“Smart man.”
“I know, right?” I was about to say our GM was a damn wizard, having not only snatched Ziggy during an absolute steal of a trade four years ago, but signing Peyton this past summer. I… didn’t want the air to get awkward between us, though, and if I started fanboying him—well. Some things were just better left unsaid, at least for now.
“So.” Peyton picked up his stick and gloves. “Down for some one-on-one?”
I laughed. “Well, it isn’t like we have enough for a full scrimmage, so…”
I regretted that as soon as I said it, because he raised his eyebrows in that way that told me exactly what was coming next.
“I can talk to the guys,” he said. “I’m sure they’d be happy to join us. Not today, but…”
Avoiding his gaze, I shook my head. “I’d… just some one-on-one will be good for—well, for me. You’ve been practicing with…” Fuck. Why was I rambling? I cleared my throat. “The other guys—not yet. Maybe down the line a little.”
Please don’t push, please don’t push, please don’t push…
He didn’t push.
“Okay.” He nodded and collected his gloves and visor off the bench. “I’ll meet you out on the sheet.”
And then he was gone.
Alone in the locker room, I exhaled, relieved he’d let thesubject be. Truthfully, I did want to skate with my other teammates. I wanted to be back on the ice with the whole team, caught up in chirping and practicing and running those annoying drills that our coaches dreamed up. Sometimes the way I missed my teammates seemed to cut almost as deep as the way I missed Leif. These men were my family, and being isolated from them sucked hard.
But the shame of collapsing so hard that I drowned in a bottle…
The humiliation of failing them as not only their teammate but as their captain…
No. I wasn’t ready to face them. Not yet. Not until I was firmly on my own two feet and they could be confident I wouldn’t let them down again.
Well, that was another goal to set my sights on. Get my shit together so I could be with my teammates again. So I could be with myfamilyagain.
Resolved to do exactly that, I put on my gear and headed out to the ice to skate with Peyton.
CHAPTER 24
PEYTON
After I’d finished warming up, I was still alone on the ice. For a few minutes, I skated lazy circles and fired a few pucks at the net, all the while glancing toward the chute for Avery.
Was he bailing? Had he decided not to do this after all?
Because he’d looked rough when he came into the locker room. I’d seen him a few times after his therapy sessions, and they obviously took a toll, but today? Jesus. He looked like he was hungover, jetlagged, or even recovering from the flu or something. All three at the same time, honestly.
Damn. Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea. Maybe I should’ve hung around the locker room for a few more minutes. Feel him out. See if he really was up for?—
Clomp clomp clomp.
The familiar sound of someone walking in skates yanked my attention back to the chute, and I was glad no one but me could feel or hear the way my pulse surged.
Avery paused to put his water bottle in one of the racksby the bench, then glided out onto the ice as if he’d never been away. He had on a gold practice jersey with no name or number, and a white helmet, same as he would for any practice, but he looked as hot to me as when he skated onto the ice for a game. His focus was sharp. His dark hair curled around the edges of his helmet. The way he moved… God, he was mesmerizing.
He hadn’t missed a step, either. He moved a little slower than he usually did, even during practice, but he was as precise and confident as ever.
His earlier fatigue seemed to be gone, too.
Sometimes that was all it took—getting into hockey gear and hitting the ice. There was something almost magic about it. I’d dragged myself to training facilities in the past, sure I would rather be run over by the Zamboni than practice, but once I was on the ice, I was good.
That must’ve been the case for Avery, because holy shit, he was a different person now that he was skating. As he warmed up, he picked up some speed, too. Not full speed—this was a light, unofficial practice, after all—but definitely not beer league speed either. When he fired a shot at the net and missed, the puck cracked against the boards loud enough to echo through the whole rink.
