Rookie Attraction (NY Rush #1)

Prologue

SELWIN

SUTTON UNIVERSITY, VERMONT (JULY)

I’m a nine-year hockey pro, but I’m sweating through my T-shirt like it’s my first day in the league.

Yeah, I’m nervous as fuck, but it’s not game day.

Hell, it’s not even the regular NHL season.

Instead, I’m about to face off against college players, and the very idea has me unusually panicked.

My career includes a ton of experience with public appearances so mentoring these players should be a breeze.

Why am I so stressed?

They expect you to teach them something valuable, not just smile for the camera and shake their hand.

Exactly. That’s what’s freaking me out. I know how to play, and play hard, but teaching others?

That’s a skill I’m not sure I’m qualified for.

And taking part in this summer hockey camp at Sutton U isn’t my usual volunteer gig.

But when my friend and coach of said camp, Damien Banning, asked me to participate, I couldn’t say no.

We met because of hockey and our friendship’s been steadfast ever since.

Damien left the ice as a pro player when he was only twenty-five due to a knee injury, and now at thirty, he’s one of the youngest and most successful college coaches.

He took the Cougars to a national championship in the spring, and I was there to witness their victory.

Given that he’s done a stellar job with the team, I’m not sure what, if anything, I can teach these guys.

Still, I made a promise and I keep to my word.

Plus, I need to catch up with my friend.

The last time I saw Damien, after the championship final, he revealed a major secret.

Well, several. All these years I assumed Damien was straight, but no, surprise, he’s not.

In addition, it turns out that my friend’s got a thing for Silas, a twenty-two-year-old defenseman with a sarcastic attitude, and the feeling is mutual.

The age gap isn’t huge, but the fact that Silas is one of Damien’s players is.

I don’t envy his situation, but Damien’s confession made me look at my own life.

I accepted my bisexuality years ago but I’m not out publicly, and I wonder if the timing will ever be right.

There’s hardly any queer rep in the professional hockey league, and the decision to be upfront about who I am is one I’ve struggled with for years.

Unfortunately, I still don’t have a definitive answer.

For a guy who’s usually confident and quick to make decisions, I’m stalling. Hard.

Forget about it. Focus on the here and now. Your personal life comes second.

Head in the game. Hockey is my priority. Now. Always.

I step into the Cougars arena with my bag in hand, and despite my jitters, the place feels like home. The familiar chill of damp air seeps deep into my bones and settles there. I know I’ve got this.

Only, you’re late.

Shit, I haul ass and follow the signs to the locker room, change, and head for the ice.

The players in the camp are busy warming up, and I spot Damien watching with his usual intense expression, his arms crossed, his brow furrowed.

It’s not unlike the face he makes in his time off.

My friend knows how to play and coach hockey, but swear to fuck he needs to let loose more than anyone I know.

“Damien!” I shout across the ice.

He turns and I offer a grin and a wave.

“Kirkland!” he calls out with a wry smile and taps his watch. “You finally made it.”

He’s a bug about being on time, and I’m already pushing it.

I skate over to my friend and the closer I get, the more I notice the difference in his demeanor.

When he suddenly smiles, it’s like the night turning into day; he’s beaming and it’s telling.

Without hesitation, I lean over and bring him in for a hug.

“You look amazing, D,” I admit, and glance down the ice at Silas, the big blond defenseman who looks just as fierce as my friend. “And one guess as to why.”

“Later, there’s media watching us. A local journalist is doing a story about the camp,” Damien warns. “And besides, you’ve got players to mentor.”

“I’m more than ready, so bring it on.”

I sound confident even though I’m unsure of my teaching skills.

We skate off down the ice and I reintroduce myself to the group, shaking everyone’s hand.

The players I remember best from that championship game are all here—Silas, of course, along with Dane, Ethan, and Finn.

Dane and Ethan are two of the team’s top forwards and Finn’s a d-man, like me.

Damien’s spoken highly of these guys and how much they’ve improved over the recent semesters.

Even if they’re a year or two older than most of the rookies I play with, there’s no mistaking their energy.

Watching the Cougars win that trophy back in the spring was impressive, and Finn most of all.

Silas is bigger and hits harder, but Finn has speed, agility, and a scrappy style that I’m pretty sure comes naturally.

Finn’s got fire, and given we play the same position, I recognize that most of all.

Still, even the best players can learn something new, and that’s my plan today. To put everyone at ease, I do what I always do: I joke around.

“Five bucks says Banning can’t resist coaching you even though I’m in charge for the rest of the day.”

“Make it ten,” Silas replies with a knowing smirk.

“You’re on.”

The guys chuckle and hold out their fists for me to bump.

“Remember, we take this training day seriously but it’s not formal. Call me Selwin or Sel. Only my agent calls me Mr. Kirkland, usually when I do something to piss him off. Which happens often.”

A ripple of laughter echoes in the rink.

“What’s it like playing in those huge NHL arenas surrounded by thousands of fans?” Dane asks.

“The same as any rink, it’s loud and you freeze your ass off,” I quip. “Seriously, I can’t imagine a bigger rush. Playing with guys at the top of their game and in front of so many people is something special.”

The players ask me a ton of questions about the past season, and I gladly offer my highlights.

There’s nothing I love more than talking hockey and today is no exception.

Everyone in the group has something to say.

Everyone except Finn, who fidgets with his stick, shoulders slumped as he stares at the ice.

He’s hardly said a word. I don’t get it because Damien insisted that Finn’s an enthusiastic chatterbox.

Weird. Is it something I said? Then I remember Damien’s warning that Finn’s dealing with a family issue.

Maybe that’s it. He’s got personal stuff going on and it’s weighing heavy.

It can be difficult for players to leave their emotions aside when they hit the ice.

With that in mind, I make a mental note to be extra patient.

The rest of the guys are all smiles as we shoot the shit, but Finn gets more tense as the minutes tick by, tapping his stick on the ice, pacing back and forth.

“Okay, finish your warmup and then passing drills and three-on-three,” I announce and turn to Finn. “Finn, can I talk to you for a moment?”

The other players take off down the ice while Finn shuffles in place.

“Is everything alright?” I ask him when we’re one on one. “You seem upset.”

“I’m fine.”

I skate closer so others can’t hear us, and I notice his hazel eyes are red-rimmed and swollen.

Despite offering an easy grin, Finn’s gaze is troubled.

There’s something seriously riding him. Or maybe he’s ill?

His face is so pale, and I’m concerned he’s about to be sick.

Players will often stay silent, pushing themselves hard no matter what. We’re stubborn fuckers that way.

“Are you sure? If you’re sick—”

“I’m not sick,” he insists. “Not me. I’m just… I’m dealing with some personal stuff, okay? But it never interferes with hockey. Never.”

His response is so impassioned that I feel awful for questioning him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I just wanted to be sure,” I reply calmly. “If you’re good, I’m good. I was concerned maybe it was something I said. I like to keep things light, but my sense of humor isn’t for everyone.”

“Are you kidding? You’re my fucking idol,” he confesses and slaps a gloved hand over his helmet, his freckled face turning pink. “Shit, I didn’t mean to blurt that out. Jesus, I’m sorry about the swearing.”

His rambling makes me want to smile, but I do my best to hold it in. Idol? It’s not the first time someone’s told me that and yet the comment makes my cheeks heat in return. Hell, I’m almost as red-faced as Finn and that rarely happens.

“Idol, eh? That’s quite the compliment.”

“God, I wish this ice would melt and swallow me up,” Finn mutters as he lowers his head. “So embarrassing.”

“Come on,” I chuckle. “You saying that is the nicest thing. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he mumbles, biting his lower lip.

To put him at ease, I shift to why we’re here.

“What made you decide to join this training camp?” I ask. “Only, I’d imagine you’d rather be hanging out with your friends in the summer?”

Finn looks up and finally offers a grin.

“This is hanging out with my friends in the summer. Otherwise, I’d be back home working on the farm, shovelling shit. Which would you choose?”

“Fair point.” I smile. “But that can’t be the only reason.”

Finn leans on his stick.

“My game’s improved a lot this year, and I figured this camp would give me that extra edge. There were scouts at our championship win, and you never know, right? I turn twenty-two in August, too old to be drafted in the NHL, but there’s always a chance I could go pro somewhere.”

I nod. “Definitely. You were phenomenal in that game, Finn.”

He shakes his head.

“I mean it. I don’t bullshit. What I saw tells me you’ve still got a shot. Don’t give up.”

“Thanks,” Finn whispers. “I can’t believe you of all people said that, but I needed to hear it.”