Logan Romano took the NHL like a hurricane- dark and brooding.
With his natural talent, brute force and sheer determination, he goes completely unchallenged both on and off the ice.
He's notorious. Both for his success and his stormy personality...
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"Two lines. Romano, James, Kent, Peters, Radcliffe and Orlov- on the left." Coach demands, reading from his clipboard. "Vaughn, you take Anders, Sorenson, Maddox, Quinn and Smithy on the right."
"Hastings, in the net." Greyson whoops, slapping his gloves together loudly.
Carter nods and skates his team over to their line on the rightwing of the rink. He makes a show of glaring at Maddox and rolling his eyes at him dramatically.
I never envy the man that gets paired with that fucker. But I do appreciate the sign of loyalty from Carter.
"Coach. What about us? Where do we go?" One of the newbies on the team asks, gesturing to the group of 6 players still sat on the bench.
Coach Hansen rolls his eyes, knuckles turning white from his death grip on the clipboard. "Did I call out your damn name, Jenson?"
"Uhm," The kid's eyes go wide as he looks to his teammates on the bench for support. "No, sir. I just thought that maybe you made a mist-"
His friend immediately jumps to his side and covers his big, stupid, mouth with his glove. It was a brave attempt to save his buddy from Coach's wrath but he was too late.
The damage was done.
"A mistake?" Coach chuckles eerily. "I don't make mistakes, kid. A mistake is what your Mom made when she gave birth to you."
Yikes.
"If you let me fucking finish talking before questioning me, you would hear me say that I'll be swapping your sorry asses out." He rages on, pointing his finger at the now red face of Freddie Jenson.
"Uh oh. Here we go." Greyson snickers quietly by my side, clearly enjoying the show Coach is putting on for us.
I swear this guy thrives on chaos. As long as the rage isn't directed at him, Greyson thoroughly enjoys it when Coach is on a rampage.
Personally, I try to tune him out. Block out the noise. My most effective way of doing that is to focus on the task at hand- the game or the drill we're about to run.
But today, my mind is drifting a little further than todays practise.
It's drifting back to her. To last week. To what it's been like ever since.
• 1 week ago •
"Mind your step." I rasp behind her ear, my fingers splayed out on her hips.
She shudders. "Mind your grabby hands. You don't want to cross any lines, Mr Romano."
"Trust me, babe." My voice is low against the nape of her neck as she leads us through the crowd. "By the time this dance is done, you'll be begging for me to cross the damn lines."
