That was never going to happen. Instead, here I am wondering whether HR orThe Neutral Zoneshould be my bigger concern.
Eventually, I drag myself out of the shower and throw on sweats. I sit on the couch, trying to watch ESPN. But as they discuss the likelihood of success for each team this season, I can't help but wonder – did I just put an end to my NHL career?
For fifteen fucking years, I've kept this secret. Kept myself to quiet hookups in dark bars and sleazy hotels. Fifteen fucking years of hiding and it disappears likethis? With some fucking rookie on a fire escape?
I don't even knowwhyI did it. One minute I was there, getting air after doing shots with the rookies and then there he was, with those eyes and those muscles and those fucking lips. You'd think after fifteen years of practice, I'd be able to resist a cute blond.
But then I think about his laugh, and the way his hair fell in his eye, and the smile when he scored in practice. And for a minute, I think –I'd do it again.
Around 4 AM, I must drift off for a bit; I wake up as the sun starts to peek back up over the horizon. As I watch its colors shiftfrom red to pink to orange, I know I only have one choice. I grab my keys and catch the elevator down to the garage, sliding into the driver's seat of my SUV.
On autopilot, I drive back toward the arena, and eventually past it. I take a series of turns I know too well, finding myself in front of the hotel where the team puts up the rookies until the end of preseason. I pull up outside the hotel and consider my options.
A normal person would just sit here and wait for him. But there's a lot of moving parts in that plan. What if he comes down with the other rookies? What if he's running late? What if he leaves before I see him?
No, there's no way around it. I need to go in.
As I walk in, I carefully look around the lobby – if any of the other guys spot me, I'll have a hell of a time explaining my presence here. Luckily, the coast is clear.
I walk up to the front desk and put on my most charming smile.
“Hello, ma'am, good morning.” The woman behind the desk turns her tired face toward me, but I notice her eyes open a little when she takes in my face.
“You may not know me, but I'm Ethan Tremblay, captain of the Minnesota Huskies.”
I see the look of victory in her eyes, knowing she had guessed my identity correctly.
“Of course, Mr. Tremblay. How can I help you?” her smile turns extra sweet and, if I'm not mistaken, flirtatious.
“Well, you see...Pam...as I'm sure you know, the team is heading out for our first road trip today. And I'm a little worried about some of the rookies staying here – that they might sleep in, or not know what to pack. I thought I'd come by to help them out.”
I see a brief flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, which flick toward the clock. It isn't even 6 o'clock yet.
“I was hoping I could get a list from you of their room numbers? I'd really like to avoid waking up our player relations people if I can avoid it.”
I smile warmly at her and, miracle of miracles, she starts typing into her computer. Within a minute, I have a printout of each rookie's name and room number. Seeing that Carter is in 308, I head to the elevator.
For a moment, I reconsider. I could just turn around now. Go home, maybe call my agent. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.
But when the elevator doors open, I know that's not what I'm gonna do. No, I walk straight up to room 308 and knock on the door. For a moment, it's silent – of course it is, it's barely past dawn. But soon enough, I hear stirring inside and Carter comes to the door, dressed in a Huskies t-shirt and boxer briefs.
When he sees me, confusion and anger war on his face.
“What areyoudoing here?”
“We need to talk.” I push inside his room, disregarding his huff of anger.
Inside, I'm briefly met by a horrifying thought.
What if Carter left early last night to hook up? What if he isn't in here alone?
“Are...is there anyone else here?”
His face is blank, but his eyes are angry.
“What if there is? You gonna kiss him, too?”
I cringe at that and walk further into the room. The bed is, blessedly, empty.
