Chapter Two
FINN
SEPTEMBER TRAINING CAMP, NY RUSH
Stepping inside the Rush’s training arena is both awe inspiring and terrifying.
I’ve worked and wished for this hockey moment for years and now that it’s here, I’m pinching myself.
I still can’t believe I received an invitation for a tryout at their training camp.
Reality hasn’t sunk in until this moment; I’m about to start my NHL career as New York’s newest defenseman.
That is, if all goes well. Still, nothing can beat this feeling.
I’m an NHL rookie and proud of it. All the years of early morning practices and sacrifices have led me here.
I’ve hoped and dreamed and even shed a few tears when it comes to my hockey aspirations, and to see them come true is surreal.
Of course, everything is bigger and brighter in New York—the lights, the seating, the jumbotron. I thought college hockey rinks were a rush, but the NHL is a whole other level of awesomeness. And I’m ready for it.
I stalk down the hallway toward the locker room, and I stare in wonder at the signed jerseys that line the walls. So many players have come through here and now it’s my turn.
My joy, however, is tempered with a good dose of homesickness and anxiety.
I’m missing my teammates at Sutton U, the guys who are my closest friends.
Silas most of all. He and I became hockey besties.
I miss the big grump. Then I wonder how the team here will welcome me and if I’ll fit in.
I usually make friends wherever I go, but I’m also a self-admitted dork.
I chatter—a lot—and I like to joke around and be silly, even more so when I’m nervous.
I’ve been told that I’m quirky and charming, and sometimes, when I don’t stop talking, that I’m annoying as fuck.
What if the guys here in New York can’t stand me?
Then again, I’m the rookie. I know that I’m going to get razzed no matter what.
Or at least until the next newbie comes along…
With my bag slung over my shoulder I head for the locker room entrance, and as soon as I hear the players’ voices I start to sweat. This is real, so fucking real. The closer I get to the door, the louder my heart pounds, until it drowns out everything else.
This is it. Holy shit, this is it.
Here goes nothing.
I expect unfamiliar faces. Well, as a fan and a player, I know all the guys on the team by name and stats, but seeing someone on TV is a lot different than being in a locker room with them. Or playing with them.
Holy mother of hockey gods, I’m really doing this.
I step into the room and stop short. It’s the biggest, cleanest locker room I’ve ever seen.
It’s not dark and dank and it doesn’t smell like mold and rank jocks.
Instead, it’s bright and modern, and I catch a whiff of lemon cleaner.
The space is huge, built for fifty people, never mind twenty.
The stalls are made of gleaming wood and every player’s jersey is hanging neatly.
The floor is the usual rubber tiles, but these ones look new, with the Rush logo in the center in blue, silver, and white.
Most of the guys sit on benches in front of their stalls, in their sweats, talking and laughing. I clear my throat and pray that when I open my mouth to speak, my voice doesn’t crack.
“Hey.”
Wow, way to start off strong, Finn.
Every player in the room looks my way, and I’m so awed by seeing these guys in person, up close, that I can’t say anything else. I’m sure my face is redder than my auburn hair, but I’m too keyed up to worry about it.
“I’m Finn Baran.”
Evan Berg, New York’s captain and a giant at six-five, stands up first.
“The rookie from Vermont.”
“That’s me.” I nod. “Well, I played college hockey in Vermont. I grew up in Nebraska and—”
“Finn?”
I whirl around at the familiar voice and find myself face to face with my former mentor.
What the hell? Selwin?
It’s been two months since university camp, and I internally cringe every time I think about how shitty I played and how unimpressed Sel seemed with my performance. Then again, I had a lot on my mind.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one…
Sel publicly came out a couple of weeks ago, and the news that he’s bisexual is still the talk of sports and entertainment media.
A lot of my friends are queer, and seeing rep at the pro level is inspiring.
There’s no question I have mad respect for Sel, not just as a player, but as a person.
It’s too bad I’m so tongue-tied around him, and what’s worse is that I have no clue as to why.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I blurt out.
I guess my tongue’s working fine today.
Sel smirks. “I’m here for training camp. Well, what’s left of it. I just signed my contract. This is my first day.”
“Are you shitting me?”
Everyone starts laughing.
“No.”
Sel offers a crooked smile, but it’s far from the beaming one I remember from this summer.
If I’m being totally honest, he looks like crap.
His big brown eyes are guarded and there are dark hollows underneath them.
It seems like he’s lost weight, his beard is scraggly, and the mullet is gone, his hair shorter on the sides but still messy on top.
The man in front of me is so unlike the exuberant guy I met months ago that it startles me.
“But I don’t get it,” I add. “You love Chicago.”
“I did,” he replies quietly.
He doesn’t say anything else. And when I watch the way he’s worrying his lower lip, it hits me.
His coming out… fuck, I guess the team didn’t take the news well.
Christ, it had to be bad given he’s played there for his entire career and now suddenly he’s here.
So much for hockey evolving. I feel awful, and for once I don’t know what to say.
“And you’re the rookie?” he continues.
“Yeah. I got an invite to try out, so here I am. What are the odds I’d end up playing with you?”
Sel shakes his head, the dark brown waves of his hair hitting his eyebrows.
“I don’t know, but it sure is nice to see a familiar face. A friendly one.”
“For me too.”
I glance around and notice that the rest of the guys are coming our way to greet us.
Thankfully, I don’t sense any hostility, but you never know.
No one better say anything derogatory to Sel, but I’m preparing for it just in case.
I might be a good-natured guy, but if someone hurts my friends, watch out.
Not that Sel and I are friends, but he seems like a nice guy and my protective side is never far from the surface.
I want to ask Sel more questions about what happened in Chicago, but now’s not the time.
Part of me is freaking out that we’re playing on the same team, and I’ve got to text Silas asap.
Did he know Sel was transferring to New York?
Damien and Silas are married now, and surely if Damien knew about his friend’s move, Si did too.
If so, why didn’t they tell me?
Fortunately, I don’t have time to think about it, because the coaching staff steps into the room.
Jordan Range is a former forward with LA who’s been coaching the Rush for the past year and was an assistant coach with Vancouver the year before that.
He’s not unlike Damien in that he’s in his thirties, demanding, and super intense about hockey.
The fact that he’s only a few years out of the roster himself means he knows a lot of guys in the league, not just who they are but how they play.
Range has his Rush jacket on, and if it weren’t for the words “Head Coach” stitched on it—and his buzzed hair—you’d assume he was one of us.
“Baran, Kirkland, good to see you. You guys ready for training?”
“Yes sir,” Sel and I say in unison.
“I understand you two have met before,” Range comments as he crosses his arms. “At Sutton University. Is that correct?”
Sel nods. “That’s right.”
“Summer hockey camp,” I add.
“Good.” Range nods at me and then Sel. “Then you’re both familiar with how the other plays. That’ll make this transition a hell of a lot easier given our tight timeframe.”
I hope so. I’m nervous enough as it is.
“We only have a week before the season starts and our defensive lineup needs to click, fast. It’s going to mean long days and no letting up.”
“I’m ready,” I state.
“I’m here to work,” Sel replies.
“That’s what I want to hear, and that’s what our assistant head coach, Marley Laflore, wants to hear.” Range turns his attention to the rest of the room and holds up one hand. “Hey guys, listen up.”
The chatter in the room quiets.
“As we’re weeks into training with one more to go, it’s time for promo photos. Heads up that our public relations team will be here today to get this done. A reminder to do as you’re told and play nice.”
Sel visibly flinches and some of the guys make disgruntled noises.
“I know PR isn’t your favorite thing.” Range looks around and points to our captain. “Well, for everyone except Berg of course.”
Jeers, laughter, and whistles ring out after Coach’s sarcastic comment.
Berg’s from Sweden, and with his talent on the ice and his model-pretty face, he’s in demand by both the media and corporate sponsors.
It’s no wonder he’s a pro at PR. The blond-haired, blue-eyed captain is always snapped with a gorgeous entourage.
“See you on the ice in fifteen!” Range adds, and with a final nod he heads for the door.
Berg steps up to me and Sel with what I assume is a genuine smile.
“Welcome to the Rush family.”
I wait to see if he shakes Sel’s hand first. When he does, I relax and offer mine.
“Thanks.” Sel nods. “Looking forward to it.”
Sel’s voice is so subdued that I hardly recognize it, or him.
When I glance at his profile, his jaw’s clenched tight.
If I were in his skates, I’d be the same.
Fuck, I’m nervous too, but I’m not under the same scrutiny he is.
Whatever happened in Chicago, it must’ve been horrible, and clearly Sel’s still dealing with the fallout.