Icebound (Boundless Players)

“Hey, old man! Did you forget how to block in your eighty years playing hockey or what?”

Cruz yells over the roaring stadium. He makes a cawing noise while waving his arms like a pigeon.

“Why don’t you keep fucking yelling ‘cause I play better when you yell at me!” I shout around my mouthguard.

“Watch me.” He skates past the crease. “Nineteen keeps dangling the puck in front of me, clever fucker.”

The opposing player, Nineteen, skates up to Cruz and winks like a jackass before crossing the blue line back to the defending zone.

Cruz cups his gloves around his mouth, calling after him. “You got the skinniest legs in the League or what?”

“Why don’t you stop fucking chirping and focus,” I shout.

“Why don’t you take your stick out of your ass and use it to block?” he yells before skating off.

I’m annoyed as hell with Cruz. We’re already on a penalty kill, and he keeps losing his damn temper.

Straight to the sin bin every time.

Cruz throws his stick at Nineteen, so we get another two-minute penalty. Just what we fucking need when we’re already getting slaughtered. Let’s hope Cujo’s not watching from his Canadian throne because this is a damn mockery.

Passes are off. We’re missing the net. Not blocking the shots.

Apparently, we forgot how to play hockey because when we change lines, we get another penalty for having too many men on the ice. Who’s counting? Not us, clearly. The ref can fuck right off even though he called it right.

We’re clawing for every inch. Cincinnati’s hustling hard, making all kinds of strong attacking plays. There’s a lot of traffic since they’re swarming the net.

They came to win.

Simple as that.

My gaze bounces between players as they skate and slam into each other. I dart my eyes across the ice, tracking the puck as it moves between sticks.

Nineteen’s picking up speed like he’s about to make a breakaway, but at the last second, he winds back for a blistering slap shot.

The puck zips toward me, a black blur against the white ice.

I calculate the trajectory in milliseconds, and before the crowd can even gasp, I drop down into butterfly. A sharp pain ignites in my groin. Damn, that hurts. My knee pads hit the ice—a nanosecond too late.

The puck goes right in my net.

“Fuck!”

The buzzer howls in the arena, and the stadium erupts in cheers because we’re in Cincinnati’s barn.

Cruz skates up to Nineteen and shouts in his face. “Hey, fucksie, you been in the minors for how long? Huh? You a pretender or what? What?”

“Aw, don’t be mad, you big dumb animal,” Nineteen sneers.

“Hey, I have a question,” Cruz yells, shoving him. “Why do you suck at hockey?”

“Look who’s talking,” Nineteen shouts. “Better get home to those roller hockey championships, Twelve.”

Cruz pushes him again. “You think you’re the only guy that can hit? Let’s-fucking-go! You can’t even stand out here!”

“I ain’t scared of you, Twelve. Not scared at all.” Nineteen pulls back his clenched fist and slams it into Cruz’s jaw, which gives him the excuse he needs to tackle him to the ice. They attack each other like savage wrestlers.

In a rush, I skate over, ice chips flying past my shins, and lift Cruz off him. “Hey, simmer down. Save it for the third.”

“He’s a fucking motherfucker!”

He spits on the ice and gives the guy a face wash, rubbing his nasty-ass glove in Nineteen’s nose before I yank him away to the locker room. His chest pads heave in short gasps, but Cruz skates off the ice with me. Our heavy steps thump down the hall like a funeral procession.

No one says it, but we all feel it.

We’re off today, every last one of us, and we have been ever since I ended things with a certain woman, no—girl.

The girl I can’t get out of my head.

But none of that matters because I’m too old for her. Sure, I might be attracted to a twenty-two-year-old, but I’m not going to be a dick and act on those feelings when I know it won’t go anywhere. It doesn’t matter how good she made me feel.

There’s no chance I’ll touch her again.

“Fucking hell!” Cruz bangs his fist against the wall as we settle on the benches. The state-of-the-art space smells like a mix of sweat, deodorant, and ass. Tension reeks in the air as we tape our sticks. I sit down on the wooden bench. Cruz follows suit, then Patty.

“What the fuck happened out there?” Cruz says. “You hesitated, and it’s gonna cost us the game. Coach should pull you and get some more offense on the ice.”

I grind my teeth so I don’t yell at the kid. Not a lot of people grasp the mental strength it takes to be a goalie. I have to bear the brunt of everyone’s disappointment because my mistakes draw the most attention. I’m the only player on the ice for the entire game, which takes a toll on my mind and body, and my patience is thinning.

“What about your bad timing on those pinches that led to Forty getting a breakaway in the first period, huh?” I say. “Yeah, I fucked up, but this isn’t all on me. We’re a team.”

“Save it for the ice,” Patty interjects. “But he’s right. We win as a team, and we lose as one.”

We sit in silence, hunched over in our sweat-soaked gear. Normally, we’re blasting some obscure country album everyone hates that Patty always picks, but today, the atmosphere is deader than a cemetery.

Coach Watson strides into the locker room with a menacing frown on her lined face.

She gives each one of us a look, and I swear my balls shrivel. “I don’t think I need to say much. We’re better than this. I know it, you know it, and the fans know it. Right now, we’re not playing to our potential. We’re making mistakes we shouldn’t be making. Our passing needs to be sharper, and…”

Everyone listens intently to Coach, but when she’s done with her pep talk and walks out, Cruz throws his visor on the ground. “What the hell is happening? This is a massacre. Who wants to tell me why I signed with the shittiest team in the League?”

“Fuck off!” someone yells.

“Hey, enough of that.” I grip Cruz’s shoulder, pushing my irritation with him aside. “Listen to me. You’re a hell of a player, but you’ve got a tendency to get in your head when you’re pissed. Just because we’re playing like shit doesn’t mean we’ll keep playing like shit. We can turn it around.”

“How? They’ve got three goals on us,” Cruz shouts. “You gonna fart out a damn miracle?”

Patty throws his protein drink in the trash. “All our luck’s run out ever since your girl ended things, Tremblay. She messing with your head?”

“She’s not my girl,” I grit out, ripping my phone from my locker to find a string of texts.

MORGAN

You didn’t answer my call last night.

MORGAN

I’m coming to your game against Seattle in March.

MORGAN

I want to see you, please.

MORGAN

Call me. I miss you.

I jerk toward the screen at the last message.

NINA

I forgot to tell you that you left your beanie at my place. Need me to bring it to you?

I drop my phone, snatching my navy beanie in the stall. I always pack it for away games. Otherwise, it’s bad luck. Yeah, it’s ridiculous, but it’s more of a comfort thing.

I was wearing it the day I got my first shutout, so I always carry it now. I quickly flip the fabric inside out, searching for that signature stitch from my mom. May all of your dreams be as wild as you. It’s not there.

“Shit,” I mutter, tossing the useless beanie in the stall. “How’d I forget?”

“What is it?” Patty asks.

“I left my lucky beanie at Nina’s place.”

The moment the words leave my mouth, the atmosphere in the locker room shifts. The air thickens with tension as everyone exchanges uneasy glances. No one dares to challenge me, but they all move uncomfortably in their gear like one wrong word will tip the scales of luck.

Cruz looks me dead in the eyes. “You’re talking about that navy beanie your mom stitched? The one you almost punched me for touching? The one you pack for every away game because it’s good luck? That beanie?”

“Yeah. I gave it to Nina because she was cold and left it there.”

Cruz grabs me by my jersey, getting all up in my face. “You need to call her and see if she can bring you your beanie. That’s why you’re playing like shit.”

“Tone it down. I’m not playing like shit because I don’t have my beanie. I’m just off today.” I push him back, but he’s got a strong hold. “I’m not calling her. We’ll be fine.”

“Call her.” His grip tightens on me. “Call her right the fuck now or I will.”

“No,” I grit out. “I’m not doing that.”

“Why not?” he asks. “Who cares if she’s not a doctor? Yeah, she’s way too young for an old man like you, but it’s cool as shit that she does pottery. Call her.”

I flinch at Cruz’s comment. “I know I’m too old for her. You don’t need to tell me.”

Nina’s probably out partying and sleeping with strangers—as she should be doing in her twenties. I was the same. There are plenty of women in this world.

I’ll find someone else after the ¡Vamos! event. I’m committed to Nina until then, but I’m not talking to her more than necessary. I already can’t stop thinking about the way she was grinding all over my dick, but every time I remember her age, I wince a bit.

Patty and Cruz exchange a glance like they’re plotting something. In an instant, Cruz lunges at me. I jolt, but Patty grabs my elbows, holding me in check.

“What the hell?” I shout, struggling against Patty’s vice-like grip. Damn, he’s still got it, and here I thought having a kid would nudge him into dad bod territory.

“Sorry, Tremblay, but this is too important. You know not to mess with the rituals,” Patty says, lowering his voice. “Also, I want to meet this girl you can’t stop talking about.”

“I don’t talk about her,” I cut out, struggling in his grasp.

Patty rolls his eyes. “You spent three hours in the hotel last night researching her pottery fellowship, and then telling me all the details, but sure, you don’t talk about her.”

“I was just curious about it.”

I’m sure all this is lust, and she might not be a doctor, but that fellowship is damn impressive. I know how hard it is to work toward a dream, and I admire her for going after what she wants, even if I am too old for her. Yeah, she lied, but she owned up to the fact, and didn’t try to cover it up, which takes courage.

“Okay, same. I want to meet this girl.” Cruz picks up my phone and types in my passcode. How does he know my birthday? Nosy fucker.

“Give me my phone, Cruz. Now.”

He scrolls through my texts. “Don’t worry, I won’t look at your nudes. I’ve already seen your mutant cock, anyway. I don’t need a repeat.”

“What’s wrong with your cock, Tremblay?” someone shouts in the locker room.

“You haven’t seen it?” Cruz scrolls my phone. “It’s girthy as fuck.”

I struggle in Patty’s firm hold, ignoring their comments. “Don’t call her, Cruz. I’m serious.”

“I won’t. What do you think I am? A grandfather like you?” I go limp with relief in Patty’s grip, but then, Cruz smirks. “I’m FaceTiming her, obviously.”

I lurch forward, but Patty holds me back. “Sorry about this, Tremblay, but you know it’s important. This is high stakes. Do or die. Cruz is right. We need you to have your lucky beanie or the hockey gods will curse us forever.”

Patty can’t stop laughing to himself, so I know he’s only doing this because he wants to meet Nina.

“You realize she’ll think you’re insane, right, Cruz?”

“I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks. I’ll be a perfect gentleman,” Cruz says as the phone pings. “In fact, I’ll be so gentlemanly, she might want to climb on top and ride my horse.”

Patty grimaces. “That’s a really weird analogy, man.”

I look down at my white knuckles balled into fists. With a forced effort, I slowly uncurl my fingers, but the urge to put my fist through a wall is hard to shake off. Cruz sleeps with anyone, and I don’t want him going there with Nina.

“Listen to me, Cruz. Do not fuck around with Nina. I mean it.”

Patty hisses in a breath. “Damn, look at Tremblay’s face. You probably shouldn’t have said that.”

“I’m not scared of Gramps over there. What’s he gonna do? Throw his dentures at me?”

The phone stops pinging.

“Rhode?”

All of us go rigid. My chest tightens at the sound of Nina’s throaty voice. Cruz’s eyes widen when he looks at the screen. “Hot damn. Phil? Is that you? What the hell are you doing answering Tremblay’s call?”

Every muscle in my body locks. Does Cruz know her?

“Micah Cruz?” Nina says, and dammit, it sounds like she’s smiling, but I can’t see her. “Why are you calling me from Rhode’s phone? Also, how many times did I tell you in high school not to call me Phil? You know I hate it.”

High school?

“No, you don’t,” Cruz says. “You secretly love that we have our inside joke.”

They have inside jokes?

“Okay, fine. Maybe a little.”

“Atta girl, Phil.”

“You two know each other?” I demand.

“Hell yeah.” Cruz grins, and I want to wipe the smile off his face. “Phil and I were both Crimson Valley Vipers. Stay Violent!” he whoops.

“It’s stay violet,” Nina interjects.

“My way’s better. I even asked her to homecoming,” he continues. “Phil turned me down to go with Damon fucking theatre boy, even though I told her she’d have more fun with me, but listen, as much as I want to play catch up, we’ve got a real serious question for you, pretty girl.”

That’s it—I can’t listen to this.

“Sorry, Patty.” I jam my elbow back into his ribs.

He grunts, loosening his grip, and I slide out from beneath his arms. Springing forward, I rip the phone from Cruz’s hands and look at Nina’s cute face. I shake my head. No, not cute.

Young.

Her hazels widen on the screen. I zone in on her, perched on a bar stool like a queen with some pink drink in her hand. She’s probably drowning in shots.

Good for her.

I clench my phone.

Her glasses are lopsided, and her hair’s a mess. She looks every bit the student in her university crewneck, and I hate that I find a twenty-two-year-old so fucking pretty.

It makes me worse than my father.

I stare at Nina’s freckles over her nose, gritting my jaw when I realize she doesn’t have any wrinkles around the corners of her eyes like me. But there it is—she’s wearing my lucky beanie. The sight of her in my clothing tugs me closer to the screen, so I jerk myself back.

“Hey,” I mumble.

Brilliant, Tremblay.

She takes a long sip of her drink before answering. “Why is my old high school friend FaceTiming me from your phone, Rhode?”

Cruz pops his head into the screen, knocking against my temple. “Aw, come on, we were more than friends. You kissed me under that arch thing.”

What the hell? She kissed him? Something hot and grating slithers under my skin. I shove him, but Cruz doesn’t budge because our center’s made of bricks.

Patty sticks his head on the other side so all our sweaty cheeks are squished together. His beard is real damn itchy.

“No,” Nina counters. “You kissed me, with too much tongue, I might add.”

I grind my jaw hard enough to crush my molars as a white-hot shot of jealousy bursts through me. Cruz knows what she tastes like, and I’ll never find out.

“We both know it was the best kiss of your life, Phil. Anyway, we gotta go. Can you bring Tremblay’s beanie to our next game or mail it or some shit? It’s the one on your head. We’re losing ‘cause he packed the wrong one, and he needs it for every game.”

She blinks like she’s trying to translate another language. “What? That makes no sense.”

“We’re hockey players,” Cruz says. “We don’t fuck with the rituals. Trust me, if I didn’t have to go commando for every game, I wouldn’t.”

“I’m not even going to ask about that,” she says.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, taking a deep breath as I watch the timer tick down on the locker room clock. “She’s right, Cruz. I’m not asking her to do this. We’ll be fine.”

“I can drop it off at your apartment when you get back on Friday?” Nina offers.

The question has me straightening. Nina doesn’t owe me a damn thing, but here she is, willing to give me something. In a world where coaches, fans, journalists, pretty much everyone demands things from me, her question feels like a gift.

“Yeah, have her bring it to family dinner,” Patty adds, wiggling his brows. He’s worse than Rowyn, meddling in my life.

“Alright, fine,” I say, watching the clock. We’ve only got five minutes. “That’d be great, thanks.”

“Fucking hell,” Cruz mutters, grabbing his stick. “We’re gonna lose this game now, aren’t we? Come on, let’s go get railed.”

My teammates start filing out of the locker room, and Nina shifts her focus to me, softening. “Don’t let Micah get to you. I’ve seen you play. You don’t need a good luck charm to win. You got this, Rhode.”

And with that piece of encouragement, she clicks off the phone. I stare at my screen, waiting for it to light up with her name again. Now that I know she’ll be watching, my senses sharpen, each nerve buzzing as I channel the adrenaline thrumming through my veins.

“I like her already.” Patty slaps my back. “You’re in so much trouble with that one.”

I grab my helmet, feeling the familiar weight in my hands. “Yeah. Don’t I fucking know it.”