Chapter 9: Rinkmates: Chapter 9

The air smells like a mix of jet fuel and that sweet Southern breeze as we fires up at Raleigh-Durham International Airport. I slump into my seat, totally beat from the two-hour flight from JFK and that fucking game we lost. I still had to sit on the bench, and we all know this one’s on me. Coach didn’t speak a word to me. His name might be Mercer, but he knows no mercy.

I knew he was counting on me to step up and really change my ways this time. But it was hard, knowing that my team needed me but also knowing that my reckless behavior could cost us everything. I need to prove myself, to make a difference in the game. That’s why I agreed to start early with therapy. I have to get my shit together. I have weekly phone calls scheduled with my therapist and in-person meetings whenever I’m at home.

My eyes are heavy with exhaustion as I glance sideways at Max, our regular bus driver, who seems like he was born behind the wheel. Seriously, I don’t think there’s anything else in his life than our team. He’s always there, ready to drive us wherever we need to be. He sports a round beer belly, has the kindest smile there is, and glasses the size of small tires. Patient as ever, he waits until all of our gear is stuffed into the bus and each player takes their seat.

Even though it’s a routine we all know well, like the crisscrossing streets we roll through in every city, midseason is the hardest, and everyone who argues differently doesn’t know shit. Being in the NHL means back-to-back games with very little time in between. We played against the Buffalo Bears at 7 p.m., and shortly after, Max and our staff picked us up and we flew to North Carolina.

Since I turn into a robot that only focuses on winning on game day, I didn’t have a lot of time to mull over Liora being back at my apartment all by herself. But now, as I sink into my seat and shut my eyes, she’s all I can think about. I still can’t believe I agreed to this. There’s a girl living in my apartment. A fucking beautiful one.

I can’t help but wonder what she’s been doing for the past few days. We swapped phone numbers and I saved her as Bladezilla after she saved me as Puckster.

I hope she got along with the smart home features.

But she would have texted if anything—

“Man, I’m beat,” Jayce mutters, dropping into the seat beside me.

“Tell me about it, I feel old these days,” I reply with a tired grin.

Jayce looks as rough as I feel, his wild maroon curls poking out from under his headband, dark circles under his usually bright blue eyes. We’re boosting hard through the play-off push, trying to secure our spot. I touch his shoulder, giving him some support. At least we’re not alone in this insanity. My team is my family.

And I know why the bus is full of groaning guys right now. Across such a long season, our lives inevitably meet unexpected disruptions.

There are aching muscles, swelling bruises, engine malfunctions, blown tires, stiff mattresses—those are the routine challenges. NBA teams may average more back-to-backs, and MLB teams play a dense schedule, but hockey’s physical demands, spanning a vast geographic range and contending with factors like border crossings and weather delays, make NHL back-to-backs arguably the most challenging in professional sports. But let’s face it, most people don’t see this side of hockey—and maybe that’s what makes it so exciting.

“Ri, man,” I hear our youngest rookie, Shane Martinez, who we call Shiny, pipe up from the seat across the aisle.

I raise my eyebrows at him. Is he insane?

There are house rules when it comes to the bus or plane. The captains, coaching staff, and veterans usually claim the front seats. It’s our time to discuss our team’s play while our rookies get the seats near the lavatory. We’ve all been there.

A few seats behind them, there are rows of players in comfortable leather seats. Some of us passed out still wearing their headphones. Others watch a movie. Some play cards but everyone knows their place. Expect Shane.

“Ohhh, Shiny, ready to meet your maker?” Derek calls from the back, and everyone cocks their head, ready for some fun to interrupt our dense day. We may be like family on this bus, but that means we fight like brothers too. And it’s been a few rough weeks since my lawsuit.

“Just wanted to chat about that viral video,” Shane says and refuses to move an inch. Instead, he wriggles his eyebrows at me.

“What viral video.”

“The one with that hot blonde.”

“What’s your point?” I mutter.

“You know, I was just wondering if she’s as good as she looks.” His tone is dripping with innuendo.

“You better shut your mouth,” I say, and I notice Jayce already gripping my arm.

A dark shadow looms over Shane’s body. “Move.”

Within seconds, the corners of Shane’s mouth, which were once turned up in that stupid smile of his, droop into a frown. He startles, realizing whose seat he’s been occupying. When his eyes meet with Colton King’s silver gaze, Shane jumps up to his feet.

There’s nothing amusing about King staring at you like that.

Standing at a towering six feet, five inches, and covered in so many tattoos that it looks like a tribal coloring book had exploded on him.

We often joke about him being our Russian assassin with that buzz cut and his actual name being Koltun Kirillov. We wanted to name him Killer but since his surname means lord or ruler—or whatever—in Russian, Mercer prefers we call him King instead. His nickname went so far that it’s written on his jersey now.

“Move,” Colton says again, his stare boring into Shane.

Shane nods, glancing at me nervously before running back to his seat right next to the toilet. Colton shakes his head in disbelief and slumps down.

“I hate fucking rookies,” he mutters, and I can’t help but smirk.

We all know if Shane keeps up this attitude, he’ll end up locked in the bathroom. But knowing our idiots, someone probably clogged the toilet before.

I hear Malcolm’s voice from the rear. “What’s up with that girl, Ri? She really moved in with you?”

Other teammates chime in. They howl, and through the smudged bus window, I see their hands gesturing wildly, mimicking hearts and blow jobs.

Jayce, my best friend and captain, gives me a playful punch on the arm, smiling knowingly. Even Colton’s chuckling from the side.

“Yeah, how about you tell us, Ri.” Colton smiles, and even though I love the fact this guy only smiles like this when it comes to me and the stupid things I do, I hate Shane for bringing up that topic.

I mutter a sarcastic “Thank you” to Colton and Jayce, causing them to snicker even more. Of course they know the truth. They know about our contract, the promise I made to do better. I trust them with my life. They won’t spill the secret, but the rest of the team can’t know. It’s safer that way.

“Riley, come on. Who’s the girl?” Derek leans forward from behind.

Derek Devereaux is our goalie, and even though we get along, it’s only because we have to. He’s something like my rival, since he loves to point out that he made it in the NHL all by himself and I, well, didn’t. A tale as old as time.

“Nobody important,” I tell him, trying to appear nonchalant, catching Jayce and Colton exchanging grins.

“Maaaan. So you have a girlfriend and didn’t tell us? Don’t worry, we won’t tell her about all the other girls you sleep with during away games. We promise,” Malcolm insists.

“Fuck off, Malcolm,” I grunt.

I hear Mercer sigh, and I rub the bridge of my nose. This is going to be my living hell.

“Leave him alone,” Colton interrupts. “He’ll talk when he’s ready.”

The shrill sound of whistles pierces the air, and someone’s yelling, “Shit, Huntington’s really serious about it.”

I turn my head to look out the window, watching as the scenery outside becomes a blur. However, my focus is soon interrupted by the growing sounds of laughter from behind me.

When I turn back around, I see Derek and Shane sharing videos with the others. My curiosity gets the best of me, so I lean backward and grab Devereaux’s phone.

There it is: footage of Liora and me against my car, her fingers clutching my shirt, my lips near her ear.

The angle makes it seem as if we’re kissing, her eyes closed, our bodies touching. Then, footage of me carrying her luggage into my home—it gives the impression we’re a couple, and my heart sinks. Fuck. She looks so small next to me, and I act like I’m afraid to break her.

The team erupts in laughter, and I flip them off. Fuckers.

“You gonna make it official then?” Devereaux teases and I shove back his phone. “Risky move, man. Risky move. It will break some hearts.”

“Maybe he didn’t tell you because he doesn’t want you idiots gossiping about the girl he loves,” Shane interjects, earning a glare from me. Love? Woah. I prefer it when he keeps his mouth shut, like he usually does.

Jayce leans in close, making sure only I can hear his words. “Or you don’t want them to know she’s the one you fantasized about in high school, wanking so hard until your hand ached,” he says, causing me to nearly choke on my drink.

I don’t know what I did to deserve these two as my best friends. Killer over there isn’t talking as usual, and our resident genius here is the epitome of a golden boy with his Sunday mass attendance. But when it comes to me, they turn into bumbling idiots. Must be some sort of cosmic joke.

But. Damn. I forgot Jayce knew about my history with Liora.

We’ve been friends since college, so of course he knows about my obsession. I spent countless nights daydreaming about her. Just the thought that she moved in with me…it’s absurd. Insane. Unbelievable. Way too far-fetched. Okay, I’m out of adjectives to describe the mess of my life. But it’s happening. No, it happened.

Past tense. Liora moved in and I’m not even home with her. While she might be lounging on my couch, using my shower…damn, this is all it needs for my fucking dick to twitch, and I practically collapse into my chair faster than I could even say the word shit.

“Jesus Christ, that boy’s done. I thought this was a joke,” Malcolm says, and I can feel all the curious eyes on me.

“Could be good,” Devereaux yells from the back again. Always the loudest mouth. “Maybe he finally gets his horns clipped and we actually have a shot at winning.”

“Cheers to that!” Mercer chimes in from the front row, and Max honks in agreement. “Now, everyone, rest up and keep the fuck quiet. Tomorrow will be tough enough without having to listen to all this nonsense.”

I sink back into my seat with relief as our coach gives me a breather.

Naturally, Ethan discussed the fake dating situation with him first. He was pleased that I found a babysitter. Liora is the perfect cover for me to skip out on social events and steer clear of trouble. My go-to excuse…and I made a promise to her to behave. Look at my five-foot heroine.