual locker-room razzing. Surprisingly, it felt good. It meant I was part of something again.
Sawyer clapped me on the back. “Don’t be modest, man. This is gold. That bulge of yours is already trending on the unofficial Fusion fan accounts.”
“You guys about done?”
“Aw, come on, Callahan. We’re just messing with you.” Hunter gestured toward my crotch. “We know you can rise to the challenge.”
I sighed as they cracked up again. “Alright, get it all out of your systems now.”
King stepped forward, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Welcome to the Fusion, Callahan. Not everyone’s reported in yet, so we’re your official welcome wagon. We’re here for your initiation.”
I tensed slightly. “Initiation?”
“We’re just taking you out,” Sawyer said quickly. “Official team welcome. No hazing.” He glanced slyly at Dex. “We save the hazing for the real rookies.”
“Aw, crap,” Dex muttered.
“Hit the showers, Callahan,” King ordered. “We’re heading out.”
I dragged in a breath and grabbed my towel. “Where to?”
“The Sin Bin,” Hunter replied. “Team bar. We’ll grab some food and break you in properly.”
I grimaced. “Restaurant food? Even in the offseason, I try to avoid that garbage.”
Sawyer rolled his eyes. “Live a little, man. One cheat night won’t kill you.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but four expectant faces stared me down. With a sigh, I headed for the showers.
Ten minutes later, I emerged in fresh shorts and a polo, hair still damp and slicked back. The Miami heat slammed into me the moment we stepped outside.
“Damn, it’s hot as hell down here. How do you stand it?”
The guys traded grins. “You’ll get used to it, Frosty,” Dex teased. “Give it time for that Canadian blood to thin out.”
We piled into Hunter’s SUV, the AC barely taking the edge off. As we cruised down palm-lined streets, I missed Toronto’s familiar skyline. Everything here felt too bright, too warm, too… cheerful.
By the time we pulled up to The Sin Bin, I was pretty sure I’d sweated out half my body weight.
From the outside, it looked like your typical sports bar with neon signs, giant TVs, and the usual decor.
Inside, the bar was quieter than I expected, with just a few tables filled and the low murmur of highlight reels on TV.
Above the bar, a long banner read HOME OF THE FUSION INTRUSION, its edges frayed like it had been there for years.
The bartender greeted the guys like old friends. I offered a quick hello, eyeing the hockey memorabilia covering every surface. It was basically a shrine to the Fusion. A burly guy with an impressive beard waved us to a private section in the back.
“Owner looks out for the team,” King explained as we sat. “Gives us some space back here when we come in.”
Sawyer leaned in as we settled into a booth. “Wayne’s good people. Keeps the superfans and press off our backs when we’re here.”
I raised a brow. “You come here a lot?”
“After every home win,” Hunter said. “Team tradition. We do a victory shot. The Fusion Intrusion.”
I held up a hand. “I don’t drink during the season.”
Sawyer snorted, nudging my shoulder. “Relax, Callahan. The season hasn’t started yet. You’re not getting out of the initiation that easy. One shot won’t derail your entire career.”
I glanced around. King didn’t say anything, just sat with his usual brooding scowl. Typical. He was known for being a grumpy ass.
Wayne approached with a tray of shot glasses filled with an amber liquid that looked like it had an agenda.
“Gentlemen,” he said with a grin. “Your Fusion Intrusions.”
I eyed the concoction warily. “What’s in it?”
“Whiskey, lime juice, and a splash of Tabasco,” Hunter said, already reaching for his. “It’s a kick in the teeth.”
When in Rome, I guess.
“Sounds… delicious.” I picked up my glass. The smell alone made my eyes water.
Hunter raised his. “To Mason, our new wall on defense. May he help us bring the Cup home this year!”
I clinked glasses with the others. “To the Fusion. New beginnings. And all that crap.” Then I threw it back.
The burn hit hard: whiskey heat followed by a slap of lime and the slow, creeping fire of Tabasco. Rough going down, but it was effective.
As the taste settled, I had to admit there were worse ways to bond with a team. These guys weren’t like my old crew in Toronto. They were louder. Looser. A little wild. A bunch of rowdy, rule-breaking enablers.
As much as I hated to admit it, I was starting to enjoy myself.
Conversation drifted to the upcoming season, breaking down line matchups, rivalries, odds.
“With Mason on D,” Hunter said, tipping his chin my way, “we’ve got a real shot at the Cup this year.”
Pride swelled in my chest at his words. I took my role on the ice damn seriously. “Damn right,” I replied with a smirk.
A cute brunette waitress appeared to clear our empty glasses, flashing me a flirty smile. “Can I get you boys anything else?”
Her gaze lingered on me. “I’m Tiffany. Let me know if you need... anything at all.”
I ignored the knowing looks from my teammates. “Just water for me.”
“Sure thing, handsome,” she giggled, giving my arm a light squeeze before sauntering off.
“Looks like Mason’s already building a fan club.” Amusement threaded through King’s voice as the others nudged me like we were in junior high.
“Nah,” I waved him off, feeling my face heat. “Not looking for distractions right now.”
“No?” Sawyer leaned in. “Got a girl back in Toronto?”
Vanessa flickered through my mind. “Not exactly. Just... had a close call before I left.”
“Aw, come on,” Dex said with a grin. “What happened?”
I scratched the back of my neck. “Let’s just say we had different expectations.”
“Ah,” Sawyer stroked an imaginary beard. “A clinger?”
I grimaced, not wanting to get into details. “Something like that.”
“Well, plenty of puck bunnies down here happy to keep it casual,” Hunter said with a wink. “Right, Sawyer?”
Sawyer leaned back, grinning. “You won’t have any trouble, Callahan.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. “I’m here to play hockey. Not get tangled up with the first pretty face I see.”
Still, my thoughts betrayed me. Lila, Miami’s most chaotic interior decorator, flashed through my mind.
That honeyed Southern drawl. The way she bit her lip while demonstrating the mood lighting.
Her flushed cheeks as she explained the misting dick contraption.
And of course, the image I couldn’t erase: her spread-eagled on my bed, fingers slipping into pink lace, moaning like she’d forgotten the world.
No, I needed to focus.
And maybe this new team in this strange city with its ungodly heat wouldn’t be so horrible after all.
Hockey. I had to focus on hockey.
But every time I closed my eyes, I saw her. Lila was all heat. And if I wasn’t careful, I’d get scorched.