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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I'm only in the apartment for 0.5 seconds before I ditch my sneakers and pull my sweatshirt up over my head, wincing slightly from the pain.
My ears are still ringing from the crash I took into the boards during practise and the left side of my ribs is scratched up to hell.
The only thing that slightly takes my mind off of the pain is Stanley running in from the living room to greet me, his favourite stuffed toy clutched between his teeth.
"Hey, buddy." I whisper, worried that the volume of my own voice will make this mind-fucking headache worse. "Missed me?"
He wags his tail and nuzzles his head into my side as a response. "I'll take that as a yes."
Stan follows me into the kitchen, squeaking his toy as we walk, and watches me intently while I rummage through the freezer. My hope is that I can find an icepack or even a bag of frozen peas to dull the throbbing on my side.
And, if worse comes to worse, maybe I'll get out a bottle of whiskey and drink away the pain.
Thats my preferred option.
"I might just fuckin' quit hockey and stay here all day." I tell Stanley and drop my forehead to rest on the cool marble countertop.
Coach worked us hard today.
I don't know who it was that shoved a stick so far up his ass he could taste it, but I fucking hate them.
Before my skates had even touched the ice he was screaming down my ear about the state of the locker rooms, my strategy for our game on Tuesday and how my team is so damn sloppy he would trust his Grandmother to perform better.
All that was before 6 AM.
When practise started, his fury only got worse.
I haven't ran so many drills since Coach Hansen's wife dumped him for her chiropractor 8 months ago. But at least then I understood where his rage came from.
This was total fucking brutality for no damn reason.
When be split us into two teams and declared the losers would be doing suicide skates after hours, I knew it would turn into a fucking blood bath.
Unfortunately for me, I was up against guys like Carter. Guys who have families and people they actually give a shit about getting home to.
So my team took the battering. And as most captain's would, I took the brunt of the beatings to save some of my guys.
That meant time after time, it was my body getting slammed into the boards and my body getting rammed down.
"Sometimes I wish I was a trophy husband." I tell Stanley and slide my phone out of my pocket. It had pinged at least 16 times in quick succession and I know it can only mean one thing.
