Page 57 of Home of the Brave

A spectacle that would make people talk.

This was something a pop star could pull off, not a goalie.

Did I know any pop stars?

Maybe one of the women in the Pride did—they were scary connected. I could ask Chloe, Reese Murray’s wife.

I threw up my right elbow to block a shot as something struck my head. I turned to the right where a puck was lying on the ice, and Tyson shrugged. “Pay attention.”

I glared at him. Aiming for my head was a new low.

My first problem had been looking for her.

I had no business stepping into the practice arena and seeking her out. When Cambrie pointed in that direction when I walked past the media room, I should have just waved back.

I should have gone down to the training room like I’d planned and gotten an extra workout in.

There was no logical reason for me seeking her out.

But I did.

Why? Just because she was pretty? Because she wasn’t the woman I’d made her out to be for years? Because now she was intriguing and alluring?

“Dude!” Hartman came to a stop in front of me. “What is wrong with you?”

I sighed and looked around. There wasn’t anyone else within hearing range, so I told him the truth. “I’m bored.”

Okay, that wasn’t the full truth, but the last thing I was going to do was tell any of the guys, or their wives, I was interested in getting to know more about Victoria. They were all like sharks when it came to crushes and matchmaking and relationships. A trace of blood in the water, and they’d swarm me in seconds.

He scoffed. “Get your head together. This is our last practice of the week. We’ll have a break tomorrow.”

I reached back to my water bottle and sprayed it through my mask, over my face. That was usually enough to bring me back into the moment, but it didn’t work.

Hartman backed up, watching me. “Don’t make Abrams mad. He’ll bench you.”

He wouldn’t, and we both knew that. “Yes, Captain.”

He turned and skated to the neutral zone.

I blocked the next four shots, and finally got switched out. Typically, I’d wait and watch the rest of practice, but I didn’t want to risk a lecture from Abrams, so I passed and bumped his shoulder. “I need to ice.”

He nodded, distracted, and I hurried down the tunnel.

When I got to my locker, I took off my skates and equipment until I was just in my base layers and crossed the hall to the training room. The door was open, so I didn’t bother knocking, but should have at least checked before I entered.

Amelia was in front of one massage table, watching Colt Bradley bend his knee. She glanced over and smiled. “Hey Josh, you okay?”

“Just wanted to ice.” But when I looked at the two tubs, they were both taken by Derek and Mario Sanchez.

Derek smirked. “Three minutes.”

“I’m almost done,” Sanchez added.

“No worries.” I leaned against the free table and wished I had brought my phone in so I could pretend to be busy.

“You feeling okay?” Colt asked as if he wasn’t the one getting examined.

“Fine,” I bit out a bit too aggressively.