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I spun around, wiping the water from my chin. Just outside the practice rink, Kingston looked up from his phone. He stood still as Mason skated up to him. I followed behind at a slower pace, stopping to pause the music on Mason’s phone.
“Do you wanna join us for some extra practice,” Mason asked.
On the other side of the glass, Kingston looked just as shocked at the offer as I felt. Damn Mason and his desire to be nice to everyone! Just last night, I was holding him back from hunting down Kingston, and now he invites him to join ourpractice?
“I’m sure he’s busy, Mason,” I said, giving Kingston an out. He didn’t like me, and I was sure he didn’t want to spend extra time with me. I shouldn’t want to spend time with him either.
Kingston paused, and just when I thought he was going to politely decline, he grimaced down at his phone then looked up again. “Yeah, I could use some moreice time.”
“Of course, you could,” Mason said with a laugh then turned to me. “I swear this guy spends more time in rinks than you.”
Thatwas saying something. The ice was my happy place, so every chance I got, I was on the closest rink I could find, stopping pucks or just skating around.
“I was basically born on a rink, bud. Let me grab my stuff, and I’ll be right back,” Kingston said andtook off.
The second he was out of view, I turned and socked Mason inthe bicep.
“Ow. What wasthat for?”
“Didn’t you want to kill him five minutes ago?”
“Eh, I mostly wanted to kill Jones. Besides, Kingston’s not actually the asshole you think he is, and you need to make friends on the team. I love you, Riles, but it’s not just you and me. You have to build relationships with our teammates. You never did in high school or last year, and how did that turn out? You need to get the team to like you and to want to work with you. If you get Kingston on your side, the rest will follow. He may not be the captain, but his opinion carries the same weight as Jones’.”
I huffed at his reasoning and skated off to gather up the stray pucks. Logically, I knew he was right. Team bonding was extremely important. Hell, that was the reason I made a point to stay in the locker room with the guys, but just being together in a confined space wasn’t enough.
Mason joined and helped me herd the pucks into a pile at center ice.
“Come on, Riles. You’ve already proved what you can do. What you can take. Trust me, after that headshot you took, everyone is more than a little impressedwith you.”
I smiled at that, and Mason continued. “Now it’s just politics. This game isn’t only about skill; you know that. You have to build a rapport with the guys. Get them to like you, and you’ve basically got a permanent spot onthe team.”
For the surfer-dude image Mason projected, he did know his shit. And there was nothing I wouldn’t do to stay in the NHL and on theBlizzards.
“Okay,” I conceded and went to turn the music back on to get rid of the funk that had invaded my mood.
I was dancing circles around the rink when Kingston came back, dressed in team-branded athletic attire, his arms filled with gear. Like Mason, he didn’t bring his full pads. I stopped skating and joined Mason at center ice as Kingston sat on the bench, tied up his skates, slipped on his gloves, then joined us on the ice.
“Why are you guys out here anyway? It’s our day off,” Kingston said as he skated around the rink to warm up.
“It’s relaxing, and God knows Riles needs the practice,” Mason said.
I rolled my eyes and grabbed a puck with my big goalie stick. I waited for Kingston to come closer on his next lap and shot the disk across the ice. Kingston received it smoothly and added some impressive stickhandling to his light warmup.
“What about you?” I asked. “Why are you here? Nothing better to do?”
Kingston joined us, pushed his tousled hair out of his face, and gazed down at me, eyes shining through his dark lashes. “I had a PT session, and I needed a littleworkout.”
I nodded, suddenly distracted. Damn, his eyes were pretty. I made a mental note to not get too close to him on the ice during an actual game. The last thing I needed was to be struck dumb in the middleof a play.
Thankfully, Mason interrupted and brought me out of my daze. “We’re just shooting and blocking today. We didn’t want to drag out a bunch of equipment for anything else.”
I skated to my crease as the boys got ready and slipped on my mask.
Thirty minutes later, I ignored the sweat dripping into my vision and kept my eyes glued to Kingston as he zigzagged up to me, reading his every eye twitch and anticipating his next move. His stick flowed smoothly around him in a simple but hypnotizing dance with the puck. It looked to be a straight-forward approach, but as I slid backward into my net, body shifting with the puck, a flash of silver stole the puck from my sight. Suddenly, Kingston’s stick was ripping through the air, and chasing the slight glimpse I caught of the black circle, I lunged to the right. The puck dinged off the corner of the left post and ricocheted into the net, leaving me empty-handed and empty-headed.
What?I peeled myself off the ice, still staring at the puck in disbelief. Kingston skated around the back of the next then headed casually toward center ice where Mason stood with his jaw hanging open.
“What the hell was that?” I demanded, sliding from my crease, leaving my glove, blocker, and stick behind. As I got closer to Kingston, I stripped off my mask.
