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Darren. His name’s Darren.
Fine. So I knew his name.
Now quit fucking around.
Just the idea that I could be playing on the River Kings — even as backup goalie to that scuzzy bearded asshole — gave me thrills I hadn’t felt since my earliest days of playing the game. And I was better than him. Practice by practice, I was already proving it.
If only I could keep it together.
It had been hard, if not impossible, keeping this little venture from Ariana and the guys. I was basically moonlighting. Trying out for a team that could ultimately take up all of my time, all of my efforts. If I actually made the roster, it wasn’t something I could hide. It would take me away from the forever run we had, playing hockey together on dozens of teams, over thousands of games. But always with the same core players: Tyler, Axel, and myself. Other than the brief stint when they were away at college, there wasn’t a single season we hadn’t played together since we were ten years old.
But this was my shot. My one — and probably last — opportunity to do something great.
And I’d decided that I was taking it.
The head coach of the River Kings was a grim man and an intimidating hard ass, but in the hockey world he was also amazing and well-respected. Over the years he’d sent up several of his players to the minors. A select few even made the NHL.
Right now though, I had to focus on where I was.
The line of players kept shooting and I kept making saves, missing a few here and there but generally keeping the puck out of the net. I was well aware of Darren sitting on the opposite bench, strapping his pads on. Getting ready to come out and try to show me up; in an effort to safeguard his job.
But Darren wasn’t me.
Eventually the whistle blew, and we exchanged places. The starting goalie skated past me, closing the distance just enough to bump me roughly on the way to the crease. I didn’t even turn around. I wasn’t about to engage in dick-measuring contests — not with an asshole like this. And especially not with the coaches watching.
Ten minutes later I had my bag all packed, and my pads slung over my shoulder. Sub Zero was an even newer facility than Inline, with bright lights and beautifully-vaulted ceilings. Best of all, nobody knew me here. There was no one in our hockey circles who might report on what I was doing, or who I was potentially doing it with.
I was halfway to the exit, the smell of new carpet and freshly-painted concrete filling my nostrils when I was tapped on the shoulder. I turned around, cringing with who I might see…
Relief flooded through me as I realized it was only assistant coach Veraldi. His full head of prematurely white hair made the man look much older than he really was.
“Zane. Hang on a sec.”
He was staring down at his own clipboard, pen in hand. As he scratched his head, my heart leapt into my throat.
He’s gonna cut me.
Fuck. If he did, it would be part-relief, part-infuriating. In fact, with the way I was playing, I might just go nuts.
“Coach wants to know if you can make Tuesday practices too, now,” the assistant coach stated. “You good with that?”
My mouth formed the words before I even thought about answering. “Yes. Of course I can.”
“Good,” coach Veraldi nodded firmly. “I’ll tell him.”
Inwardly I winced, wondering how I was going to possibly pull off Tuesdays without anyone finding out. Skipping out on work would be hard enough. But then there were the guys, not to mention my girlfriend, that I had to lie to as well.
My girlfriend…
It felt funny saying the word, but it also felt incredible. Ariana had been the best thing to happen to all three of us, way back when we first met her. But now things were even better, tighter, crazier. Sharing her between the three of us had been sizzling hot. Totally amazing, in every way.
The last thing I wanted to do was hide things from the people I was closest to in the whole world. But as it stood, my whole crazy experiment with the River Kings could be over with the swipe of a pen on a clipboard. Which meant that for right now at least, I’d keep lying by omission.
“We’re also going to start up weekends,” Veraldi said casually, without looking up.
The sheen of sweat that stuck my hockey jersey to my chest felt suddenly cold, almost like ice.
“T—Tomorrow?” I stammered.
