6. Russ
CHAPTER 6
RUSS
“Okay, boys, gather round.” Max claps his hands together, grabbing everyone’s attention. We’ve gathered in the massive garage, which already was partially set up as a gym—part of what I liked about this compound—but as soon as Max invited the team here, I got on the phone and called in favours to get everything we might want delivered and set up for today.
Red light therapy. Cold plunge pools. A second weight rack. Tether points installed for bands and suspension training.
I even rented a couple extra bikes and treadmills.
“Last year was a roller coaster. Nobody expected us to make the playoffs in our first season, but we beat those expectations and finished the regular season on a real high.” Max’s expression tightens. “Going out in the first round after finishing the regular season on a high note was honestly fucking brutal. I never want to do that again. We had momentum on our side and we squandered it.”
The rookies exchange nervous looks. Hayden Calhoun, who was in their shoes last year, slumps. He got a lot of pointed criticism from the press for mistakes he made, but at the end of the day, hockey games are won and lost with team systems, not individual errors.
Jenson bumps shoulders with him. “None of us were happy with that, right? That’s why we’re here. We know we’re capable of it.”
“Here’s the thing,” Max continues. “We’re not going to do another post mortem on last season. We’re not even going to think about next season. Not yet. That’s coming. But right now, I want us to take a deep breath and be in this moment, together. All of us have spent the summer working on our fitness. I can see that. You all look like beasts. You look hungry. So let’s dial in now and find our focus.”
“Amen,” Jenson says.
“I third that,” Kieran says.
And the rookies—and Hayden—let out a sigh of relief.
I can’t deny that the man is good at saying what they need to hear.
Foster takes over again, and Max comes over to me—and Emery, who is standing at my side. “We haven’t had the pleasure,” he says, giving her a once over that makes me grunt to get his attention.
“Buzz Granger,” she says, wrapping her hand around my arm. Presumably so he can’t try to shake it. “But now I’m Emery to Russ.”
Max’s eyebrows shoot up.
Right, that’s my cue to wrap my arm around her. “She also has the most Olympic medals in her family,” I say dryly.
“Those Grangers.” Max nods. “Cool.”
“The first and last time I underestimated her fierceness in the gym, she was seventeen years old and kicked my arse.”
“And that was when he was a much younger man,” she teases.
“Watch it, kiddo,” I growl.
She blows me a kiss.
I push her past Max. “Let’s go listen to Foster, you brat.”
The trainer is just finishing up his explanation. “We’re going to warm up with some dynamic movements that will help us find our edges, and I want us to do this in pairs. Max and Ty, let’s start with the two of you.”
He goes through the group, pairing everyone up with someone who will push them. No buddies.
And the group responds to it, turning the warm up into a push or be pushed contest. By the time we’re all limber and starting to sweat, Foster has their full attention.
Once he explains the stations he’s set up next, and the scoreboard for the workout—because of course he’s scoring us—the next hour and a half flies by.
Emery is right in it with my teammates, posting really competitive scores, and they love her for it. Some of them a little too much.
“Is that all you got?” Emery scoffs as Max drops off the chin up bar.
“You’re the devil,” he growls.
I’m laughing, enjoying myself at his expense, but the grin slides away when she turns around and his gaze drops to her arse.
It’s the second time in short order that he’s checked her out right in fucking front of me.
“Eyes up, Tiller,” I snap as I throw a medicine ball in his direction.
He catches it with annoying ease and thuds it back against my chest. Oof . “Don’t interrupt our final challenge.”
Don’t look at women who aren’t your wife , I want to snarl back. But Emery can handle herself, and I know she’s not interested.
As he hoists himself up again, she slides her attention to me for a second, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.
I roll my eyes and pour myself into my final set of rows.
“Has anyone been in the lake yet? How’s the water?” Kieran asks. “Refreshing enough to make Ty squeal?”
“Shut the fuck up,” our teammate snapped. “I like a brisk dip.”
“Liar.”
“Don’t need to go in the lake to enjoy it. Are we going boating this afternoon?” Max asks.
“No boat yet,” I mutter.
“What do you mean, no boat?” he scoffs. “That sucks. You need me to make some calls for you?”
Jesus Christ, no.
But it’s too late. He’s texting someone he knows, and Emery is barking at people to get back to the workout, and suddenly we have an appointment to see a guy about a boat and maybe some jet skis this afternoon.
Fuck. Me.
I give up and drop to the mat to do some final stretching. I need to find some inner fucking peace, because the weekend has barely begun.
“Looking good,” Emery says, appearing right above me.
I roll onto my back. “Thanks.”
She holds out her hand and I reach for it, but instead of hauling me up and off the floor—something the little bundle of lean muscles has definitely proven herself capable of—she tumbles down onto my chest, as if I’d pulled her down.
I muffle a grunt of surprise. “What’s up, pipsqueak?”
“Just establishing our relationship,” she whispers in my ear. “Your jealous growling seemed to work, so I’m leaning into it.”
I jerk my head around, looking for Max, but he’s leading everyone out the door, heading up the path to the house now. “Did he do anything?”
“Nah.” She rolls off me and pops up to her feet. This time when she offers me her hand, it really is to lift me up.
I grab a towel and wipe my face, buying a second to calm myself.
“Dawgs are a dime a dozen in this league,” she says. “Honestly, he’s not worse than your other teammates.”
“But they aren’t married.”
She startles at the frustrated grind in my voice. Yeah, that might be a bigger factor for me than it is for her. I’d rather not explain why I care. There is a part of me that is tempted to tell her the truth. Maybe I need another woman’s perspective on how I’ve gotten myself into this mess—and how I can get out of it.
But it would feel like betraying Shannon, to tell anyone about my feelings for her. Even someone I trust as implicitly as Emery.
“Anyway, just… We don’t need to be a PDA couple, you know?”
She laughs and throws her arms around me, hugging me fiercely. “Yeah, maybe it would be easier if we’re ‘taking things slow’. Nobody is going to believe that you want to drag me back to your room and rail me?—”
“Stop,” I groan.
That just makes her laugh harder.
I hug her back and kiss the top of her head. “How’s that?”
“Brotherly.” She pushes me away. “And sweaty. Go have a shower.”
“You aren’t going to suggest we share that, too?”
That makes her cackle. But then she stops and gives me a once over. Thinks about it longer than is necessary, straight-faced. “Should we, for research?”
The only thing giving her away is the mischievous twinkle in her eyes. But…it is believable.
I sigh and take her hand in mine. “Come on, you brat. It’s going to be a long weekend if we overthink it.”