5. Dover
With my AirPods snugly in my ears, I listen to green noise—the steady, soothing sound of the ocean waves rolling in and out.
This calming audio has become a pre-game ritual for me, a way to settle my nerves and bring my mind into focus before I step onto the ice.
The rhythmic surge of water drowns out the chaos of the locker room, muffling the chatter, the clatter of equipment, and the ever-present hum of anticipation.
Usually, this soundscape is enough to help me block out distractions and center myself, allowing me to concentrate solely on the game ahead.
But today, it’s not working as well as it usually does. No matter how hard I try to focus on the ocean’s ebb and flow, Levi’s face keeps intruding into my thoughts, sharp and insistent. I can’t stop thinking about him, even though I know I should be concentrating on the game.
Last night, I hadn’t done anything meaningful with the guy I met.
In fact, I can’t even recall his name now, which makes me wince with guilt and discomfort.
The only thing I do remember is that, as we kissed, I put my hand on his dick.
That was as far as it went. There was no spark, no genuine interest on my part.
I tried to feel something, to convince myself that I could be into him, but the truth was undeniable—he wasn’t Levi Dodge, and that made all the difference.
I had been on the verge of telling the guy that he should probably look for someone else, someone who actually wanted to be there with him.
But before I could say anything, the sudden flash of a camera caught my attention, startling me.
In that instant, I realized that a photographer had managed to capture me in a compromising position with another guy.
My immediate reaction wasn’t panic or fear, but rather a weary sense of resignation.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I pull my jersey over my head, the familiar fabric settling against my pads.
As I get ready for the game, I can’t help but wonder when that photograph will inevitably surface online.
Given my current popularity in the hockey world, it’s only a matter of time before the images make their rounds on social media.
The thought lingers in the back of my mind, adding another layer of tension to an already complicated day.
Nash steps into my field of vision, his presence drawing my attention as he gestures subtly, signaling that it’s time for me to remove the earbuds from my ears. I comply, tugging one free, and immediately he leans in, concern evident in his voice as he asks, “You okay?”
I nod, offering a brief, “Yeah,” in response, though I can tell he’s not entirely convinced.
Without missing a beat, Nash continues, his tone shifting as he brings up the events from last night.
“You left with Gemma’s friend,” he states, watching me closely for any reaction.
I arch an eyebrow at his observation, waiting for him to elaborate.
“He seemed—I don’t know—not your type, I guess.
” He gives a casual shrug, as if trying to downplay his curiosity, but his eyes remain intent on mine.
I let out a small sigh, realizing what he’s getting at.
“Nothing happened between us, if that’s what you’re trying to ask,” I clarify, my voice steady but honest. “I wasn’t into him,” I add, hoping to put his mind at ease.
There’s a brief pause as I consider whether to mention the rest, but guilt prods me forward.
After a moment’s hesitation, I confess, “A photograph caught us kissing,” the admission slipping out as I wince, bracing myself for his reaction.
“Oh, shit, man! That isn’t good.”
“I’m resigned to it.” I roll my shoulders, feeling the weight of acceptance settle in, and with a sigh, I plonk my battered bucket of a helmet onto my head.
The familiar, snug fit is oddly comforting.
I reach down to grab my well-worn gloves and my stick, the tape on the handle fraying just a little at the edges.
With a deep breath, I fall in line behind my teammates, following them out of the locker room and into the narrow, echoing tunnel that leads to the rink.
The sounds of skates scraping against concrete and muffled voices bounce off the walls as we make our way toward the bright, cold expanse of the ice.
Tonight, we’re facing the Minnesota Lions, a team known for their aggressive play and tight defense.
Our starting lineup is set: Bradford is guarding the net, his calm presence a steadying force for the rest of us.
On defense, we have Nikoli and Rhodes, both solid and reliable, ready to block shots and clear the crease.
Dario is taking the face-offs as our center, quick and sharp, always thinking a step ahead.
On the wings, it’s Madden and me, tasked with driving the puck up the ice and creating scoring opportunities.
That’s our top line, the group our coach is counting on to set the tone early in the game.
Nash, who’s been working hard in practice, is slotted in on the third line for now, waiting for his chance to make an impact.
As the announcer calls out the Vikings, the crowd’s roar swells, and we burst out onto the ice, blades biting into the fresh surface.
The chill of the arena hits me, and adrenaline starts to pulse through my veins.
We skate a few laps, stretching out our legs and getting a feel for the puck, all while sizing up the Lions as they warm up at the other end.
They’ve recently added Drago Levenski to their roster—a player everyone calls Dragon.
His reputation precedes him. He’s known for his fierce competitiveness and physical style of play.
Still, I remind myself that, unlike Igor Lenten of the Vegas Sharks, Dragon isn’t built like a tank.
Lenten is an absolute beast on the ice, a player who seems to delight in bending or outright breaking the rules, never hesitating to throw his weight around.
Dragon, on the other hand, may have a tough reputation, but he’s also known for playing a fair game.
I know I’ll have to keep my head up when he’s out there, but I’m not particularly worried about sharing the ice with him tonight.