Page 14 of Broken As Puck

“You’re even better with a camera than you used to be.”

Chelsey had always been an amazing photographer. When we went hiking, she used to take the most beautiful shots of the landscapes and wildlife we saw along the way. She had tried to teach me to photograph birds once, but I was lucky if I could manage to even get one in the frame, let alone capture a decent image.

Her luminous blue eyes widened. “That’s, ah, nice of you to say.”

It was obvious she had no idea how to respond.

I shouldered my bag again. “I think you’ll really help the team.”

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I hope so.”

I saluted her. “I’ll see you later.”

Saluted her.

Fucking hell. What an idiot.

Before I could make more of an ass of myself, I said a quick goodbye and hurried inside. I headed straight to the changing rooms and stopped outside the locker with my name on it. I was already wearing an underlayer, so I stripped off the outer and donned my uniform before taping my stick and lacing my skates.

That done, I made my way out to the ice, pausing to greet the others who had arrived on the way. Coach Dunn and Assistant Coach Willets were standing together a couple of yards from the gate.

“Morning, Coach,” I said, smiling to encompass both of them.

“Morning, Matthews,” Coach Dunn said. “Warm up and then practice passing with one of the forwards until everyone is out. We’re going to do shuttle runs this morning.”

I started to groan but then bit it back. “Yes, Coach.”

No one liked shuttle runs, but complaining about them wouldn’t get us anywhere except in Coach’s bad books. I got myself warm, did some stretches to keep my muscles limber, then passed back and forth with Austin until the whole team was assembled.

Coach Dunn lined us up at one end of the rink and instructed us to sprint skate as fast as we could to the first line and then the second and then the third and then start back over. We’d done this a couple of times last season, and Coach Dunn had proved to be less sadistic than our former coach, but that didn’t mean it was fun. It just meant that he stopped before we were all flat out on the ice.

As it was, one of the rookies nearly emptied his gut over the railing before Coach Dunn called an end to the exercise. Fortunately, he gave us a break to run skill-based drills, focusing on the forwards’ ability to evade defense. It was still hard work, but it let us catch our breaths as groups were rotated on and off.

Once we had recovered, Coach Dunn took half the team to one end of the rink while Assistant Coach Willets took the others to the opposite end to run three-on-three drills. In this case, it was three forwards versus two defensemen and the goalie. He changed around the combinations sporadically, first placing me with Gauthier and then McKinley before swapping in a couple of the rookies.

McKinley and Elliott failed to prevent Delacrue, Virtanen, and Fox from scoring, and, as Delacrue skated past McKinley, he said something under his breath that I didn’t catch. McKinley yanked off his helmet, dropped his gloves on the ice, and squared up to Delacrue.

Coach Dunn skated between them. “Break it up.” He turned to McKinley. “I don’t care what he said. You have to get your temper under control or you’re a liability. Do I need to remind you about the fistfight that resulted in probation for the whole damn team?”

Drew looked stricken, but he had to know that his hot temper didn’t put him in good standing with the coaches or management—especially in light of the recent changes.

I skated over to Delacrue and jerked him away from McKinley. “Don’t start shit.”

I didn’t know what he’d said to McKinley, but I doubted it was anything pleasant. Delacrue wasn’t outwardly cruel or violent like some of our former teammates were, but he enjoyed riling people up and then watching while situations escalated out of control.

Delacrue rolled his eyes. “You never used to be such a suck-up.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve got more on the line than we used to.”

“Whatever.”

I glanced up and noticed Coach watching us. He nodded to me and called for the next group of forwards to move in on McKinley and Elliott.

By the time training finished, every part of me was sore. My muscles ached, my back throbbed in several places, and when I was showering, I noticed things pulling more than they used to. The downside of getting older, I guessed.

I’d be thirty-one this year. I wasn’t a spring chicken anymore. At least not in professional hockey. I couldn’t even expect the situation to improve. I’d only get more worn down with each season that passed.

I dried myself and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, doing my best to ignore the undeniable aroma of BO and liniment.