Daniel had expected some excitement. Hope, determination, a sense of purpose, anything. Instead, he’d found grief and a resignation to failure, and the regular season had yet to begin.
He didn’t understand. Sure, it sucked being the joke of the league. The underdog of all underdogs. Last in everything down to ticket sales. But this was still the greatest league in the world, and they were part of it. They had contracts plenty of other aspiring pro hockey players would envy. Why this much negativity already? How could they turn things around when they expected to lose?
Daniel straightened up. If no one else was going to say anything uplifting—not even the coaches, who hadn’t shown their faces yet—he might as well give it a shot. “Hey, guys.” He didn’t have to clear his throat or raise his voice to try to get everyone’s attention. “I know the preseason was less than stellar. We’re just having some growing pains, working out the kinks. You know how it is—we have to find our rhythm, and once we do, we’ll be moving in sync, building chemistry, and winning games. Let’s go out there and give the crowd something to be hopeful about!”
One of the other new players, Demetrius Cole, a quick center with rich umber skin, dark eyes, and hair buzzed so short he was nearly bald, lifted an arm. “Hear fucking hear, man. I’m already tired of all these hangdog expressions. I, for one, am not giving up right out the gate. It’s not my style. Go hard or go home, that’s the only way I play.”
Cedric slammed his gloves down onto the seat next to him and sneered. “Do they teach you to say these little speeches after you win the Stanley Cup? You should wear your championship ring next time. Maybe that’ll help motivate us losers, no?”
Demetrius’s eyebrows pulled together. “I didn’t say anything about the Cup. And I haven’t called anyone a loser, man. That’s all you.”
Cedric jerked his chin in Daniel’s direction. “I am talking to him.”
No one spoke for a moment. Right when Daniel opened his mouth to respond, Demetrius scoffed.
“So that’s why you’ve been giving him the stink eye since the first day of training camp? Jealousy is ugly, Tex, my guy. Maybe we should all be grateful to have a Stanley Cup champion in our midst. If you want to turn this team around, and looking at those sorry stats, I’m sure you do, it might be wise to listen to what Bellamy here has to say. Otherwise, just brine in your own saltiness, I guess.”
Daniel bit his lip to keep from laughing. A few of the other guys looked amused, but they quickly smothered the expression when Cedric glared around the room. “We do not need a mentor. We all know how to play this game. The coaches are who will teach us, if lessons need to be taught.”
“Look, I’m not here to step on anyone’s toes,” Daniel said, holding up his hands. “Let’s get out there and have a good game. That’s all I wanted to say.”
Cedric glared some more but didn’t reply. Quietly, they got to their feet and shuffled to the tunnel to go out onto the ice for warm-ups. Demetrius passed Daniel on the way out of the room, giving him a light shoulder bump. Daniel bumped back, appreciating the support. It was the only halfway welcoming thing anyone on the team had done since he’d arrived. Everyone else seemed so cowed by Cedric they barely looked Daniel in the eye. It was not the type of atmosphere Daniel was used to in the room, and if Cedric had been this way since the beginning, Daniel had to question the team’s decision to make him captain. A captain was supposed to inspire, not intimidate.
Daniel sighed, the sound lost to the thud of their skate blades on the rubber mats lining the tunnel. He hadn’t anticipated the chilly reception when he arrived in the Thunder’s dressing room that first day of training camp—and now he finally knew why his breath had practically been fogging whenever he was in the presence of his new teammates. Apparently there was some resentment about his win. Probably some assumptions about his reasons for being there or how he would behave. Never mind that Daniel had worked his ass off for more than a decade before he could add Stanley Cup champ to his résumé. He’d fought his way there—tooth, nail, broken bones, and bloody lips. It hadn’t come easy, and he didn’t take it for granted. Nor did he think he was hot shit now that he had a championship win under his belt. He was just trying to play hockey, same as he’d done all his life.
Daniel poured onto the ice with the rest of his teammates and sucked in a breath, the cold, crisp scent as familiar and comforting as the sound of his blades cutting into the ice and the roar of the crowd. Not that there were very many people there cheering for the Thunder. The sea of yellow jerseys, fans of the visiting Pittsburgh Condors, easily outnumbered the blue-and-white Thunder sweaters. Having your home arena overrun with fans of the opposing team was a novelty Daniel had never experienced, and it both amused and mortified him.
Well, at least Tabby and the kids would be moving to Miami soon and then he’d have a tiny, personal contingent for moral support. More, if he could get his parents and extended family to come. They were missing opening night because of some friend’s retirement banquet, but they’d promised to attend a game or two in the first couple of weeks.
The biggest comfort was Tabby, though. Daniel had been ready to work out some kind of arrangement to see the kids as often as possible, whether it meant traveling to Atlanta or bringing them to him throughout the season, but when he’d suggested a potential move to Miami, she’d just shrugged gamely and said she’d be willing as soon as she found a job and a new place to live. He was a hockey player, and she knew a possible trade was always on the table. In the back of her mind, she’d always expected it to happen, and plus, the kids would love being so close to one set of their grandparents. Her own folks lived in South Carolina, so aside from their friends, there wasn’t much to tie them to Georgia. Miami to Charleston wouldn’t be an unreasonable distance for the kids to visit her parents either, if they were settled in Florida.
But while she’d been open to moving to keep their family close together, she hadn’t accepted his offer to put her and the kids up in a rental while she searched for work. Best friends and co-parents they might be, but Tabby wasn’t looking for handouts. During their divorce, Daniel had to fight to get her to accept alimony and not just child support. In his eyes, even if they weren’t in love anymore, she was still family, still one of his own, and he needed to take care of her in whatever way she allowed. He couldn’t ask for a better partner to raise his kids with, no matter what had occurred in their romantic relationship. Ryu had joked about them having the healthiest divorce of anyone he knew, and it was true. There was no animosity, no fighting. They’d been friends then, and they were friends now, as they always would be.
Daniel tore his thoughts away from his family and focused on shooting on Spacek, the Thunder’s starting goalie. He hadn’t quite gotten to the point where he’d started thinking of Spacek as his goalie, not after having bonded with Ryu and Army. He’d drop his gloves for Spacek in a second, but they had no camaraderie at all. Not yet. Maybe never, if Cedric had his way.