I shook my head as if I could physically dislodge all the fear controlling my thoughts.
Nothing fucking cleared my mind these days.
Resigned, I raised my fist and rapped on the door a second time, hoping that one of my new roommates would come and open the door.
Seconds later, my wish was granted in the form of a six-foot-four, dark-haired Croatian defenseman. Leon Kovac was so much bigger in person than he appeared on screen. He was easily carrying double the amount of pure muscle than I was. I was suddenly glad that I hadn’t been picked up by any of the other AHL teams. I wouldn’t want to take a hit against the boards from this guy.
Were his shoulders touching both sides of the doorframe? I barely resisted the urge to squint at the space between where his shoulder ended and the doorframe began.
Maybe Kait was right about that premature eyesight deterioration?
“Hello, you are Caden, yes?” Leon Kovac extended his huge right hand to shake mine and narrowed his eyes, considering something for a moment.
His palm was the size of the baseball mitt I’d used on my high school team. “Hawk said he left the door open for you. But he said something about jam, maybe? He is often funny, but I do not think he meant to be this time. My name is Leon Kovac. On the ice, Kovac is fine. But at home, I prefer Leo, okay?”
Leo spoke just below normal volume, maybe trying to be less intimidating in his first impression.
I nodded at his request. It was refreshing to meet my first Hammerheads’ teammate and learn that he, too, wanted to be more than the name on the back of his jersey.
“Hey, Leo. Yep, I’m Caden. Nice to meet you, too. Thank you again for letting me crash here. It means a lot.” I tucked my chin to my chest briefly before adjusting my hold on my bags.
Despite Kovac’s warm welcome, I was still nervous as shit and felt compelled to fill the silence.
“Uh, the door thing. Did Hawkins say it was ‘ajar’?” I offered him a reassuring smile.
His English was fantastic. I wouldn’t have been half as confident about speaking French to anyone in Quebec, and I’d taken, like, twelve years’ worth of classes in school.
More often than not, English expressions and idioms rarely made any sense.
Kovac’s eyes lit with recognition. “Ah, yes. He did say that. I think he enjoys messing with me. I found a thesaurus on the kitchen counter the other day.” He winked, not showing any signs of ill will toward the man.
He stepped back, carefully extending one arm toward the interior of the apartment.
“Come in. I will show you your new home for the season.” Kovac’s smile appeared genuine, his straight, white teeth a testament to his talent on the ice, considering he still had all of them.
Home.
Could I feel that way about Lakeside if given enough time?
Kovac had just finished giving me a thorough tour of our modest-sized apartment when my new captain, Nathan Hawkins, appeared from behind the closed door of what had to be the master bedroom.
Considering the deal he was giving me on rent, Hawkins could offer me the storage closet without a window, and I’d have nothing to complain about.
“Caden Kelly?” He strode toward me with a confidence that simply had to translate onto the ice. His stare didn’t waver as he closed the space between us and brought up his hand to shake mine. His natural command of the moment had me raising my hand unconsciously. “Nathan Hawkins, but I go by Hawk to most of the team. Nate works too. Glad to have you as part of the team.”
Hawkins’ smile was warm and welcoming, and instead of putting me at ease like I’m sure he intended, his friendliness made me even more afraid to say something that would fuck things up for me.
“Yep. That’s me.” Fuck. I was off to a great start as far as first impressions went.
I jerked my gaze to the side, hoping Leo would make small talk so I could get my bearings back.
Being an introvert sucked when it came to meeting more than one person at a time. The muscles in my limbs had tightened with the pressure of making a good impression on my new roommates. That, in turn, led to my brain rebelling harder than a teenager whose phone had just been taken away.
The more I willed my mouth to say something, the tighter my brain locked down on refusing to let me say anything.
It reminded me of the massive glitches the first PC I’d ever built would have when I tried to run one too many programs.
Unfortunately, unlike my PCs, I didn’t have a restart button to unlock the anxiousness inside me.
