7. Seven - Tate

seven - tate

. . .

The lyrical stylings of Avicii pump through the speakers as I push through the doors of the arena a few hours later, ready to practice. Coach plays music at each practice because he thinks it pumps us up. For me, it just becomes the background noise, much like it is at the games. Sometimes, I don't even notice it. Today, I'm hyper aware of it and finding I am not a fan.

I'm still tired after hitting snooze on my alarm one too many times, but I'm probably better off now than I was at six thirty this morning. I wave to a few of the guys already on the ice before heading towards the locker room.

"Hey, Tate." Her voice sounds so sweet, but I know that it's coated in deadly poison. Jen Blackburn, beat journalist for the local paper, is the thorn in my side. Everyone hates her, so we trade off who has to deal with her when she hangs around. I guess today is my lucky day. Joyous.

Shaking my head, I sigh. "Jen." I nod hello and continue walking, listening to the clack of her heels against the floor beneath us as her short legs almost jog to keep up with my long stride.

"So, tell me. What's the news these days? Dating anyone new? Any prospects on the horizon? Any juicy gossip for me?" She talks a mile a minute, and I swear, I have to keep the eye rolling to a minimum.

"You should know by now that I'm not going to give you anything. Why in the hell would I give you the tea to use against my friends? Please tell me you aren't really that stupid." I stop walking, and she runs right into me. I sigh, leveling her with my best fuck off glare. She bristles briefly before a smile stretches across her plain face.

She steps into me, and her hand runs up my arm. "I could make it worth your time." Her eyelashes flutter, and I have to refrain from saying what's dying to come out of my mouth because although I can be a dick to her, I can't go overboard. It wouldn't, unfortunately, look good for the team for me to tell her to go pound salt. To tell her that trying to use that nasty cunt of hers on any of us to get the latest scoop is really below her.

So, instead of spewing the hateful words that brew within, I simply smile at her and jerk my arm away. "As always, it wasn't a pleasure, Jan."

She scoffs. "It's Jen." Looking back over my shoulder one last time, I grin.

"Sure thing, Jill." The annoyance in her voice fuels my soul as a smile graces my lips. Jen mumbles something under her breath, and I assume she's cussing me out. Well, she can kindly fuck off a cliff somewhere for all I care.

I slip my mouth guard in before tipping my head back and pulling my helmet down into place, and then step out onto the ice.

There's still a few guys who haven't shown up yet, but Drake is there digging his way around the crease so he has better traction. Instead of going towards him, I move to the opposite end and claim that goal. Leon holds his stick up to slap it in hello as I pass. A few other guys nod hellos. Our captain, Arden, and his best friend slash assistant captain, Gavin, briefly give me a what's up before getting back into whatever conversation they were having.

I'm still tired, and my body is sore from all my after hours stalking. I haven't been sleeping much, and I'm really hoping skills and instinct run to the forefront at practice today because I don't feel like getting my ass chewed by Coach; definitely not in the mood.

Scuffing the crease up to my satisfaction, I skate over to the side of the rink where the rest of the team is stretching. My eyes immediately find the journalists sitting above the entrance to the rink, and they're faces are glazed over, watching the guys.

It's something to do with us looking like we're humping the ice, but seriously, how else are we supposed to stretch out?

And who the fuck would hump the ice?

Unless the thought of pain by frostbite on your dick and major shrinkage is your idea of fun.

But now that I'm thinking about it, I'm thinking about Rebel and bringing her here to fuck her. Maybe in the penalty box so no one else can see her?

Or, fuck it, right on the ice in front of my net with a blanket under her ass?

Or on the bench?

Damnit, getting a boner in a jock is a certain type of hell, but luckily, no one knows my cock's trying to tent my goalie pants with all the padding underneath them.

Drake skates over with a big grin on his face. He's wearing the white practice jersey today, a stark contrast to my black one. His bad boy, charming smile all the chicks fall for, is plastered across his face. "You fucking with Jen again today?"

I shake my head and chuckle. "It's just too damn easy." We both look towards the stands, where the reporters are all chatting with each other. Jen stands in the middle as if she is holding court; the others give her their full attention like a brood of vipers. Oh, the accuracy of that thought.

"She propositioned me last week." He cringes as he says it.

"Same, today." I frown, thinking about her grabby little paw on my arm. A devilish smile breaches my face. "How would you feel about having a little bit of fun?"

He smirks, eyeing me with curiosity. "What kind of fun are we talking about?"

"Possibly the illegal kind."

"I'm down. Just tell me when and where." He holds up his glove, and I tap it in solidarity. I figured he would be. Drake comes from the wrong side of the tracks, a foster kid most of his life. He's rough around the edges and not afraid to get into it. He doesn't back down, and over the years, we've had our fair share of fights, and he holds his own.

The sound of blades slicing through the ice and slaps of sticks against pucks surround me. My teammates warm up with laughter and banter amongst them.

I join in with my own set of jabs and comments to the guys as I warm up. We all know what's coming after the shutout game Tuesday night. The Warblers handed us our asses on a plate. It was embarrassing. Coach already let us have it once, right after the game, but today, I was waiting for the drills-until-you-puke type of situation.

Coach skates out onto the ice, and the chatter around us hushes. He stands with a frown permanently planted on his face. Those dark brown eyes assess each and every one of us as he looks around. He's very much a get-off-my-lawn type of guy. You will never see that man coddle anyone. Some days, I wonder how his family puts up with him. "All right, men. A few big games are coming up, so we're going to hit it hard today. You'll be lucky to walk out of here because I have some fun things planned."

His voice is commanding, but the devilish smile tells us we're all about to get royally fucked. "Hell, once the vultures leave, we may even dip our toes in some bag skating." A collective groan sounds all around me. "Quit your moaning. You all deserve nothing less after the shitty way you played on Tuesday. That was an embarrassment to me and to yourselves."

A few guys chuckle, and the line between his eyes furrows in anger. "Not sure what you boys think is funny. Guess I'll be laughing at the end of practice. Ellis and Levisay, my office." He points to the rest of us like we aren't paying attention. "The rest of you better be ready to work when we get back." We all watch as Andy, also known as Anders, and Den, short for Arden, skate slowly behind Coach and exit the rink.

Drake blows out a breath before speaking. "Dude… If I didn't know better, I'd say his Mrs. was holding out on him. I'm thinking Coach needs to get a good vagina-ing."

I can't help the snort that leaves me. "What the fuck is that?"

He shrugs with a grin. "Seemed appropriate. Ladies always say someone needs a good dicking, so I figured I'd try it out the other way around."

"You're a certain kind of stupid, aren't ya?" I don't mean it. Drake is actually very smart. The way he looks at play, the decisions behind certain moves, the way a puck glides, and how many miles an hour a puck can fly with a slapshot is always interesting to discuss.

I expect him to be offended, like every other goalie I've ever worked with is, but he just laughs. "Well, I can tell you your mom seems to certainly like my brand of stupidity."

I groan, trying to convey the agony of having to listen to dumbass your mom jokes. "Really? Are you twelve, with the mom jokes?"

"Ask your mom, she can tell you all about my age and prowess." Clearly, I'm not getting anywhere with this conversation, so I stop engaging him. Sometimes, we're idiots, but it makes practice slip by faster.

Ten minutes later, Coach is back out on the ice and blowing that damn whistle. Drake and I drift towards the neutral zone in the center of the rink to chat with the goalie coach. Afterward, we take our time, warming up slowly, before splitting up and heading to our own collective nets.

Once everyone is done, he explains the drills he wants us to run for the day, letting us know we'll be cycling through each a few times until he sees what he wants to see: "a team who actually looks like they can play fucking hockey."

When we've finished going through all of the cycles, we'll switch sides and do it all over again.

I flex my fingers on my stick as I assume the position. I perform some PAILs and RAILs before moving into a few rapid, explosive lateral pushes as if I'm taking short shuffles to move laterally on the ice. It helps me focus hard on driving off my inside foot, while maintaining a stable core.

Drop shift bounds follow, and I'm ready to go, feeling as limber as I'm going to get.

I'm in the zone every time I step out onto the ice. The world falls away, and it's just me, the guy trying to get a puck by me, and the puck itself; devilish little piece of rubber.

Half of the guys line up on my end while the other half face Drake's. Coach blows his whistle again, and they're off. Lex charges towards me, with Seb hot on his tail. He passes the puck to Seb, who glides forward and slings the puck towards me. He's got a wicked fucking shot, and the prick grins because he knows it.

But I'm the one laughing when I throw my glove up and catch the damn thing before it goes top shelf into the net behind me. Two by two, they continue coming forward, and I manage to catch all but two of them. Gunnar and Gavin always manage to get the puck past me, no matter what the hell they do. It's probably why they're two of the best forwards in the league.

Gavin has this amazing ability to fake a shot and throw any goalie off his game. I know he does it, and I still fucking fall for it every damn time. Guess I should be happy they're on my team, and I don't play against them. The grin he gives me has my hands trying to ball into fists, even though they can't in the gloves I'm wearing.

The drill continues. Pass, shoot, go to the back of the line. Over and over again. I'm breathing heavily with all the exertion, but it also fuels me. The burn reminds me that I'm still alive. I block the next shot with my stick and the following one hits my pads, rebounding away.

By the time the last guy gets through a third time, Coach is blowing the whistle, signaling the end of this drill, at last. I'm sweating like a dog.

I skate to the bench and grab my water bottle before spraying it over my face to try and cool myself down. Goalie gear is fucking heavy.

As I turn, my eyes land on the media still perched in the seating above the rink entrance like vultures waiting to devour a dead carcass. Jen has a fucking tablet out, writing furiously, and I can only imagine what she's putting on the page. Hellbenders goalie essentially told me to fuck off earlier today or tried to preposition both goalies and neither went for it? Nah… that could be a fireable offense.

"Presley has an art thing that weekend." I overhear Gavin say to Arden. "Are you all planning on dropping by? I know Presley mentioned something about inviting Gabby."

"Yeah, I'm sure we'll be there at some point. Swear, you can't separate those two." He shakes his head but chuckles. He's got it fucking bad for Gavin's girl's best friend. I don't get it. She's a beta. Why the hell an alpha would want a beta instead of an omega is beyond me, but more power to him.

I stand and listen to the two of them talking about their ladies for the remainder of the few minutes we're not practicing. Before I know it, we're back at it, doing more complex drills each time Coach switches things up. We still have plenty of time to shit-talk and chirp at each other. The practice continues for another thirty minutes before Coach is blowing his whistle. We all skate off the ice and head to the locker room, sweaty and tired.

My ass slumps down in my locker stall. I need a few minutes to cool down. Sweat falls down my temples in rivulets. My pulse beats in my ears at the amount of exertion I put forth today. Looking up, I take in the one thing that tells me I'm supposed to be here, I made it. Some days, I'm still in awe when I see my name listed above the shelf. There were a few times I never thought I'd see the day.

"Are you all getting into anything fun over the break?" I don't realize that Gavin's talking to me at first, nor do I realize that Drake's now standing beside me.

"Well, this guy…" Drake points to me. "Is probably planning on stalking his omega all week. Since we won't have much practice, he'll have all the time in the world."

"Fucker," I mumble under my breath, giving him a death stare, to which he just laughs. Drake may be an asshole sometimes. He may be too hyper other times, but I know at the end of the day, he's got my back. We're friends at this point. Well, we've always been friends, but now that we play for the same hockey team, we can actually hang out like good buds do.

My mind recalls Gavin's curious gaze. Yeah, we won't be telling him what we're getting into on the break. Hell, he's never even been to one of our All Stars week party nights, even before she dropped into his life like a gift-wrapped piece of cake. He's got Presley and his best friend Arden. I swear, those two would never do an illegal thing in their life. And, yeah, Gavin used to have a reputation for being this badass playboy, but since meeting his omega, he's turned into a fucking right pussy for her. Presley this or Presley that.

They've been through a lot, and I get why he's so protective of her and in love. I remember last year, when she was kidnapped. Dude was sick with worry, shit at hockey, and almost got kicked off the team. Not that they would actually kick off our star forward. The thought of someone doing that to my girl has my pulse roaring in my ears and me gritting my teeth. I'd kill the person, and then I'd have Drake help me hide the body.

Dude's got his own issues, though. He's hung up on his foster sister. She moved in with them when she was fifteen, and I remember him talking about how he had to leave her behind. Didn't want to, but at the time, he was only an eighteen-year-old kid and didn't have a choice. He had a future with the NHL and knew it would support her. Support them. He wanted to be grounded, ready to make that commitment, but by the time he went back for her, she'd moved out and was seeing someone else.

For a while there, he was fucking every puck bunny who so much as smiled at him. I could tell he was hurting, but we don't talk about feelings, never will. Feelings are for pussies like Gavin and Arden.

We weren't on the same team back then, but we talked frequently enough. When he was in town for a game or if I was in his town, we'd always get together and have dinner.

We talk for a little while longer before getting back to work. Drake and I switch sides and move on to another set of drills.

Luckily, Coach is happy enough with our performance during practice that he doesn't make us bag skate, and for that, I'm grateful. I'm more than ready to get out of here and see what my girl is up to today.

I quickly slip out of my gear - all my pads, skates, socks - and hit the showers, cranking the water up to scalding to soothe some of my sore muscles. I'll have to hit my sauna later. I dress and head for the door. As I leave, for a second time today, my name is being called. Only this time, it's Drake, not the cuntly journalist everyone hates.

"Party's still on for this year, right?" My eyes dart around, trying to make sure no one else is paying attention. I don't mind if some of the guys know, but there are definitely also a few I would never invite. My answer doesn't come until we're out of the arena and I'm heading to my car in the parking lot. "So…" He questions, and I see a flash of something in his eyes.

Drake isn't as dark as I am. His brain isn't nearly as fucked. Sometimes, the thought of being left out makes him crazy. Me? I could give a fuck less.

I smirk at him. "What? Didn't get called up for the All Stars?"

He snorts before rolling his eyes. "Hilarious."

"Yeah, my place. Bring a girl. Hell, bring two. Beer is free, liquor will be flowing, and I'll get us hooked up with some joints so we can chill. I'm sure Gunnar will be leading the game this year. It's always something crazy and depraved. Which reminds me… I'll have to ask him to invite the girls. I'll need my omega to be there. I have plans for her.