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It was only you for me too.
There's the confirmation in black and white on a small cell phone screen.
I had her… once, and I fucked it all up.
Chapter Eight
Slade
It’s been a few days since I recorded Penelope’s skate routine, and I’ve been pouring over it diligently, memorizing every movement, going back and forth between the new video I took and the old recording of Penelope and her partner so that I could see his movement too.
We have our first home game tomorrow, and if we win the next three games, we’ll be in the playoffs.
I can’t believe I’m this close to playing for the NHL championship. It’s a dream I’ve had since I was a kid, and it’s all coming true.
Seven invited me in to lift weights with him this morning. Coach Bex moved drills to later this afternoon due to a meeting he couldn’t miss with Phil, Sam, and some big-time sponsors.
After our away game, I’m starting to settle into the team. Seven's conversation with me on the plane was the last warning he gave. I think I proved to him out on the ice that I could be a team player, though he gave me plenty of glares from the goalpost every time I ended up in the penalty box.
He didn't like that… and neither did Coach Bex.
“What do you think about the team we’re up against tomorrow?” Briggs asks Seven.
“I’m not worried about tomorrow's game. They’re a tough team, but as long as we bring our best, we’ll dominate. The game I’m concerned about is game three of this week,” he says.
“Why are you worried about that game over the first two?” I ask Seven as I spot him on the squat rack.
“They lost the championship last year, but only by a bad call by the ref… if you ask me. And this year… they look even better,” he says, reaching up and gripping his hands around the barbell and then lifting up to do another set.
“Speaking of bad calls, the girls want to do a ladies-only birthday party at the club next Thursday,” Briggs says. “The guys are going to head to Oakley’s for drinks. You down to shoot some pool?”
Seven finishes his reps, and I help guide the barbell back into position.
He blows out a breath the second the bar falls into place on the rack. His face turned from bright red to a more normal shade quickly.
I thought I could lift a decent amount of weight until today when I saw that Seven has a decade on me but can lift twice my bench weight.
“Yeah, I’ll come out,” Seven nods.
“How about you, Matthews?” Briggs says.
I don’t know why, but I glance from Briggs to Seven. Seven gives a light nod as if to coach me on how to do it.
I know he wants me to blend in more with the team and buy into the Hawkeyes family way of doing things.
It’s foreign to me.
Even the version of what most people consider a family isn’t what I know at all.
Having each other backs no matter what. Relying on one another, whether out of the ice or up at Lake and Tessa’s penthouse playing poker during home game weeks.
Or whether it’s Briggs and Autumn hosting barbecues upstairs in their apartment for no other reason than just to hang out with the players on the team.
“Sure. I’ll be there. Thanks,” I nod to Briggs.
After we finished weights, the guys decide to go for a five-mile run to get in their morning cardio, but I have a check-in with the Hawkeyes physical therapist in an hour, and I want to get something to eat first.
I check my watch and it’s just a few minutes before seven in the morning.
