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Dean Prescott, our new GM, can take all his ideas on commitment and shove them straight up his arse.
I’m committed, and I’m ready to prove it.
Hockey is life. Hockey ismylife.
Turning around, I grab my meticulously wrapped stick from my locker. Call it a superstition, but once I wrap that bad boy, no one touches it but me. I also tap my knuckles four times against the top of the stall before I line up behind Remington to take the ice for pre-game warmups.
“Avery said she’s coming tonight,” he mumbles, clearly not pleased. But unless he’s around Lucy, that’s just his usual demeanor. Rhett likes to think he’s intimidating, and maybe if I didn’t know the guy as well as I do, that would be true.
“Yeah, I had a car pick her up so she could get here when the doors opened.”
“Fancy.”
“That’s me.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Not a clue.“Absolutely.”
Rhett takes a deep breath and blows it out loud and slow. “I really don’t like this.”
“Noted.”
“Foster,” he growls, puffing out his chest like it’s going to intimidate me. Obviously, he forgets I saw him dressed as Malibu Ken last weekend.
“Rhett,” I mimic, growling a little louder and making myself stand taller. “Remember, you’re letting your sister—who’s a grown-ass woman—make her own choices. She knows what she’s doing.”
He runs a glove down his face and grunts. “It’s not her I’m worried about.”
We both know he has more to say, but Metallica’sEnter Sandmancomes on in the arena, and it’s time to take the ice.
We charge out of the tunnel like the Devils we are. The lights are flashing, the smoke cannons are going off all around the arena, and the people already in their seats are cheering at the top of their lungs. The Devil in the middle of the ice is glowing red as the announcer goes over the starting line-up.
This is what playing hockey is all about.
The atmosphere is charged, and there’s nothing in life that compares. That gives me the rush, the high of hitting the ice before each game, and knowing I’m doing something I love. Knowing these people are here for the team and they want to see us win. Knowing no matter what happens out there, my teammates have my back, and I have theirs.
This—the game—makes me feel like I’m complete. Hockey is my mistress. My other half. She’s everything I’ll ever need.
Bollocks. She’s all I’ve ever known.
Realistically, I know it won’t last forever, but that’s a problem to deal with years down the road. I’ve lived hockey every day since my mom took me to my first game when I was five. She took me to my first practice, and I owe my entire career to her.
It’s a shame she died before she got to see my dreams come true. I know she would’ve been proud of me. Not that I don’t think my dad is, we just haven’t really talked much since I left for the NHL. I’m not sure if we talked that much before to be honest. Not after he retreated from the family and buried himself in work.
I’ve been on my own for a long time, ever since my mom passed really.
She was my support, my rock. She was the only one I knew was there cheering for me because she truly wanted me to win. Not because she cared about the outcome of the game, but because she knew it would make me happy.
I haven’t thought about her in a while, but it makes me smile as I snag one of the many pucks on the ice and skate toward the goal.
Should I be practicing my shots? Yes. Yes, I should.
But I don’t.
Instead, I circle the net, stopping in front of Elle, Lucy, and Avery, who are sitting off to the right of the goal. Most of us don’t wear our helmets for warmups, so when I give Elle and Lucy the cheesiest, shit-eating grin, they’re both rolling their eyes and shaking their matching blonde heads.
And then I see Avery. I mean,reallysee Avery. Her dark brown hair is tumbling around her shoulders in loose waves, her cheeks are light pink—likely from the cold air in the arena—her smile is bright, and those damn hazel eyes that about knock me on my arse are locked on me.
