“Oh, Tanny Boy for sure needs glasses,” Jaxson Brittain said, skating around his best friend, who spit on the ice while giving Brittzy a proper glare. “Explains why he missed that one-on-one shot against a rookie earlier, too.”
“What is it you Canadians say?” Vince Tanev asked, thumbing his chin and looking up before he snapped his fingers. “Oh. I remember.Nize it, Brittzy.”
“Hey, go easy on him,” Carter Fabri called from where he was bent over catching his breath. “The poor guy has a ten-month-old going through a sleep regression.”
“He’ll be going through an ice-time regression if he doesn’t get his shit together,” Daddy P quipped from the net.
Aleks Suter couldn’t resist himself. “All right, Grandpa. Not sure you should have much of a say in the matter, since you won’t be around this time next year.”
“Yeah, you’ll have a cane by then,” Fabio chimed in. Then, he started using his stick like a cane, hobbling on his skates with a hand on his back as he moaned in fake agony.
To the outsider, it might have all seemed a bit harsh — but this was how the team was, especially this particular crew. Chirps flew between the five of them like rice flew on a wedding day. And if one of them was getting picked on harder than the others in today’s practice, you could bet someone else would get the lashing tomorrow.
But it was all in good spirit. They were a family, these guys and the women they’d found over the years. Any time I was invited to one of their group barbecues or other events, I saw firsthand how much they all meant to one another. They even pulled me into their little community; when they could tear me away from the rink, anyway.
The rest of the Ospreys, rookie and veteran alike, smirked from the sidelines or skated around staying warm while these five battled it out. When I’d had enough of their shenanigans, I blew the whistle to signal it was time to get back to work, and they did without hesitation.
That was what I loved about them more than anything. They goofed off, yes, and they’d tested my patience more than once with how they’d sneak in rounds of golf even during the season when they knew they were forbidden from playing any other sport, due to the chances they might hurt themselves.
But at the end of the day, they were damn good players. They held each other accountable. They pulled out the best in one another and in every other player on our roster.
I was lucky to have them.
My stomach tightened a bit as the scrimmage kicked up again because I realized they’d be like a monster without its head next season when Daddy P was gone.
Across the rink from where he guarded the net, our backup was in place for the other scrimmage team — Ben Sandin. He was young, twenty-fucking-three to be exact, but he was also hungry. He’d come to us fresh out of the USHL at the ripe old age of eighteen, and he’d been training under Will Perry ever since.
The kid had heart, too, which was what I loved about him most.
His father was sick. He had aggressive pancreatic cancer, and Ben had been splitting his time between the rink and hospital rooms for the better part of the last six months. I knew too well the devastation that came with losing a parent, and I hoped the kid wouldn’t have to experience it. I hoped, somehow, his father made it through.
But for now, I was happy he was still focused on hockey. I wondered if it was saving him the way it had saved me as a kid.
He had his own style, but he also took it in stride when Daddy P gave him pointers. That was all I could ask for when it came to a young goalie — that he was driven, passionate, and willing to learn.
Still, he was a quirky, young kid with half the life experience that Perry had. He would struggle to lead a team until he was older, I imagined — and I wasn’t so sure he was the right choice to be Perry’s replacement.
There were trades we could make to get a goalie from other teams in the league, but I wasn’t so sure that was the right choice, either.
Honestly, the only thing that felt right was to beg Will to stay, and I knew that option wasn’t even on the table.
My thoughts were swirling as I watched the scrimmage play out, my assistants taking over and blowing the whistles when they saw something they wanted to call out between plays. I held mine between my teeth, arms folded over my chest, gaze darting from one end of the rink to the other.
And that’s when a flash of golden hair caught my eyes.
Ariana Ridley — er,Black— was standing in the front of one of the box suites, her hands braced on the top edge of the plexiglass that surrounded the seats as she peered over and scanned the arena like she was looking for something.
When her gaze snagged on me, my heart leaped into my throat.
Without thinking, I lifted a hand in a wave. She returned it hesitantly, and then tried shouting something to me. I couldn’t hear her over the scrimmage, but I held up a finger, letting her know I’d be right up. Then, I signaled to Kozak before bolting through the locker room and to the closest elevator.
I knew this arena like I knew my own house. I could get anywhere I wanted to be without even thinking about it, knowing which back routes to take, which elevators, when it was necessary to cross into the fan-facing areas. I made it to the suite Ariana was at in under six minutes.
She’d stayed put, her hands still on the plexiglass as she gazed down at practice. I paused at the top of the suite, taking in her silhouette with the bright ice illuminated in front of her. The last time I’d seen her in an arena was when she was watching me play two decades ago.
Ariana must have heard me, because she turned over her shoulder, and she smiled.
It was like a fist to my gut.
