4. Lucian
LUCIAN
I walk into the rink for my first practice with the Ice Breakers, gear slung over my shoulders, looking calm even though my nerves are sparking like live wires.
Every player in the place stops what they’re doing to watch me, sizing up the new guy, deciding if I’m worth their time.
This is make-or-break time—my chance to prove I belong with this team.
Coach Dale Hauser waves me over. “Everyone, listen up,” he calls out to the team. “This is Lucian Lowe, our new defenseman. He’s joining us from the Carolina Crushers, so make him feel welcome.”
Coach claps me on the shoulder. “Lowe, meet your new teammates.”
“Welcome to the team,” a broad-shouldered player says as he comes over. “Cade Lennox, right wing. Best slapshot on the team.”
“That’s debatable,” another guy says, holding out a hand. “Asher Tremblay. I’ll be playing defense with you.”
From behind Cade and Asher, another player waves. “Jamie Hayes—team captain. Clément Rivière, our goalie, hasn’t shown up yet. But Carson is behind you.”
I turn to find a guy sprawled across a bench, lifting two fingers in a lazy salute. “Carson,” he drawls with a Southern accent. “I handle dating rejections and any other personal disaster you can think of.”
Jamie points to another guy standing off to the side, gear half on and fidgeting with his gloves.
“And that’s Weston Smith,” Jamie says. “Rookie defenseman. He’s got the skills, but not the confidence yet. Maybe you can take him under your wing?”
I make my way over to Weston and offer him a fist bump, finally feeling at ease that someone else is just as nervous as me. “Defense, huh? Guess that means I’ll be counting on you to keep me from getting taken out.”
Weston’s eyes widen a little. “You know I’ll try.”
“Don’t worry about that,” a voice says behind me. “I’ll make sure you get plenty of action on the ice.”
I turn to see a guy with perfectly styled blond hair and the kind of smirk that immediately broadcasts a big ego, spinning a stick in his hands and leaning against the wall like the big man on campus.
“Nate Simpson,” he says, not bothering to extend a hand. “Left wing. I led my AHL team in goals.” He looks me over. “You’re the new defense, huh? Hope you can keep up when I’m flying down your side.”
Something about his tone—arrogant for someone who thinks one good season means he’s actually made it—reminds me of every entitled kid I’ve ever played with.
“I’ll do my best,” I say, keeping my expression calm, despite knowing exactly who he is. Neesha’s ex. The one who left her bruised in ways she still doesn’t talk about. And every instinct I have tells me this guy is still trouble.
“We’ll see,” Nate says with a shrug. “Coach likes to see what the new guys can handle. No guarantees you’ll stick around.” He pushes off from the wall. “Anyway, I’ve got media interviews. Local press wants to talk to the guys who actually put points on the board, you know?”
“Lowe!” Asher calls out when I show up for the second practice. “Ready to actually keep up with us today?”
“I kept up fine at the first practice,” I reply, pulling on my skates.
“Barely,” Cade teases with a grin. “Though I’ll give you credit for that pass in the scrimmage.”
Coach Hauser blows his whistle. “All right, boys, let’s see if our second practice brings some improvement. Warm-up laps, then we’re working on power plays.”
We hit the ice and fall into a rhythm together quickly. This time, there’s no awkward new-player vibe. Weston passes to me without hesitation and I’m starting to learn the team’s playing style to anticipate their moves.
Even Clément shakes his head with a smile when I get a shot past him at the net.
After two hours of drills that leave us all sweating and breathing hard, we head to the locker room. Showers turn on as someone blasts country music and sings along off-key.
“So,” Carson says in that slow drawl as he peels off his jersey, “you settling in okay next to the neighborhood watch president of Maple Falls?”
“You mean, Mrs. Nelson?” I say. “I haven’t made her mad enough yet to call the HOA, though she’s keeping an eye on me.”
“Heard you met the girl who runs the bookshop cafe?” Asher asks with a knowing smirk. “Word around town is you fixed her espresso machine.”
“The machine was broken. I fixed it. End of story.”
“Uh-huh,” Cade says, not buying it for a second. “And I’m sure the cupcakes she gave you were just a thank-you for your mechanical expertise . ”
“You know about the cupcakes?” I ask, surprised.
“This is Maple Falls,” Jamie says. “Mary-Ellen probably announced it at the post office before you even left the bookstore.”
I hold up my hands. “Well, I was only there for caffeine. I wasn’t hitting on her.”
Clément snorts. “He lies poorly.”
Jamie just gives me a look that says, You ’ re digging your own grave now.
“You guys don’t believe me?” I ask.
“Nope. I think you’ll be back in that cafe in less than a week,” Cade taunts, tossing a towel at my face.
“Actually,” I admit, “I’ve already been back a few times.”
The locker room erupts in knowing laughter and whistles.
“There it is!” Asher whoops. “The truth comes out!”
“For coffee ,” I insist. “Really good coffee. And she’s interesting.”
“Interesting, how ?” Carson asks, leaning forward.
“Well, she’s determined to be independent. Won’t let me walk her home. Most girls are falling all over themselves to get to a hockey player.”
“She’s playing it smart.” Jamie nods approvingly.
“I heard from a reliable source at the diner that she may or may not have been caught sneaking a peek through your window,” Asher says with a grin.
“Mary-Ellen talks too much,” I say. “I’m guessing it was Mrs. Nelson who told her.”
“So it’s true?” Weston asks, eyes wide. “She was spying on you?”
“Not exactly spying,” I say. “She was dropping off flyers and got…momentarily distracted.”
“By your rugged good looks?” Asher teases.
“More like my lack of a shirt,” I mutter.
“Oh, it’s over for her,” Carson says, tossing up his hands. “Girl practically fell into a thirst trap. ”
“Or better yet,” Asher cuts in, “break something else in the cafe so you have an excuse to come back. Trip over a wire, unplug the fridge. Play dumb. It’s what I’d do.”
Clément shakes his head. “In France, we bring pastries. But she already makes those. How about a baby goat?”
“Maybe just ask her about her day?” Weston offers, then pauses. “That’s what my sister says works. She reads a lot of romance.”
“Listen to the rookie giving relationship advice,” Cade laughs.
“Hey, at least I’m not suggesting he sabotage her equipment,” Weston protests.
“Fair point.” Cade nods. “Though honestly, it sounds like either she’s interested, or she wants to stay far away from you.”
“Well, she was mortified when I caught her,” I say. “Practically ran away.”
“I’ve been rejected enough times to know the signs,” Carson declares. “If she didn’t care, she wouldn’t have been embarrassed.”
This time, I don’t argue. Because there’s only one way to find out if they’re right—and that means I have to make the next move.