CHAPTER 1
Wylde
I love living in downtown Phoenix. My condo is on the fringe of the social scene, which is filled with trendy cafes, fine dining, and upscale shopping. At night, I merely have to step out of my building and walk one block west to be in the thick of it all. Five blocks south, and I’m at the arena where the Vengeance plays. My truck mostly stays parked in the underground garage unless I need to use it to drive to the airport for away games, but I’ll often just Uber it.
I’ve always preferred city living, and I lived in downtown Dallas when I played hockey for the Mustangs before being traded to the Arizona Vengeance. It’s a single man’s playground, the city life, and I wouldn’t trade it for one of those houses in the burbs that a lot of my teammates choose as their choice destination for fine living.
I ignore the elevator on the fourth floor of my building, choosing to take the stairs instead. For fuck’s sake, I’m a professional athlete… I should be able to handle four flights of stairs coming and going.
When I step out into the June morning, it still takes me a moment to get past the startling dry heat. It seems like I’d be used to it since I’ve lived the last several years in the southwest between Dallas and Phoenix, but this New Englander still has a tough time living without humidity.
Regardless, today is the day I’d chosen to get back into the swing of things with my workouts and I can’t let a little fire in the lungs before I even start my run stop me.
It was just ten days ago that my team, the Arizona Vengeance, won the Cup championship over the defending champions, the Carolina Cold Fury. It’s been ten days of being lazy, eating bad food, and drinking lots of beer. I’ve been going out with my single buds on the team almost every night, getting drunk and heading home with a different puck bunny.
But fuck, I can only take so much of that type of hedonism. Like I said, I’m a professional athlete and with that comes a certain way of living.
For my entire hockey-playing life—starting before I was a teen—I’d taken my training seriously. I’d been told by coaches early on I had raw talent, but part of developing that was in conditioning my body. That meant good nutrition, workouts, and maintaining a winning attitude at all times, even in the off-season.
That’s where we are now… the glorious off-season of summer, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have to work.
Starting today, it’s back on. Training camp is only three short months away, and the pressure for us to perform at the same or better standards is immense. On top of that, my contract expires at the end of next season, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to operate at anything less than one hundred percent.
So today, I start back running and I usually average at least twenty miles a week, broken into four or five morning runs.
Many of my defense peers aren’t into running, focusing instead on strength training and muscle endurance. Those are important, too, but I’ve always loved running for some reason. I’m easily able to let my head go into a subspace, and it’s quite meditative for me. On top of that, it burns a lot of calories. It means I can eat more, which is a bonus given how much I love food.
I take a moment on the sidewalk to do some dynamic stretching—heel-to-toe stretches, hamstring curls, and leg kicks. I do two sets, walking up and down my condo’s block, oblivious to the people who do double-takes when they recognize me.
For the most part, that doesn’t happen. Yes, I’m a well-known player for the Arizona Vengeance, a first-line defenseman, but the entire city isn’t into hockey. More often than not, I’m able to go places without being recognized, but that’s also dependent on where I go. Sports bars, I’m bound to get approached for autographs. The grocery store, less likely, particularly since I like to go early on Sunday mornings when it’s practically dead.
Legs fully stretched, I start off in a slow jog heading east and after the first quarter-mile, I pick up the pace. My earbuds are cranked, and DJ Khalil elevates me to run faster.
My mind wanders, trying to figure out my summer. I haven’t given it a lot of thought as I’m more of an impulsive, do-things-when-I-feel-like-it kind of guy. I know I should plan a trip home to New Hampshire to see my mom, but the thought of it starts to depress and demotivate me, so I put it out of my head. We don’t have the best relationship and any trips home are made from a sense of obligation, not because I actually get joy from our reunions.
That may seem harsh, but she’d say the same damn thing.
Normally, I’d plan a vacation on a sunny beach somewhere but in a few weeks, I’ll be headed to the U.S. Virgin Islands to attend Brooke and Bishop’s wedding. The entire team is going for a week to participate in a continued celebration of the Cup win in addition to their nuptials. It’s going to be just one long party, and I’m looking forward to it.
Maybe I could head to Wyoming for a few days of fishing, something I got into over the last few years and really enjoy.
Or maybe I should go bum around Europe for a bit. I have several teammates who would be up for just such an adventure.
Regardless, anything I decide will have to wait until after Bishop and Brooke’s wedding during the first week of July because my weekends are already accounted for until then.
Up ahead, I see they’re doing some sidewalk construction on my normal route. At the next light, I decide to turn left, jogging in place while I wait for the light to change. As other mid-morning strollers casually jaunt over the crosswalk, I take off running again. Rush hour is over and most people are at their places of work, but I still have to weave in and out of other pedestrians.
This is a street I haven’t been on. I pass a coffee shop, a small drugstore, and what looks like a bookshop.
I glance in the window of the latter, my gaze landing on an incredibly gorgeous woman behind the cash register. It’s really just a glimpse as I run by, but her auburn-colored hair gathered in a messy bun on top of her head and the most stunning pair of eyes shining from under a pair of rectangular, black-framed glasses catch my attention.
Now, glasses aren’t normally my thing on a woman, but, in this instance, they work. I can’t tell if her eyes are green or blue, but they’re light-colored, in stark contrast against her fiery hair with tendrils escaping her updo and framing her pretty face.
And just as quickly as I spot her, she’s gone because I’m past the bookstore and reaching the end of the block.
To return to my route, I should cut right and head uptown, but I can’t shake that tiny glimpse of gorgeousness I just witnessed, so I decide to take another peek at the woman. I kick up my pace. Rather than turn around and go back, I decide to circle the block to get my paces in.
When I reach the bookstore and slow my pace to get a better look at the woman, disappointment sets in because she’s no longer behind the register. I can’t spot her anywhere. Granted, there’s a lot going on inside the shop. It’s more than just a bookstore as in addition to rows of books, there are tables and free-standing shelves that host a variety of knickknacks for sale. It looks cozy, interesting, and crowded at the same time, but there’s no beautiful redhead.
And once again, the bookstore is behind me—the opportunity she represented now firmly in my rearview mirror.
I get to the end of the block, determined to turn right and get back on route. For some reason, though, I don’t enter the crosswalk when the light turns green. Jogging in place, I peek over my shoulder at the bookstore, weighing my options.