1. Rayne

Rayne

"Rain the Pain!"

"Rain the Pain!"

"Rain the Pain!"

The crowd chanted deafeningly loud,but Rayne "Rain the Pain" Hamilton was so focused on the little black disc sliding over the ice that the seven-thousand-plus shouting voices may as well have been whispering.

It was the last game of the regular season. They were on home ice; the score tied at two with less than twenty seconds of play on the clock in the third period. Even though he knew his team had no chance of making the playoffs this year, he still wanted them to wrap it up with a win. Their fans deserved at least that much, after sticking with them through their disappointing season.

And he wanted to give the crowd what they wanted and rain the pain.

He dug the edge of his blades into the ice, and changing course on a dime, he cut across the rink through the neutral zone and landed an open ice body check on Bridgeport Corsairs forward number eighty-nine. At six-foot-two and a few pounds over two-hundred, Rayne's hit struck like a wrecking ball, knocking the six-foot-six player clear off his feet and the puck off his stick. That Rayne's opponent was bigger than him didn't even register in his mind. The crowd roared, stomping their feet and banging their fists on the glass.

Rayne grinned as he snatched the loose puck and carried it into the Corsairs' defensive zone. He flicked the disc back to point for his right winger Jacobs to pick up and just missed getting himself slammed into the boards by one of Bridgeport's defensemen.

Rayne skated to the crease, getting in front of the opposing team's goalie—a huge guy named Dansk who practically filled the net with his sheer size alone—to block his line of sight. Jacobs found an open lane and let a shot rip. The rocket of a puck went top shelf in the net so hard it sent Dansk's water bottle flying onto the ice. The red goal light flashed as the horn sounded.

Jacobs shot his arms up in victory, and a second later the air whooshed loudly from his lungs when Rayne crashed into him and wrapped him up in a bear hug, pulling him off his feet. Jacobs gloved Rayne's helmet before giving him a playful headbutt, laughing, and a second later Rayne was the one with the breath knocked from him when his teammates, a bunch of two-hundred-pound overly excited guys, dog-piled on him and Jacobs, hugging and mugging each other's helmets and faces in celebration of their win.

It hadn't been a pretty game, or season, for that matter, but they'd ended it with something to cheer about. Even though Rayne and his teammates had missed their shot at the playoffs this year, they were heading into the off-season on a high note. Rayne couldn't even be mad about that.

"That was a great pass, Hamilton." Jacobs slapped Rayne on the back as they entered the locker room. "And that hit!"

"Right! Dude . . ." Lavoie, a defenseman who was also Rayne's roommate, laughed. "You Rayne'd the pain on Kostas hardcore. I've never seen anyone knock that guy off his feet before. Didn't think it was possible."

Rayne beamed as he high-fived Lavoie. He had to admit; it was a beautiful move. There was nothing quite like landing a perfect check, especially when it led to a goal—a game-winning goal at that.

"Gotta give the fans what they want," Rayne quipped as he sat on the bench in front of his stall and pulled his Boulder Blitz jersey over his head.

He had a reputation for being quick to drop the gloves and throwing major checks, but he'd mellowed on the fighting in the last couple of years. Hockey had worked its magic on the angry kid from the south side of Chicago he'd been and had channeled his energies into more positive outlets. Who knew where he'd have ended up if not for hockey. Nowhere good, he was certain.

"So, what do you have going on this summer?" Jacobs sat beside him.

"I'm starting at the fire training center next week." Rayne undid the Velcro straps of his shoulder pads and removed them.

The guys all knew that he'd gone to the Beyond Hockey Career Program the league offered to all professional players to help them find new careers off the ice. Real estate and firefighting were the most popular professions, and he'd settled on the latter as it was more physically demanding. That and he couldn't imagine himself in fancy clothes trying to sell homes. He shuddered. It was enough that he had to wear suits to the arena on game days—even if he could skip the ties and wear sneakers instead of fancy loafers.

Since he was still playing hockey with the Blitz—the Denver Mustangs' minor league team—he'd opted for the blended program with four months of online self-paced academic learning followed by four weeks of practical training onsite at the Boulder County Regional Fire Training Center. So far, he'd aced all his academic courses and was looking forward to getting into the hands-on stage. After that, he'd hopefully get hired on at a local station and begin his on-the-job training as a rookie for another year before earning the official rank of Firefighter.

But that would depend on the outcome of this year's contract offers, now that he was a free agent.

"Yeah, Jacobs," Lavoie cut in. "Why do you think he's had his head in all those firefighting course books after games instead of partying with the rest of us?"

Rayne shook his head. Both Jacobs and Lavoie were only twenty years old, and this had been their first season in the Professional Hockey League. He remembered when the North American Professional Hockey League first drafted him. He'd been so full of himself, so certain he was going straight to the majors after only one season in the PHL. But eight years later, with no call up and trades to half a dozen teams, he knew that the window of opportunity to get called up was getting slimmer with each passing season.

"You can still make it, Rayne," Jacobs said, his voice so solemn that Rayne couldn't look at him. For a young guy, Jacobs was eerily intuitive. Which was one of many attributes that would make him a star player one day.

Guys like Jacobs and Lavoie had the potential to make it, but that didn't always mean they would. Some guys spent their entire careers in the minors. Which wasn't a bad gig. You got to do what you loved and make a few bucks at it, but now at twenty-six years old, Rayne had given fourteen years of his life to hockey. His knees and back were feeling the wear and tear that was par for the course in the grueling sport. He couldn't play forever, not professionally, and he'd been in Boulder the longest of any team he'd played for. He'd finally, for once in his life, started thinking about planting roots, and the thought of being signed to yet another city weighed heavily in the back of his mind.

"We'll see," he said noncommittally. He tugged off his skates before standing to shuck his hockey pants. "What are you two assholes doing this summer?"

The guys laughed at the teasing note in his voice.

"Headed home to Montreal," Lavoie replied, but Rayne already knew that since he talked with Lavoie more than anyone else on the team, them being roommates and all. He just wanted to change the subject. "My folks have a real estate company, and they want me to get my Realtor license."

"That's a good gig," Jacobs remarked.

Rayne agreed. Even though he hadn't chosen real estate for himself, he knew there was some serious coin to be made in that field.

"Yeah, well." Lavoie shoved his shin guards into his hockey bag. "I won't need that when I get called up to the Denver Mustangs."

Rayne watched him for a minute and hoped the kid got the call up. He had some good stick handling skills and was as fast as lightning on the ice, but it took more than that to make it in the NAPH. Plus, there was always the risk of a career-ending injury. Rayne had seen more than a few players' careers cut short because of one too many concussions or catastrophic damage to knees and shoulders. He'd come close himself, with a severe ACL tear during his first season in the minors.

"How about you, Jacobs?"

"Trading my skates for cowboy boots." Jacobs chuckled. He was from northern Alberta and had grown up on a sprawling cattle ranch.

"Yeehaw," Rayne and Lavoie shouted loud enough to earn a round of laughter from some of their teammates and curious looks from the rest.

"Seriously, though." Jacobs stood, dropping his base layers and wrapping a large white towel around his waist. "You should come up to the ranch after your fire training and hang out."

Rayne snorted. "What am I going to do on a ranch? Rope cattle?"

"Of course!"

"Thanks, man." Rayne couldn't see it. Trading his skates and helmet for cowboy boots and a wide-brimmed straw hat, and riding horses? Nope. Those animals were way too big. "I don't see that happening, but I appreciate the offer."

Jacobs shrugged. "Well, the offer stands. Anytime."

"Thanks, man." Rayne nodded as he headed for the showers.

Back in the locker room, Rayne watched as his teammates left one by one. He'd see most of them at the exit interviews on clean-out day, but he said his goodbyes just in case.

"Have a good off season if I don't see you at the exits," Rayne said to Jacobs as he heaved his hockey bag over his shoulder. "Make sure you get ice time."

Jacobs grinned and gave him a two-finger salute before spinning on his heel and leaving the locker room.

"I'm going to hit the clubs," Lavoie said. "You in?"

"Nah." Rayne shook his head. Clubbing had never been his scene. "You have a good time."

"I swear you're the oldest twenty-something I know," Lavoie teased as he headed out of the locker room with shouting "See ya!" over his shoulder.

Rayne smiled as he watched him go. One by one, his Blitz teammates said their goodbyes, but Rayne stayed back until he was the last person in the room. The air in the empty space felt heavy on his shoulders. Another season had come to an end. Another season he hadn't been called up to the major league. And another off-season where his teammates scattered to the four winds, leaving him alone once again. Even Lavoie would be gone in a couple of days.

Hockey had been his savior when he was twelve years old, had become the family he'd needed when his own parents forgot he was there most of the time. But hockey had always been a transient family for him. Faces and cities came and went, and not for the first time in the last couple of years, the need to plant his feet permanently, to keep those faces and cities the same, tugged at him.

Rayne sighed, taking his time clearing out his locker. He would be back, of course, for practice and training on his own throughout the summer, but as he closed the locker door, a thought crossed his mind that he had just played his last pro hockey game.