Page 7 of Shootout
“I started last January, so I know the ropes pretty well. These guys can be a tough group, but deep down, they’re good guys.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” I sat back in my chair and laced my fingers together behind my head.
Marina glanced down at her watch. “I wanted to drop in and welcome you, but I have to be going. Let’s get drinks sometime.”
“I’d love that.”
She waved as she slipped out the door. I stared at that spot long after she’d gone before refocusing my attention on this tiny cell of an office. The former inhabitant had haphazardly pinned pictures of NHL hockey stars to the wall. A year-old calendar featuring Sockeyes players hung askew next to my desk. I was struck by how impersonal everything was. Most likely, the former occupant had taken any personal items with him. Determined to make this space mine, I rose to my feet and removed every item from the walls and stuffed them in the recycle bin. Next, I cleaned out the desk. This guy had never thrown anything away. I found ice time schedules from eight years ago, rosters of past youth and adult hockey teams, and various other outdated materials. More recycling fodder.
Once I finished cleaning up, I stood in the middle of the cramped room, hands on hips, and surveyed my space. I picked up the box of personal items I’d brought with me and placed it on the desk. After borrowing a hammer and nails from maintenance, I went to work.
A few uninterrupted hours later, I surveyed the results. A small shelf housed my two gold medals and other awards I’d won playing college hockey, including the most valuable player in the conference. I smiled smugly, certain my credentials were as good as any of the men’s.
Laughter rang through the hallway, and I glanced up. A couple guys walked past my open door. Behind them was a very familiar professional hockey player taking up the rear. He wasn’t smiling or joining in on the joke. In fact, his frown indicated he wasn’t in on the joke.
I’d tried to wipe the humiliation of last night from my memory banks. Seeing him brought it all back in the form of vivid images of naked bodies writhing around on the floor. It would’ve been funny if it hadn’t happened to me. I sent up a silent prayer that Geneva didn’t tell anyone.
Had Banks lived last night over and over in his head as I had? Probably not.
I held my breath, but he didn’t look my way.
I was disappointed and had no idea why.
ChapterTwo
WILD’S SISTER
~~Banks~~
Iwas one of the top players in the league, and I knew it. I had a rep for dirty hits, which didn’t always put me in the best light, but most of the time, I didn’t give a shit. My hits were clean but hard. These wusses needed to man up and get over it. Over the years, I’d made multiple enemies with guys on other teams, but I hadn’t seen a problem with that.
If a guy was a teammate of mine, I was a great guy to be around. If he wasn’t, I was an asshole. That was fine with me. After all, my brother and I were lifers for Detroit until we weren’t.
I’d been an icon in the Detroit sports world. The fans adored me. The puck bunnies lined up to be with me. The ownership valued me. The coaches appreciated my work ethic. At twenty-seven, I’d been the king of my kingdom and at the top of the world.
Not a bad place to be. Not bad at all.
But my fame and fortune came to a crashing halt when the unthinkable happened. It was bad enough that my twin brother was picked up in the expansion draft by the Portland Icehawks. We’d played on the same teams since we were old enough to lace up our skates. I couldn’t imagine hockey without my twin, any more than I could imagine life without my family nearby. Now I was facing the worst-case scenario. No brother. No family. No familiar teammates. And the guys who were on this team hated me.
I’d been traded to the Seattle Sockeyes during the off-season for a couple third liners, a first-round draft pick, and a minor leaguer. Detroit not placing more value on me was almost as insulting as being shipped off to the remote wetlands of Seattle.
Regardless, I loved hockey, and I’d play hockey wherever they sent me, even on a team like the Sockeyes where I had serious negative history. This league was tough on guys, and I’d been lucky I hadn’t been moved around the first several years of my professional career. Now I was getting a taste of what former teammates had gone through, often many times over. I didn’t like it one bit.
I’d moved to Seattle a month ago to get acclimated and had been living in a hotel room for a few weeks and then temporarily moved into a condo building owned by Ethan Parker. I shared the place with three rookies.
I was reluctant to find a more permanent living situation in the hopes this nightmare might end and I’d wake up back in Detroit. Talk about denial. On the other hand, my condo was within walking distance of the practice rink. What the fuck did they call it? Oh, yeah, the SHAC. I’d hoped to meet up with my brother before training camp since he was just down the road in Portland, but our schedules conflicted, and we’d never connected. I sensed us growing apart already. I couldn’t remember a day when we didn’t make each other a priority until now.
With a sigh, I steered my hot little sports car off the street and into the parking garage. My key card gave me access, and I drove up the ramp to the players’ parking level. Several cars were already parked near the metal door that led to the facility.
Slipping into a space, I turned off my powerful engine and stared at the concrete wall in front of me. I didn’t get out. Instead, I sat in my car and anchored myself. My stomach did somersaults, and my hands were sweaty as I gripped the steering wheel. Closing my eyes, I concentrated on centering myself via my breathing. I hadn’t been this nervous about the first day of training camp since my rookie year. I wasn’t a rookie, far from it. These guys should be grateful to have me. So why was I so fucking nervous?
After about ten minutes of relaxation exercises, I swung my long legs out of the car, grabbed my duffel from the trunk, and walked to that metal door and my new career as a Seattle Sockeye.
I was a half hour early for the first team meeting of the new season. Rookie camp had started a few days earlier, but veterans started today. As I walked down the hallway, I slowed to glance out the floor-to-ceiling windows to the pro rink down below. I’d be lying if I claimed I wasn’t disappointed when I didn’t see Jessie skating on the ice. Of course, she wouldn’t be on this rink during the day when the Sockeyes were present. Still, I felt a twinge of regret she wasn’t there. I wanted to see her again. I wasn’t sure why, as she didn’t seem my type. My dirty mind drifted back to how good her naked body looked with water running down her back in rivulets. I shook my head to clear it. Now wasn’t the time to be picturing naked women, especially one particular naked woman.
I’d track down Geneva later, explain what’d been going on, and find out how to reach Jessie.
I strode into the Sockeyes team lounge as if I didn’t have a care in the world, ignoring the hostile glares cast my way. I wouldn’t let my new teammates get to me. These assholes were lucky I was here, and they didn’t have to like me to play with me.
