9. JT

CHAPTER 9

JT

It’s going to be a great year. I can feel it.

We had a hell of a run last season, and it was made even sweeter by the fact that very few people expected us to go that far. Sure, Coach has turned this team around in the last five years or so, but we came this close to a national title. That’s pretty fucking stellar, if I do say so myself.

I’m damn proud of the work we put in last year. We found ways to win. We never gave up. We just kept pushing through every obstacle that came our way. In the end, all that fire and determination didn’t get us the win, but it gave us a taste.

Looking around this room, it’s clear I’m not the only one hungry for more.

Our captain, Booker Zabek, is here on borrowed time. That guy could’ve gone pro this summer, but since he never entered the draft, he hasn’t gotten nearly the attention that guys like Dutton Wagner at Woodcock have gotten.

We have one year left with Booker and we need to make the most of it. And that’s not just me giving my buddy his due. That’s a fact. Coach knows it, too. Our best shot at making it all the way back to the Frozen Four this year— and coming away with a win—is with Booker leading the way.

Lucky for us, he’s not the only star on the team. If we were missing one piece last year, there’s a solid chance Will Franconetti is it. Our new recruit is a fucking phenom on the ice. And kind of a disaster off it if Ollie’s got it right.

“Dude. Frankensteini crashed and burned hard last night,” he tells me as he hops on the treadmill next to mine.

“Nope. Don’t do it. That’s the worst fucking nickname ever.” I say, because somebody has got to keep this guy in check.

“Fuck you,” he laughs. “It’s perfect. He’s a big motherfucker and his last name’s Franconetti,” Ollie shrugs as though I’m the one who can’t put two and two together and get four. “Get it? Franconetti, Frankensteini.”

When I don’t answer, Ollie just keeps going. “It’s clever as shit,” he says, congratulating his own ingenuity. “But I’m not one hundred percent sold yet. These things take time, you know?”

I nod, like he’s got my sympathy or at least my agreement, but I don’t share Ollie’s passion for nicknames. It borders on obsession, really. The guy’s superstitious as hell and he’s got himself convinced that if we don’t call each other catchy little nicknames, we’re not a legit hockey team.

When he starts in with that noise, I usually point out two birds and mutter last season’s record under a cough.

But I’m in a good mood today. It could be attributed to the incredible sex I had last night, but I prefer to think it’s because we’re about to start one hell of a season.

Ollie’s chattering away and I’m barely keeping up with his story until I hear a few key words.

“‘A dying jellyfish’ those are the exact words she used. The fuck? I mean, I haven’t kissed the guy, but that’s brutal.”

I trip over my own damn feet. My entire job is coordination and flexibility. If all goes as planned, some team is gonna pay me the big bucks someday simply because the control I have over my body is unmatched.

I guess it’s a good thing there are no scouts in this weight room.

Ollie’s rambling on about the party last night, lamenting Will’s lack of swagger. I’m just glad he’s so wrapped up in our new teammate’s love life (or lack thereof), because he doesn’t even comment on my near face-plant.

“It was wild, Brick. Chelsie came upstairs ranting and raving about some guy being a waste of a hot body. I thought nothing of it, cause I knew she wasn’t talking about me. We hooked up freshman year, and she was definitely not complaining. Anyway, I brushed off and figured she was just being dramatic, you know? Then I saw WillPower and the guy looked wrecked?—”

I’m hitting my stride, my feet firmly beneath me, as I level Ollie with a glare. “Hell, no. WillPower? Christ. That’s way worse than Frankensteini.”

Ollie smirks. “It’s growing on you. Admit it, you secretly love my nicknames.”

“Nope,” I answer, turning back to my screen to start my cool down.

“Lies,” Ollie scoffs. “Anyway, Will looked dejected, so I put two and two together. I wasn’t gonna share my theory with the class or anything, but then he came looking for a margarita and spilled his guts. ”

I nod, feigning disinterest. “That’s harsh.” Ollie’s moving on to some other drama from the party and I’m only half paying attention, because holy shit . The poor sap in the bedroom who was getting a verbal beatdown from the sorority girl is my freaking teammate.

Granted, I just met the guy yesterday, so we haven’t exactly bonded, but still. If he’d walked out of the bedroom in time to see me holding Maggie, he’d have definitely recognized me. And that would have definitely freaked her out. It would have blown the whole secrecy thing to smithereens.

Not that it matters now, I remind myself.

Because Maggie and I are nothing to each other. She made that abundantly clear with her disappearing act.

I huff a laugh to myself. So many people in my life have pulled disappearing acts that I should probably start to wonder if I’m the problem.

Before I can get too lost in my thoughts, the timer on my watch beeps, letting me know our meeting’s about to start.

I’m not getting on Coach’s bad side, so I hop off the treadmill and mope the sweat from my face and chest. I’ve got enough time to pull on a fresh shirt and get some water .

“See you in there,” I say to Ollie, tilting my head toward the locker room door.

Ollie startles and looks up at the clock with an Oh, shit expression on his face.

I laugh to myself as I head to my locker.

“You have fun last night?”

I poke my head through the neck hole of my shirt to see Van taking a seat on the bench in front of me.

“Yeah, it was better than I expected,” I say. I’m not lying; it’s the truth. It’s just not the whole truth.

“Lucky you,” he says, fiddling with his own water bottle.

I blink at him. “Last I saw, there were half a dozen girls hanging all over you and Santos. You’re telling me you two just played bartender last night?”

Van nods. “Yep. I just wasn’t feeling it, you know?”

“I get it,” I say, scooping my water bottle off the bench as he follows me out the door and down the hall. Van spent the summer at the hockey house, same as I did. He’s a killer forward and an even better friend. We didn’t have any heart-to-hearts this summer, but even I can tell he’s been restless. Maybe it’s the pressure of senior year and what comes next. Whatever it is, I have a feeling that ice is the cure.

We make our way to the refill station. It’s all part of this upgrade we got from some donor after our run at the Frozen Four last spring. This side of the Wolf’s Den looks nothing like the locker room or even the arena. Down here it’s all white tile and shiny chrome. I’m not really into aesthetics, but the water’s cold and that’s good enough for me.

Two guys are crowded around the water station, looking at it like it’s a rocket about to launch into space. They turn their attention to the wall of windows that lines the hall and reveals set after set of brand-new gym equipment.

“Damn,” the taller guys says, turning to the blond. “It looks like a freaking showroom.”

“Sure as hell does,” Van agrees. I envy this guy his chill demeanor. It’s not that I’m an asshole or anything. I’m just not the super friendly type. I’m here to win games. I won’t flip you off if I see you, but I probably won’t strike up a conversation, either. Not true for Van. He’s pretty much the welcoming committee around here, and that’s probably good. I’d just give everybody a head nod while Ollie would regale them with stories of his escapades. Van? He’s right smack in the middle, which is probably a good place to be .

I recognize the first guy as Will, one of my new housemates and the guy I now know way too much about. The stockier guy has got to be Dean. He’s another winger and he’s set to move into the hockey house later today.

It’s the start of a new season and I need it to be the best one yet, so I take Vandaele’s lead. “It’s awesome. But do you think we could find some alumni who want to dump a ton of money into repairing our house? Because it could use an upgrade.”

“What it could really use is a bulldozer,” the guy who must be Dean jokes. “I was putting some shelves up above my desk and after a few taps of the hammer, the freaking drywall started crumbling off.”

“Hammer? That’s your first mistake. You gotta use those sticky hooks.”

Van nods approvingly. “Norris is right. I’m pretty sure our house is partially held together by those little sticky hooks.”

“That might be the problem,” Dean says, and I can’t hold back a laugh.

The door to the locker room opens and Santos, one of our captains, pokes his head out. “You guys trying to piss Coach off before the season starts?”

“Shit, we better go,” I say, leading the guys back in.

“What are you talking about?” Dean asks, glancing at his watch. “We’ve got ten minutes.”

I look over my shoulder and laugh. “You will soon learn that Coach starts every meeting early. Because if you’re not early, you’re late.”

“For real?” Dean asks as we shuffle back in and take our seats.

“Yep. The man hates tardiness, believe me. I skated enough extra laps freshman year to drill that fact into my head,” Van says, running his hands through his hair.

We step inside and take our spots on one of the empty benches. A few more guys filter in before Coach’s door opens. He’s got Anderson and Novotny with him. Chatter dies down as the meeting starts.

I know what he’s going to say. We talked about it all morning. Coach Baylor’s a man of few words, but he has a point to make about what he expects this season and I scan the room just to make sure everyone’s locked in. I need a winning season as much or more than anyone in this room and I’m not doing anything to fuck up my chances of bringing a national title home.

“Gentleman, this will be brief, because those of you who know me know I’d rather skate than talk. But I want to take a moment to welcome you all back. We had a great year last year, but this year promises to be better. We’ve got a lot of returning players and some new faces that bring the skills we need. We’re going to work hard, and when we’re done with that, we’re going to work even harder. Get used to looking at my ugly mug, gentlemen, because you’re going to see it for the next seven months. Being part of this team means more than just winning games. It’s mandatory study hall for the new guys, and anyone else whose grade falls below a 75% in any course. It means regular meetings with our trainers and nutritionists. It means working out, being on time, and giving it your very best effort. It means we’re more than a team; we’re a family. It means working together and doing your part in whatever capacity the coaching staff determines is best for the team. We work best when we work as one cohesive unit. Any questions?”

No one’s dumb enough to question Coach about his standards, so he moves on.

“You’ve no doubt seen the new weight room, and I hope it’s the first of many positive changes around this place. Don’t get me wrong—I love this arena and all the history within these walls. But this old place is due for a few upgrades, and those will be made possible by the generosity of donors and alumni. And to that point, you will be asked to attend some fundraising functions this year and do some community outreach to show your commitment to the town of Bainbridge. Let me make this clear: those things are not optional. You want to work out in a weight room that puts most commercial gyms to shame? You want to skate on this ice? Then you’ll do as you’re asked, and you’ll represent us well. Do I make myself clear?”

There’s a chorus of agreement as Coach turns to go. I’m about to pull Coach Novotny over to see if he has time to look at some video I took of myself while I was warming up earlier, but then Coach Baylor turns back to us.

“There is one more thing, actually. On a personal note…my niece, Margo, just moved in with Jules and me. She, uh, transferred in from the West Coast and will be finishing her senior year at Bainbridge. She’s got a busy schedule, but I have no doubt you’ll see her around here from time to time. I want you to make her feel welcome, of course, but not too welcome, you get me? Like I said, we’re a family, so consider Margo your sister. And that means hands off. No flirting, no winking, and sure as hell no dating my niece. Got it?”

Once again, everybody answers in a monotone affirmative. Well, almost everybody. I nod my head, but I make no promises. It’s nothing personal. The fact is, Coach B’s probably the best guy I know. He’s done a hell of a lot for me and it’s no exaggeration to say that I wouldn’t be in this locker room if it weren’t for him. My hard work has kept me here, no doubt, but Coach is the one who opened the door. He’s my mentor, the older brother I never had. I’m sure as hell not trying to date his niece—hell, my body’s still buzzing from my night with Maggie.

So, I’m not being a prick. It just feels weird to me to agree to swear off some woman I’ve never even met. I know Baylor’s older than we are, but it’s not the fucking Middle Ages.

There’ll be a fucking fire in my net the day I let anybody tell me who I can or can’t date, not that it matters much anyway.

There’s only one woman I’d make space in my life for right now, and she clearly doesn’t share my feelings.

I guess that means it’s back to the one thing that’s never let me down: hockey. I was drafted right out of high school and I’m here to get the experience I need so that when the Portland Sasquatch come calling, I’m ready for them.

Even if Maggie hadn’t left me alone in a bathtub this morning, I don’t have time for anything but the game I love.