“Morning, Lucas!” Bren greets, sitting next to Laur with her own stack of potential candidate resumes.
“Good morning,” I reply while grabbing a coffee mug off the counter. “Been up long?”
“You know I’m a morning person just like you,” Bren says, taking a big sip of her coffee. “I’m surprised you slept in.”
“Blame Laur,” I tease, which earns me an eyeroll from Laur before she turns back to her notes again. “I’m headed back upstairs to review some player notes, just needed to grab coffee.”
Sitting at the desk in my room, I thumb through some NHL news before I review some of my team notes. Inspired by Nick Bellinger’s notebook on rival teams and players, I created my own.
It seemed rude at first, writing about my teammates, their strong skills and where they could make improvements, especially because some of them are my closest friends. I don’t have much written down yet, but I’m hoping to spend some time each week jotting things down to strengthen our team.
Playing for the NHL after college has been my lifelong team, which means being captain and pushing myself and the Wyverns to go above and beyond this year is crucial.
The journal on the team is strictly for my eyes, and only about hockey. I read online it could be helpful to write down other things—conflicts, irritations, observations—to help with my stress but that feels too dramatic and too close to the journaling for therapy.
Aside from Blaine Mitchell and his goonies’ delinquent behavior, there isn’t much conflict surprisingly, and he has toned it down significantly since the end of last season, so much that I don’t want to knock his teeth in every time he talks.
I’m the “levelheaded, has his shit together” captain. I’m not about to write down my feelings for anyone to find. Regardless, the notes on players’ strengths and weak spots will be helpful down the road.
If I was writing about my irritations . . . I would furiously write how ridiculous it is Tyler got shit-faced yesterday instead of working out when Ryder King got here. Tyler played it coy, but I saw him constantly taking shots with Libby. He was drunk the entire day.
Yeah, I know I’m not great at relaxing and that this is a vacation, but we still need to make a good impression on King to show the team is a damn good time. If he wants my recommendation as alternate captain to Coach, he’s going to have to prove he can be a great leader and get really good at sweating out his hangover. Starting today.
Mitchell has surprised me though. He seems to keep surprising everyone. At first, I thought he would punch King in the face—in typical Mitchell fashion—but after the initial introduction, they seemed to be getting along fine. Hell, they were even chatting at the bar.
One of my old hockey nets is in the garage and the guys that drove down brought some sticks and pucks along. I’m eager to get back to campus to see Ryder on the ice, but shooting in the driveway will have to do for now.
King’s fierce. I’ve watched and re-watched videos of him playing. Working out yesterday, King’s drive and energy seemed to be contagious. Mitchell hit a personal record with pull-ups yesterday when Ryder kept telling him to push through the pain. It might have been more Mitchell wanting to get more reps than King, but whatever the motivation was, it still got Mitchell working harder. And that was just one day in the gym. I’m already imagining them feeding off each other on the ice.
“Lucas, breakfast is almost ready!” Laur calls from downstairs.
Glancing at the clock, I see it’s already nine. Everyone’s probably awake by now.
“Scrambled okay, Lucas?” Bren calls from the stove as I walk into the kitchen. She’s a phenomenal cook, and I worry for our friend group after she leaves for her new marketing job. I don’t think any of us have ever cooked for more than two people besides Bren.
“Yeah, that’s great. Thanks, Bren!”
Laur’s chatting with Tyler and King. She smiles at me and sips a piping hot cup of coffee, steam still rising from the cup. I’d bet money that’s at least her third now—she is a terrible morning person.
“The room and everything okay, Ryder,” I ask, taking the seat next to him at the kitchen table. Everyone is spread out between the kitchen and living room for breakfast.
“Yeah, I slept great but not as good as you did,” he retorts with a sly grin.
My eyes widen and Laur’s face instantly turns scarlet red in the seat across from me. Shit. Maybe the beach would have been a better idea.
“Oh my gosh . . . We are so sorry,” Laur starts before King cuts her off with a laugh.
“It’s no big deal.” He chuckles. “I’m just giving you shit.”
“Did you seriously hear them going at it last night?” Libby giggles from the couch next to Sydney.
“What are you laughing about? I heard you too.” Ryder calls Libby out. Her face pales to a ghostly white and a stunned gaze fills her eyes.
“What?” a shriek of excitement or confusion—truthfully, I’m not sure which—erupts from Sydney. “LIBBY! I’ve been sitting next to you for at least twenty minutes, and you haven’t said a word? What kind of best friend are you!”
“It’s not a big deal . . .” Libby looks away, avoiding making eye contact with every single person here.
“Wait, but Mitchell was sleeping on the daybed by the pool this morning,” Conner pipes in. “So who was it?”
