CHAPTER 3
Gage
I love Sunday morning practices. Especially when they come before a home game the following day. It means the practice will be light and fun as we mostly self-police out on the ice while Coach Keller hands oversight to the assistant coaches. It lets the younger guys cut up a bit without Keller’s mood swings coming into play. He’s the quintessential walk-on-eggshells type—you never know how he’s going to react. Sundays are his day to prep for the upcoming games, and so he stays in his office.
Keller is an odd duck, for sure. He can be your best buddy or your worst nightmare, depending on how he’s feeling. The only problem is you never know what he’s feeling, and his reactions are always unpredictable.
It’s sad to say, but when Keller isn’t around, we actually develop a stronger camaraderie. When the players don’t have the pressure of the head coach potentially exploding, it allows everyone to open up to one another rather than only looking out for our own best interests.
After practice, I’ll get in a short workout, and then I’m going home to veg out for the rest of the day. This is not something I often do because I like to be on the go, but sometimes I just need a down day, no responsibilities, where I can fall into pure laziness.
Before hitting the locker room, I pause at Baden’s office. He’s at his desk, bent over his iPad. This is a rarity—he hates it in here. Even though, as our goalie coach, he has plenty of paperwork, you’ll often find him doing it in the locker room or sitting out on the bench on the ice with his iPad open on his lap. I even saw him one day sitting in the stands behind the goalie net watching game film.
I rap my knuckles on the door and poke my head in, not wanting to intrude if he’s deep in the middle of something. But I want to say hello—Baden has quickly become a good friend.
Players don’t normally develop deep personal relationships with the coaching staff. There’s often a line that can’t or shouldn’t be breached. But I think it’s different with Baden since he was so recently a player. A player many of us knew personally, respected, and then watched as he struggled back from debilitating injuries. On top of that, I’m a veteran just out of retirement. Something about being older and coming back into the league from the outside lets me push the norms a bit. That’s most likely because I really don’t intend to stay past this year, so I don’t care if people don’t like me having a friendship with Baden.
I came to Pittsburgh for the challenge. I wanted to help this team accomplish something. I wanted to help them build a new dynasty, and then I wanted to be able to walk away and look back and say with pride, I was a part of that.
Maybe I’ll stay one more year, maybe I won’t. I’m leaning toward won’t. While I’m enjoying my time on the ice in this beautiful city, I don’t know if I want to keep up the level of intensity required to be a professional hockey player. It’s another reason I retired. I’d simply reached all my goals and felt complete. I was ready for something new.
Baden lifts his head and smiles. “What’s up?”
I don’t walk all the way into the office but lean my shoulder against the doorjamb. “Not much on my end. Looking forward to a good practice and then a lazy day afterward.”
Baden snorts. “I would love nothing more than a lazy afternoon with Sophie. But as it stands, we’re going house hunting.”
I lift my eyebrows. “Where are you looking?”
Baden’s expression becomes tortured. “Everywhere. No particular area in mind, but Sophie wants to restore an old Victorian. And apparently, such homes are scattered all over the greater Pittsburgh area. I think we’re looking at six today.”
Chuckling, I push off the jamb and shake my head in empathy. “The things we do for love.”
“You know it,” Baden quips with a decisive nod.
I grin back at him. “Actually, I don’t know, but I’ve heard rumors.”
Baden settles back in his chair. “You’ve never been serious with anyone?”
I shrug. “The right one’s never come along, I guess.”
“I’m guessing you have very high standards.”
“Damn straight, I do,” I reply, pointing a finger at him for punctuation, and he laughs. I start for the door. “I’m going to change. See you on the ice.”
“Later,” Baden replies and drops his head back down to his iPad.
But I turn back toward him, the question coming out before I can stop it. “So… how’s Jenna been?”
Baden’s eyes lift, surprise evident. “Good. Sophie’s seen her a few times since we moved her in. Enjoying her job so far.”
“That’s good,” I say, feeling a little bereft there aren’t more details. “She settled in well?”
Baden smirks knowingly. “Why are you asking?”
“Because she’s new to the area, and I’m a nice fucking guy,” I grumble at the knowing look on his face. “Why else would I ask?”
Baden again leans back in his chair, folds his arms over his chest, and grins. “I don’t know. It seems odd your question comes right on the heels of you saying you have high standards for women and the right one hasn’t come along yet.”
“Whatever,” I grouse as I turn for the door, but it’s done in good nature because that’s me—a good-natured guy.
Baden laughs as I walk out, calling after me. “I’ll tell her you asked about her.”
“You do that,” I call back over my shoulder.
Tell her I asked.
That I’m interested in her.
Because I am. I’ve thought about her way too much over the last week.
Baden’s laugh follows me down the hall.
Maybe I should’ve asked him for her phone number. I could call… just say that I was checking in. We agreed resoundingly that I was her first new friend in Pittsburgh, and what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t check in on her?
A small inner voice cautions me that Jenna could be a complication, because if I’m honest, and I usually am, I’m attracted to her far more than I’ve been to a woman in a long time.
I’m fascinated by her.
Part of it is her pain and the resilience I see that was born from it. I admire her.
And again… attraction.
She’s hot, and yes, being honest, I’ve thought a little too much about that curvy body under those workout clothes, that gloriously long, golden hair, and those eyes… catlike and fierce.
I walk into the locker room and am immediately greeted by the guys already there. It’s a far cry from the quiet, standoffish group of minor league and veteran players brought together under trying circumstances. I make my rounds with fist bumps and small words to each of the guys, Jenna driven from my mind as my team takes precedence.
Boone Rivers sits on the bench—his cubby is next to mine—dressed in his gear from the waist down as he tapes his stick.
“How’s it going?” I ask as I hang my duffel in the open-faced locker.
“Good, man,” he replies, eyes staying on his task. “Just ready to get out on the ice.”
I like this guy a lot. He’s a solid second-line center who brings a lot of experience to the team. He’s bounced between the minors and the big league over the years and has become known as a confident clutch player. That was never more evident than when he had to step in to fill Coen’s shoes after his two-game suspension last week for the arrest in New York.