They broke into teams for a scrimmage, and Tyler stopped thinking. He dropped into muscle memory, and his lingering bruises, his dad’s diagnosis, and the look on Emma’s face in the parking lot faded into the background.
When he finally stepped off the ice and clomped down the hall to the showers, Tyler’s body hummed and his mind felt clearer than it had all weekend. He peeled off his sweat-soaked jersey and pads with a grimace.
Sean’s torso didn’t look much better than his own.
“At least we match.” Tyler pulled out his bag and started throwing his gear in, lamenting that it no longer smelled like Emma’s lemon soap.
Sean grunted and stripped off his shorts. Tyler followed him into the showers. The warm water cascaded over his sore muscles as he lathered shampoo into his hair, rinsing away the grime and sweat from practice.
“What’s the final count on the pot?” Gary asked, rivulets of water forming in his beard.
“Last I heard it was fifteen.”
Curtis flicked his wrist to snap his fingers together. “That’s almost a grand each. Wasn’t last year more like seven-fifty?”
“Trans Canada is feeling generous, eh?” Darcy flicked soap at André, landing on the silver cross hanging on a chain around his neck.
The name of the Provincial cup changed each year depending on who sponsored it, but to them it was always the Rose. Had a better ring to it. The Snowballs had won it twice in the past five years, and while Tyler wasn’t motivated by the money, he wasn’t going to be the reason that trophy left the display case upstairs.
Tyler dried off and got dressed, then grabbed his gear and headed out to the hall. He was going to need more than a few full nights of sleep and ibuprofen to be in prime condition for Friday. He’d book a massage for Saturday morning preemptively.
“Looking good out there,” Sean barked behind him. Tyler took the stairs slowly to let him catch up.
“Good practice, Cap.”
Sean climbed next to him. “Didn’t fuddle things up too bad then?”
Tyler clapped him on the shoulder with his free hand. They didn’t say anything else as they walked out the front doors. The air bit against his skin, and Tyler tucked his chin into the top of his puffy vest. The stars overhead glittered against the charcoal sky, while the faint buzz of streetlights mingled with laughter wafting from One Place.
"Tyler?" He turned to see Ginger sitting on one of the benches, bundled up against the cold. "Hey.” She had on a short skirt and sheer leggings.
Sean glanced between the two of them. “Don’t stay out too late, Bowen.”
Tyler’s throat tightened as Sean strode to his car. "Hey, Ginger. You’re not working at Dusty tonight?”
"I was in the neighbourhood. Thought we could chat?”
Tyler’s heart rate quickened. Normally he’d pretend this was innocent. Give her the satisfaction of thinking she’d come up with a reasonable explanation for why she was freezing outside of the Ice Arena, then act surprised when she ended up between his sheets.
But he didn’t feel normal tonight.
Ginger shifted on her heels. “Maybe we could walk to your truck? It’s nippy out here.”
Tyler nodded once and started walking.
* * *
Emma entered the bustling studio on Thursday, her heart pounding with nervous energy. Lindsey and Vaughn were already well into packing their photography equipment, the metallic clink of tripods mingling with the rustle and zips of protective bags.
"Do you think Troy Bowen has his hands in every part of this project?" Lindsey asked, her auburn hair bouncing as she secured a camera lens in its case. "I mean, the pay is incredible, but if he micromanages me . . . this is a full quarter we’re committing to.”
Emma set down her empty boxes and purse and began wrestling with a backdrop. “We only signed for the first property. If it’s soul-sucking, we can bow out after a month or so.”
"Agreed." Vaughn stacked his gluten-free energy bars into his backpack with precision. "I’m intrigued by the interior shoots, Linds. I think we’ll come up with something breathtaking.”
"Absolutely.” Emma had no doubt they would, but her thoughts wouldn’t stay planted on the bed and breakfast. All morning she’d been reliving the conversation in Tyler’s truck Sunday night. His hazel eyes soft and vulnerable. His cologne mixed with the sweet and acrid scent of fruity liquor.
“That’s why I asked you to come to dinner. I don’t want to be like my dad, Emma. But I don’t have much time left to figure it out. At least not when he can see it.”
