Chapter 15
Mason
Iwalked into the practice facility with my hockey bag slung over my shoulder, not sure what to expect from this last-minute team meeting Coach Murray had called. Preseason didn’t officially start until tomorrow, so why were we here today?
Brody Donovan, the sun-kissed winger with sandy blond hair, greeted me inside. He flashed his signature grin, the one that probably got him laid more than anything he ever said.
“If it isn’t our apex predator. Ready for your first taste of Fusion chaos?”
“What’s this about?” I asked, nodding toward the growing cluster of players. “Bit unusual for a team meeting, eh?”
Brody gave my shoulder a friendly thump. “Don’t stress it, Canada. Just Coach being Coach. He likes to keep things interesting. You’ll get used to it.”
“So, this is normal?”
“Normal? Hell no. Nothing’s normal with Coach. Nah, this is his version of foreplay. Mandatory bonding, baby.” He shook his head, amused. “Last year? Made us take a Zumba class to ‘loosen up our hips.’ Whatever this is, just roll with it.”
I groaned in horror. “Zumba? The fuck?”
We headed toward the lounge, and I stopped short. The furniture had been pushed aside, leaving the center of the room empty, except for… gym mats.
“Uh oh,” I muttered to Brody, pointing at the setup.
“Yeah.” Brody flopped onto a couch. “This should be good.”
Before I could respond, a booming voice echoed through the room. “Donovan! Stop flirting with the new guy.”
Phoenix King strode toward us, all effortless authority. He didn’t need the “C” on his jersey to be recognized as team captain.
He clapped Hunter, our massive goalie, on the back as he passed. “Ready for another season of making forwards cry, Kovalenko?”
“Hell yeah, Captain,” Hunter replied, eyes glinting.
King shook my hand with a firm grip, all business but with a glimmer of amusement in his blue eyes. “Callahan. Whatever happens in the next hour doesn’t leave this room.”
Brody, still thumbing away at his phone, paused to glance up. “Ever.”
What the hell?
I scanned the room as more teammates filtered in. Sawyer strolled over, his backward baseball cap already askew. “Callahan! You look tense. Post-trade jitters, or did someone steal your maple syrup stash?”
Hunter followed right behind him. “Ignore him. He’s an idiot.”
Before I could respond, Cade barreled through the doors, blond hair sticking up like he’d just fought a wind tunnel. “Guys! I brought the smudge sticks. Just in case.”
“Smudge sticks? What the…” He was holding something that looked suspiciously like the world’s largest joint.
Cade shrugged. “In case there’s a séance. We can cleanse after.”
“Séance?”
“Team meeting,” Hunter clarified. His scarred eyebrow lifted. “Coach thinks the ghosts of hockey past haunt our synergy.”
What was even happening? This was a far cry from my old team in Toronto.
More players trickled in, and the room thrummed with noise.
Roman arrived in a blur of dark hair and more muscle than any human should legally possess.
“Nice of you to join us,” Brody said. “You just get out of bed?”
“I was working out.” Roman scoffed. “Not everyone sleeps in a fan club-sponsored bed.” Somehow, the Russian accent made the dig even funnier.
“Remind me why I missed you guys all summer?” Brody muttered. “Someone tell me.”
Dex sauntered over, looking like a rookie without a clue, his hair falling into his face.
“Whoa, what’s this?” He skidded to a stop, glancing around like we’d thrown him a surprise party.
“Intervention,” Sawyer deadpanned. “We think you have a problem, man.”
“Is it because I’m too handsome?” Dex shot back, unfazed. “I knew that would be an issue eventually.”
Roman slung an arm around him, effortlessly locking him in place. “I’ll hold him down. You guys mess up that pretty face.”
Cade leaned against the wall, cracking up at the look on my face. “New guy doesn’t know what he’s in for.”
They weren’t wrong. Everything about this team felt different. I’d heard Coach Murray’s name tossed around plenty last season, so I had a decent idea of what to expect on the ice. Off the ice? That was clearly its own beast.
Right on cue, the door banged open and Coach Murray blew in like a confused windstorm, his salt-and-pepper hair tousled and his eyes gleaming with barely contained energy.
“Alright, listen up! Gather ’round, ladies,” he barked, instantly silencing the room.
We crowded around him, curiosity buzzing.
Whatever authority he walked in with was slightly undercut by the coffee mug in his hand, which read World’s Okayest Dad. The binder clutched to his chest was marked TEAM SYNERGY. He cleared his throat, and the room fell mostly quiet.
Coach blinked at us like he’d just forgotten why he came in. Then he rallied and launched into what was clearly meant to be an inspiring speech.
“Teamwork. That’s what it’s all about. Like the Three Musketeers always said, ‘All for one and one for three.’ Or something like that.”
I exchanged a look with Brody, who mouthed, Told you.
“You ever see geese fly in formation?” Coach drew vague shapes in the air with his hands. “That’s us. Except with more checking and less... goose poop.”
I raised an eyebrow. This was our inspiring preseason pep talk?
“Like that old saying goes, ‘A team that falls together, stays together.’ Or something like that.” He frowned, thinking.
A few snickers passed through the group, but Coach plowed on, undeterred. “Alright, you puck-chasing degenerates...” He scanned the room. “We’ve got some fresh blood joining the Fusion family this year—a couple trades, a couple prospects fighting for spots.”
He paused, then looked right at me.
“First up, you’ve all heard by now that we’ve traded for Mason Callahan.”
All eyes turned to me. I shifted my weight, feeling a bit like a prized cow at auction.
“You might also recognize him from the billboards plastered all over Miami,” Coach added. “Mason here isn’t shy about showing off his assets. Those’ll get anyone’s attention. Including my wife’s.”
Sawyer coughed back a laugh, and Hunter raised an eyebrow, silently sharing in the madness. Heat crept up my neck as the guys hooted and whistled. I forced a tight smile, silently begging Coach to move on.
“But more importantly,” he continued, “Mason’s one of the top defensemen in the league. So I expect you to listen to him like he’s your grandma reading her will.” He gave me a nod, then gestured toward Dex, who jumped up like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life.
“We’ve also got Declan Rexford joining us straight out of the draft. Goes by Dex. Fast on his feet, hands like magic. We’re expecting big things.”
“I’m ready, Coach!” Dex said, pumping a fist in the air.
The room broke into laughter, and even King cracked a smile.
Coach rattled off a few more names, mostly unfamiliar prospects. “Try not to break ‘em before the season starts. Consider yourselves all introduced. Now go make friends.”
As the intros wrapped, guys started milling around, shaking hands and swapping greetings.
King approached me, his expression unreadable. “Welcome to the Fusion, Callahan. Ignore the circus. Be ready to work.”
I met his gaze. “Always am, Captain.”
He nodded, apparently satisfied, then moved on to the others.
A few players I hadn’t met made their way over. Cade looped an arm around my shoulders. “Hope you’re as good at hockey as you are at stripping, Callahan.”
I laughed, feeling the new-guy tension start to ease. The teasing already felt more like inclusion than anything else.
Brody joined the group. “Callahan! Got any good moose recipes?”
“We usually toss them on the barbecue whole.”
“That’s gotta be a big-ass barbecue,” Dex said, eager to be in on the conversation.
“You’re still here, Dex?” Roman grunted. “Stop following us around.”
“I would, but Coach said the team needs more scoring this year,” Dex shot back with a shrug.
Hunter crossed his arms, watching the exchange, clearly entertained. “Ooh, sick burn.”
They joked, they jabbed, they did everything but throw pies in each other’s faces. It felt like the most chaotic family reunion imaginable. But it was mine now. My team. My family, like Coach had said. And as nuts as it was, it was the friendly kind of crazy I could get used to.
Coach Murray’s whistle shrieked through the facility like a dying bird, cutting through the chatter.
“Enough chit-chat!” he barked. “Time for some good old-fashioned team bonding. Hit the mats for today’s activity.”
We gathered into a loose, uneven ring around Coach. I caught Sawyer’s eye, and his mouth twitched. “Coach and his bright ideas,” he muttered under his breath.
“Alright, listen up!” Coach snapped, a manic gleam in his eye. “We’re going to build trust with everyone’s favorite middle school gym class activity—trust falls.”
A collective groan rippled through the team. I bit back a laugh. This ought to be good.
“You know the drill,” Coach went on, completely unfazed. “Partner up. One guy stands in front of the other, arms crossed over your chest. Fall back, trust your teammate to catch you. Simple, but effective.”
Cade scoffed. “You’ve got to be kidding. I’m not convinced hockey players are built for trust or for falling.”
“Whoever can’t hack it does push-ups for every trust fail.” Coach clapped his hands. “Pair up! Let’s see some bromance, people.”
As the guys shuffled around, I found myself face-to-face with Sawyer Rhodes. His dimples flashed. “Ready to catch me, new guy?”
Before I could answer, Hunter walked up with a scowl. “What the hell, Rhodes. I thought we were BFFs.”
“Sorry, big guy,” Sawyer said, unapologetic. “There’s no way I’m catching you. I’m not risking an injury.”
Hunter pouted. “This is worse than last year when Coach made us do interpretive dance drills.”
“Interpretive dance?” I raised an eyebrow. “I heard it was Zumba.”
“What the fuck is Zumba?” Hunter made a face. “Whatever it was, I still have nightmares.”