Chapter 6
1198 Words
Damien's POV
Still chatting away, he walks with me to the front of the house and watches from the steps as I climb into my most prized possession. It’s a new, all-singing, all-dancing Range Rover Sport SVR in Carpathian grey, and she’s a beauty. By no means is she the most expensive car in the lot at the rink, but I love her.
I put my thumb up as I pull away. Charlotte comes to stand behind Jack as he jumps up and down in his pj’s, waving me off.
Then I make the turn into one of my best friend’s driveway. A few teammates and I ended up buying houses on the same street, so it makes sense for us to carpool. There’s no point in us travelling the same journey, from the same place at the same time, in different cars. I’m also not the kind of person that enjoys being on their own for too long.
I don’t find solace in the quiet. I mean, I grew up in a really big family and played travel hockey from a young age. Even at twenty-eight, I still bunk up with Gunner when we’re on the road, so it’s unusual for me to be alone.
Gunner appears as soon as I put the car in park, throws his gear in and then gets in himself, but he’s trying to end a call with his mom. Only, she’s not going that easy. I chuckle to myself knowing I’m due for one just like it any time now.
The drive to practice is a slow one, every damn light turning red just before I get to it.
Eventually, Gunner puts his phone down.
“How’s it going, Cap?” he asks.
I smile a s**t-eating grin.
“Game day, baby! Doesn’t get much better than this.”
He slaps me on the shoulder with a gruff, “Too right,” but as soon as he goes to put his phone in his pocket, it vibrates and whatever he sees makes him sigh.
“What’s up, man?”
He taps the screen and shows me a picture of a very hot woman. I lift my sunglasses to look at him because yep, another red light.
“Flat-out ten. Where did you find her?”
He pulls on the back of his neck.
“We met at Robinson’s retirement dinner. It’s the one I’ve had drinks with a few times over the summer and she keeps texting, but I don’t know. She’s not really my type.”
This admission confuses me because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that Gunn always goes for women who look a lot like the girl he just showed me.
“What do you mean, not your type? Petite, dark hair, dark eyes, big rack.”
He just shrugs his giant shoulders.
The problem is, when you are this good, like at-the-top-of-your-game good, the money and the celebrity that comes with it has its downsides. You don’t really know if the person you’re seeing is with you for the right reasons and not for their fifteen minutes of fame, or your money or, well, the list is endless.
As I turn into the practice rink and look up at our name on the entry sign, The New York Wolves, that excitement from earlier returns.
We jump out, rounding the car to grab the bags when we hear the unmistakable low growly revs of Callan Knight’s Mustang.
As casually as possible, he gets out of his beast and walks over to us. Already a Wolf before Gunner and I came to New York, Callan is one of the best defensemen in the league.
He’s strong, hard, and fast, and he and Gunner will be a force to be reckoned with this year. Under the right conditions, they’re a lethal pair. With a new D coach on board, everything seems to be better.
He’s also a really good friend. Broody as f**k, but the three of us hit it off straight away.
“f**k, it’s hot. You girls ready for tonight or what?” he asks.
“Yeah, we’re ready,” I tell him. “What about you?”
“You know it.”
Gunner and I nod our agreement as we move through the arena. Because we play our games in the middle of one of the busiest cities in the world, the team built us a state-of-the-art training facility that we share with the NBA team. It has the best equipment and is always evolving and moving with the times.
I love it here. There’s no fuss or pizzazz cinder block walls are painted an off-white, the carpet is a beat down, navy-blue and it has a weird smell but we’ve got massive cardio and weight rooms, steam rooms, a whirlpool and cold plunge, state of the art classrooms, a therapy pool, a kitchen, and a lounge. The coaching and media offices are here, too.
It’s any athlete’s dream, and that’s why I want to be here every day I can.
When we get to the locker room, which is almost identical to the one we have at the Gardens, Rex greets us with fist bumps and a cuddle and kiss on the cheek for Callan.
Rex Svenderson is our starting goalie. He’s part of our group and very high maintenance. All goalies tend to be a little eccentric, and he’s no different.
“Sven! Jesus Christ, what is the matter with you?” Callan seethes as he aggressively wipes his face.
“I’ve missed you, Callan.”
Callan groans.
“You saw me yesterday, dickhead.”
As we start to get changed, Adam HollyHart, my line mate and the last of our close-knit group, saunters in with a very smug expression on his face.
“Why are you so pleased with yourself?”
“Oh nothing, just might have had me a little A-lister action last night, but I’m not one to kiss and tell so you’ll have to excuse me while I am all gentlemanly over here.”
“Okay,” me, Gunner, Callan, and Rex all say at the same time.
Adam’s head snaps up from where he’s seated himself on the bench.
“You don’t wVivienne know who it was?”
“Nah, I’m good. You good, Gunn?”
“Yeah, I’m fine not knowing.”
“Me too,” pipes Rex.
Adam’s eyes narrow as he shucks off his jeans.
“What, even you? You don’t want this gossip?” he asks, pointing at Rex, who inside is desperate to find out what happened last night.
Rex answers with a knowing smirk.
“No, I think it’s admirable that you want to keep quiet.”
“But… But I want to tell you…”
“He and your seven-year-old nephew have more in common than you’d think,” Callan says as he turns to head for the door.
“Tell me about it,” I agree.
Knowing this is killing him, we leave Adam stewing and pouting on the bench as we laugh and head out toward the ice, the rubber flooring making it easy to walk on our skates.
- Writer
