But I can’t move.
“It’s something my dad and I used to do,” I tell him. “It helps me move on from a bad game.”
“What helps you move on? Running yourself ragged? We have a road trip in two days. We just got off a stretch of three games in four days, and there have been full practices on either end of that. When the hell are you getting your rest?”
“I don’t like to sit still. It’s better this way. I can come back stronger.”
“Christ, Red.” Maverick laughs, but it’s not humorous. “The only way you’re going to get better is if you take care of yourself. That includes not skating around like a bat out of hell after a grueling game.”
“I appreciate your opinion, but this is something I have to do. I’ve taken care of myself for years just fine.”
Maverick hums, like he wants to say something else.
He pops onto his feet instead, and I think that might be the end of it.
“Then I’ll join you,” he tells me.
“What?” I stand too, staring at him. “That’s not necessary.”
“Yes, it is. It’s part of my captain duties—no one gets left behind.”
Maverick disappears toward the locker room, and I sigh. There’s no use trying to fight him—he won’t stop until he gets what he wants.
He’s only gone five minutes, but when he returns, he looks just as mad as when he left.
“Why the hell is your locker room a supply closet?” he asks, and he hands me my helmet.
“It’s a temporary fix until the building development team comes up with a more permanent solution.”
“Well, that’s bullshit.” He buckles his helmet and moves onto the ice. “You deserve a space just like us. Where’s your shower? And massage table?”
“I shower at home, and I don’t have a massage table.”
“That’s going to have to change real quick.” He motions me forward. “Come on, Red. I’m not getting any younger.”
“What are we doing?”
“I don’t know. Whatever it is you’ve been out here doing by yourself for god knows how long.”
I give in and join him. “Can you play defense? I want to practice a breakaway.”
“Sure. Whatever you need.”
I don’t know why his agreement makes my heart skip a beat. Why it puts a heavy pressure on my chest, but it does, and I shove the feeling away.
We spend the next forty-five minutes going through different parts of the game. Quick bursts of speed. Slower glides as I work on maneuvering the puck around him. Physical moments that end up with him pinned against the boards and his laugh warm on my neck.
“I’m going to take a second.” I lean on my stick, panting hard. “A timeout.”
“Take as many seconds as you need.” Maverick unbuckles his helmet and sprawls out on the ice, flat on his back. “You’re making me feel ridiculously out of shape.”
“Whose fault is that, pretty boy?”
“I’m going to blame you, Red. I had plans to eat ice cream with my niece and bitch about the game from the couch, but this is fun too. I love when my ass is frozen and sore.” He puts his hands on his stomach and sighs. “If I die here, tell June I love her.”
“How was your tour with Rachel?” I find myself asking, and before I know what’s happening, I’m dropping onto the ice next to him. “I didn’t know you do things like that.”
“I don’t advertise it, because I hate when people have the resources to help and they only do good things when there’s acamera in their face.” His eyes flutter closed and he exhales. “But I love it.”
