“Leave me if you must.” She turns and walks into one of the offices. “By the way, I’m taking this as my office.”
I don’t even bother answering her, instead I just walk out and head down to my SUV. I get in and put my phone in the middle of the cupholder as I head straight to the rink. I stop at the black garage door, before pressing the sunglasses holder on top of the rearview mirror. It falls down and I grab the white parking pass, sliding it in front of the scanner. The garage door slowly starts to open and I replace the card before driving in.
Cars are parked everywhere and there is the valet, Clive, waiting for us. He gets off his stool and smiles when he sees it’s me. “Look at who decided to join us,” he jokes with me as he comes over and extends his hand. “You look uglier than you did last season,” he adds when I shake his hand. I can’t help but laugh. “I thought they would have fired you by now.”
“It’s day one and you are already busting my balls.” I shake my head and look around. “Got to say, it’s good to be back.”
“Yeah, I’ll remind you of that when your old ass is limping to your car in December.” I slap his shoulder as I start to walk away.
“I know you will.” I walk toward the black stainless-steel door, pulling it open. Taking a step in, I look into the first office that has the door open, but no one is inside. I turn the corner and see a couple of the offensive coaches in one office. “Hey.” I smile and give a chin up. I walk into the office and extend my hand to each of them. “How’s it going?”
“How it always goes during training camp,” Zane states. He just joined the Warriors, so he’s still green around the collar since he’s so young. “It fucking sucks.” I laugh at them, knowing how hard it has to be to be the one who tells a hockey player that even though they probably gave their all, they are not going to make the final cut for the team.
“See you guys out there.” I turn and walk back out of the office. I stop when I see the equipment manager, Barry, putting out some of the hockey sticks. “You have mine?” I ask him and he nods his head. “I have the new one coming next week.”
“I got the email,” he replies of the brand I work with who develops my stick every single year. “I have a couple from last season and two from the two seasons before.”
“Why don’t you take those two sticks and I’ll sign them and we can donate them to whoever,” I suggest, knowing I hated the stick from two years ago anyway.
“Sounds good. I have your gear in your locker, ready for you.”
“We couldn’t live without you, Barry.” I slap him on his shoulder before walking over to the locker room.
“Holy fuck,” Knox, one of the forwards and also a veteran, says when I walk into the room. He’s sitting on the bench right under his name, in between Stevie and Lane. “Did you only work out on break?” I shake my head and walk over to them, slapping each hand and then fist-bumping them. Knox gets up and gives me a hug also. We’ve been on the LA Warriors for the past eight years, and I consider him one of my closest friends.
“Did you only eat on break?” I slap his stomach and he yelps.
“I went to Italy with the family,” he mentions his wife and three kids. “What else do you do in Italy besides eat and drink?”
“You stayed in Italy for four months?” I ask him, making him laugh.
“No, but Josephine,” he mentions his wife, “took a pasta-making class and she has made pasta every single day since. I can’t seem to tell her if she makes pasta one more time, I am going to literally throw up.”
“Oh, boo-hoo.” Lane makes fun of him. “Your wife cooks for you and makes you homemade fucking pasta. Cry me a fucking river.” He shakes his head, getting up and walking over to his spot.
The three of us all laugh at him. “Thankfully, I get to eat more meals here than at home now.”
I walk over to my own side of the room and put my phone on the shelf where my workout clothes are folded.
“Look at who decided to join us.” Martin, our head coach, walks into the room wearing a tracksuit. “You guys are about six weeks behind everyone else, so I don’t want to see anyone else dragging their asses out there.” I kick off my shoes. “Welcome back, boys.” He claps his hands. “On the ice in ten.”
He turns to walk out of the room and stops when he comes face-to-face with Jaxon. “Why are you fucking late on the first fucking day?” He puts his hands on his hips as he scolds him in the middle of the doorway.
“I was walking out of the house”—he pulls off his baseball hat and scratches his forehead before replacing it on his head—“and I went to pick up Jagger and kiss him. When I held him over my head, he literally threw up in my mouth.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I wish I was fucking lying about that.”
Everyone in the room grimaces. “That’s fucking disgusting,” Martin says. “You have eight minutes before you need to be on the ice.”
“Got it.” He nods at him, coming into the room now.
“One minute of suicide laps for anyone who’s late,” Martin throws over his shoulder, making everyone rush to get dressed and get on the ice.
“Hey, boys,” Jaxon greets, holding up his hand and then coming over to stand beside me where his locker is.
He holds out his hand to me and I slap it, give him a fist bump, and then we go in for a hug. Both of us slapping the other on the back. “Shit, it’s good to see you.”
“Good to see you too,” I reply, letting him go. “You look fucking exhausted,” I joke with him as he puts his phone exactly on the shelf where I put mine.
“I am, fucking teething is not for the faint of heart.” He shakes his head. “Honestly, I don’t know how we would do it if we didn’t have Lexi with us.”
