The Cocky Hockey Captain

Chapter 8 ● Catch Me

I had no idea what I was signing up for. It was 5 something am as I sat in the lobby of the inn, blowing over some particularly vile brew of coffee as I waited for the will power to venture outside in the damp, dark cold of the night or the guys to pick me up. Whichever came first. The only thing keeping me warm was the memory of my dad going livid once he saw what I'd done with my hair, and me casually destroying any of his arguments with the fact that this was going to help us both blend in. I took advantage of the morning loneliness to snap a series of selfies and send a couple to Miguel. He didn't reply right away as I expected, but I snickered as I imagined his bulging green eyes.

They were going to lose their shit when they saw me playing hockey with boys.

I finished up the cup of mud and tears I'd been drinking and tossed it in the bin. I opened the door and flinched at the biting gust of wind that greeted me. I questioned the sanity of anybody who moved here with the intention of staying. Weather up here was hostile. I started heading over to the ice rink, thinking back of the cold virgin margaritas on a yacht from summer. A year or less of this, I reminded myself.

"Hey."

I screamed and jumped half a mile, only to find Pace gaping at me.

"Has no one told you not to sneak up on people in the dark?" I half screamed, half snarled at him. My heart was beating in my throat with such vengeance I almost barfed the horrible coffee.

The only thing I could see clearly was his wide eyes in the dark. "Sorry. I didn't know you were so jumpy."

I clamped my mouth shut and turned back toward the ice rink. I figured then that there were advantages to being raised in a small town like this. No one had reason to distrust others.

"I've noticed you're like, jumpy."

I harrumphed. "Yeah, well. I originally come from one of the most dangerous cities on Earth."

We fell in stride, only the sound of our steps echoing in the still town. I struggled with this. Always. It was one of the reasons why I had such a hard time making friends. It was hard to trust people when you've already come face to face with the worst of them.

"Where, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Caracas," I told him, because there was no harm in sharing that much. But he noted the finality in my tone and didn't pursue the topic. For that I was thankful.

"Did you read what I sent you yesterday?" he asked instead, and we launched on a conversation about the rules of the game. There were so many things that were unclear to me, like why icing was an issue but why it was okay to catch a flying puck in your hand and bring it down to the ice to keep it in play. I could tell this was the most important topic in his life to him, because he launched on a monologue about the history of the rules until we made it to the rink. He reminded me of my cousins back home, who were all in on baseball. I was passionate about boxing, but not to the point that I could be a scholar about it, so at that moment I was feeling considerable admiration for Pace and his group of hockey-obsessed friends.

The front door to the ice rink was unlocked and I shook my head at the small town antics, but we strutted right in and headed for the arena.

"I asked Dean to bring you some of his old stuff," Pace said. "I'd have brought mine but my little brother couldn't bear to part with a single pad for a couple of hours," as he said this he rolled his eyes, but I could tell it didn't bother him one bit.

A sharp swooshing sound caught my attention and I turned to see Dean braking across from us in the middle of the ice. He was decked in full Bear uniform, and the only reason I recognized him was because I didn't expect anybody else in there at that time. He skated over and swung his legs over the sideboard easily.