2. Trenton
Trenton
Iroll onto my stomach and slam the pillow over my head in an attempt to drown out the shrill noise floating through the wall.
Maybe I’ll suffocate myself under here and I won’t have to be subjected to my neighbor’s off-key singing ever again.
I used to love the song Africa. Now, I’ll cringe every time I hear it on the radio. The woman next door just ruined Toto for me along with my morning.
Since there’s no way I can fall back asleep now, I fling off the covers and stalk into the bathroom to take a piss and brush my teeth.
My annoying neighbor is just the icing on the cake that is my new life.
Last year, my fiancé cheated on me. I could’ve dealt with that—honestly, I could’ve moved on.
I had a great hockey career, and a team I loved being a part of.
But she had to go and cheat on me with my teammate.
It caused such a rift in the team that the General Manager traded me after the season ended.
He might as well have put me out to pasture, because that’s what it feels like.
I’m the thirty-six-year-old on a new team, which doesn’t bode well.
They’ll be pushing me to retire in no time.
This is the beginning of the end for me.
And then what? What will I have without hockey?
I brush my gums so vigorously, I’m surprised I don’t spit blood when I rinse out my mouth.
I woke up feeling angry today, and it’s more than the fact that my sleep was interrupted by a screeching serenade.
I’m angry about looking like a fool. About losing my teammates.
About the way this whole thing went down.
Kicked off my team. Forced to move out of my city.
I’m the one who got cheated on, so why am I paying for their indiscretion?
The worst part of it all? I went quietly. The news exploded all over the country and everyone’s talking about the scandal. Yet I kept my mouth shut and left without a fight.
But the shock and denial have worn off. I’m in my anger phase now. The gym is one of the only places I can unleash it, so I change into my gym clothes and grab my duffle bag on the way out of my apartment.
I’m so absorbed in my own thoughts that I don’t realize the singing bandit next door is exiting her apartment at the same time. She smacks into me and I almost barrel right through her. I catch her before she hits the ground, gripping her shoulders as I steady her.
She smooths down her hair as she blinks up at me. “Geez. Where’s the fire?”
“Sorry. I didn’t see you.”
“Of course you didn’t.”
My chin jerks back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She mutters something under her breath before she spins around and heads down the hallway. Judging by the spandex clinging to her body, she’s headed to the same place I am.
Great.
We wait for an elevator, and when one opens up, she steps inside and presses the button for the gym level.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
I gesture to the illuminated G on the panel.
She nods and leans her hip against the wall as we descend.
She’s hot. It’s hard not to notice. Thick and curvy with long brown hair.
Admittedly, I watched her ass sway in front of me as she walked to her apartment door yesterday.
I figure it was only fair since she and her friend were staring at my ass during my workout like I was on stage at a Magic Mike show.
I should be used to it after a decade of being in the spotlight, but everything has been different once the news about my fiancé cheating on me with my best friend got out.
It’s like an alert was sent out to single women everywhere: “Heartbroken Hockey Player Needs Healing.” Puck bunnies have been throwing themselves at me worse than before.
So, when this woman smiled at me in the elevator yesterday, I counted the seconds until she asked if I was the person she thought I was.
That’s always how it starts. “You look familiar,” or, “Are you Trent Ward?” Some women are bold enough to slip me their numbers and tell me how they can help me get over my ex—which is why I try to ignore everyone I can.
Today though, she doesn’t smile at me. Maybe it’s because I bulldozed her upstairs, or maybe she’s just in a shit mood and it has nothing to do with me. But when the elevator door opens, she bolts like she can’t get away from me fast enough.
She heads to the left and I make my way to the squat rack.
I set down my water bottle and lift the bar to do a warmup set of bicep curls before adding any weight.
Halfway through my set, my neighbor appears at my side holding a twenty-five-pound plate in each hand—glaring at me in the reflection of the mirror.
“Excuse me. I was going to use the squat rack.”
Is she for real?
I arch a brow as I continue my set. “I didn’t see anyone standing here when I got here.”
“I went to get plates.” She holds them up as if I don’t see them.
“Well, it’ll be all yours when I’m done.”
Her cheeks redden. “It’s Gym Etiquette 101: Don’t use the free-standing squat rack for anything other than squats. You can do your bicep curls literally anywhere else.”
I’ve lost count of how many reps I’ve done, but I won’t stop now. “Pretend I’m doing squats, and go do something else while you wait your turn.”
She grits her teeth as she storms away.
Who the hell does she think she is ordering me around? Are these the kind of self-righteous rich people who live in this building?
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t drag out my set a bit longer than necessary just to spite her.
When I finish, I spot her by the cables.
She has the strap wrapped around her ankle as she swings her leg out to the side.
Now, I could steer clear of her and go about the rest of my workout.
I should. But something about her attitude today has me heading straight for her.
It’s like I have an itch that needs scratching.
“They have machines for that, you know,” I say.
She glances over her shoulder and her eyes narrow on me. Then she lifts her chin and continues swinging her leg out to the side.
“I don’t need workout tips. I know what I’m doing.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “But you’re using the cables for people who are trying to do upper body.”
“Much like the dumbbells can be used for biceps, yet there you were, curling in the squat rack.”
“So, it’s okay only when you do it? That’s pretty hypocritical of you.”
She rolls her eyes. “This is totally not the same thing.”
I’m about to fire back but she swings her leg extra wide, her foot coming so close to my balls that I have to step out of the way.
She gives me a phony-ass sweet smile. “It’ll be all yours when I’m done. Now wait your turn like a good boy.”
Tell me why my dick twitches when she says that?
A frustrated growl bubbles up in my throat, but I say nothing as I walk away. If she wants a reaction out of me, she won’t get one.
Not even when she follows me to the elevator at the end of my workout and gets in beside me. We stand on our respective sides until the door opens and then walk down the hall in silence.
But when we get to our apartment doors, she speaks. “Since you’re unaware of gym etiquette, let me give you another friendly piece of advice about being a good neighbor: If you hold onto your doorknob, the door won’t slam so loud.”
I turn my head to meet her pointed stare. “What?”
“You slam your door every time you walk in and out. It’s a little jarring.”
Now she’s just fucking with me. She has to be. I’ve only been here for two days. How many times could I have slammed my door?
I prop my door open with my foot. “Speaking of jarring noises, I did hear something this morning. Does this building have a cat problem?”
Her eyes narrow. “A cat problem?”
“This morning I was woken up to the sound of what I assumed was a dying cat. But I suppose a cat wouldn’t know all the words to a Toto song, so maybe I’m wrong.”
Her cheeks turn a deep shade of red as she plants her hand on her hips. “I’ve never had any complaints before you got here.”
“Maybe your last neighbor was hard of hearing.”
She scoffs. “Well, she certainly didn’t slam the door so hard that my entire apartment rattled.”
This is ridiculous. How can one stranger have this kind of effect on me?
I don’t act like this to people, especially those I don’t know.
My PR agent would chew my ass out if she could see me.
I’m supposed to keep my head down and stay out of the public eye, not draw more attention to myself.
For all I know, this crazy woman could be recording me as we speak, and tomorrow I’ll be all over the news cycle again.
Instead of continuing this any further, I end it by walking inside my apartment.
And I may or may not let the door slam behind me on purpose.
“Do you have any questions?”
My eyes bounce around the locker room. “Do you have cold tubs?”
Coach nods. “We just had our facility renovated, and we offer hot and cold tubs in the training facility.”
“We upgraded just in time for you, Warden.” A man with coppery curls walks out of the shower area with a towel wrapped low around his waist. “Coach heard what a sweet facility you had in Seattle so he made sure to trick this place out.”
“Not true.” Coach heaves a sigh. “Trenton Ward, this is Stephen McKinley.”
I reach out to shake his hand, but he pulls me in for a hug. His towel slips and he makes no effort to reach for it. Coach snatches the towel off the floor and tosses it at him.
McKinley wraps the towel around the back of his neck. “Glad to have you on our team, man.”
“Jesus, Mac. Don’t scare off our new goalie with your giant monster dick between your legs.” Another man emerges from the shower, his towel tightly tucked around his waist.
McKinley grins. “Hey, I just wanted to show him that the carpet matches the drapes. People wonder about that.”
“Literally no one wonders about that.” He shakes my hand like a normal person. “Jason Stamos. Nice to meet you.”
I studied the players before arriving in Jersey City. Stephen “Mac” McKinley is a left wing forward, and Jason “Stams” Stamos is on defense. The team has an impressive starting lineup, and this season looks promising for them.
For me as well now, I guess.
McKinley cups his hands over his mouth. “Hey, Krum Cake. Stop jerking off in the shower and get out here so you can meet our new goalie.”
Stamos chuckles. “Don’t piss him off, Mac. He’s in a shit mood today.”
“When is he not in a shit mood?”
Coach pinches the bridge of his nose. “Well, I’ll leave you to get acquainted with the boys. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to come see me.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
He clasps my hand. “We’re happy to have you on the team.”
I nod. “Happy to be here.”
After Coach exits the locker room, a tall bearded man steps out of the shower and glares at McKinley.
Alexander Krum. Team Captain and center. One of the best players currently in the NHL.
“Welcome to the team.” He shakes my hand. “Sorry about what happened to you. That’s some bush league shit if you ask me.”
Good, let’s address the elephant in the room and get it over with.
I hike a nonchalant shoulder as if being betrayed and then traded hasn’t crippled me. “It is what it is.”
Krum shakes his head. “You don’t have to worry about shit like that here. You’re a Goldfinch now, and we’re family.”
I thought my last team was my family.
Look how that turned out.
“All I want is to play hockey,” I say.
“And hockey you shall play.” McKinley slaps his palms together. “It’s going to be a great season, boys. I can smell it.”
It will be a great season, and I’ll make sure of it.
I have everything to prove, and nothing left to lose.