Page 18 of In It to Win It

I get on the assault bike and start pedaling. I have to do one mile as fast as I can. Then I get a three-minute break. Repeat several times. Our time has to be less than six minutes, twenty seconds to pass this test. I climb off the bike sweating with a time of five minutes, fifty seconds.

“That’s impressive,” says Mick, our strength and conditioning coach.

“I did spin classes when I was in Montréal,” I tell him. “Part of my workouts.”

I don’t tell him I can barely walk now, my legs like noodles.

But I immediately have to be tested to measure my power wattage output while fatigued. It’s a crazy test that determines how much energy an athlete produces, measured in watts per kilogram of body weight.

Everyone’s doing well at the tests, meaning nobody spent the summer golfing and drinking beer. Well, I did do that a few times, but I’m grateful for all the sweat and agony in the gym I endured to put up a good showing now as I do vertical jump tests, timed sprints, push-ups, and pull-ups.

Then we get on the ice for more testing, with different sprints and a sixteen-lap endurance test that nearly makes me puke. After that, we have “recovery time” in the training room with ice baths, massages, and brutal foam rollers. Because tomorrow we’re going to work even harder.

I’m here for it.

I hang out in the locker room with the guys for a bit, catching up on news with those I haven’t seen in a while, shooting the shit. It’s great being with the team again. Last year when Dad bought the team, then hired Uncle Mark as coach, everyone was expecting a lot of changes. Over the summer Dad made a bunch of trades, and our draft picks are here trying to show their stuff and make the team, so we have a lot of new guys. This is going to change the makeup of the team this season, so there’s some uncertainty for everyone.

When I get home, I crash for a two-hour nap. Not sure if that’s a good idea, because I feel sore and a little grouchy when I wake up. I’m supposed to go over to Théo’s place—he’s going to grill some steaks for us since Lacey’s working tonight—but I feel like texting him that I can’t make it. But I have to go. I’m still trying to make things right between Théo and me, and backing out of this won’t help.

Traffic is nuts on the 405, so I’m even crankier when I get to Théo’s place. I’ve never been very patient. I’m working on it, but this traffic makes me crazy.

“Why are there so many fucking stupid drivers?” I ask Théo in his kitchen after he lets me in. “Why is traffic at a fucking standstill on a goddamn six-lane freeway? Why can’t people just drive the speed limit?”

He eyes me with a raised eyebrow. “You sound a little stressed.” He moves to the counter and starts shaking some kind of seasoning over two steaks. “Grab a beer.”

“Uh . . . just one. Training camp.” I rub the back of my neck. “Probably shouldn’t have any.”

“Here.” He opens the fridge and hands me a beer. “Just one. What’s got your jock in a twist? Just the traffic?”

“Nothing really. Well. Testing today was brutal.”

“You passed everything?”

“Of course.” I sound offended. “We all did. In fact, it was some of the best results they’ve ever seen. Everyone’s in phenomenal shape.”

Théo laughs, rubbing the seasoning into the meat. “Nice propaganda. Did Dad tell you to say that?”

“What? No.” I frown. “Jesus. You think I’m here to gather intel about the Condors’ camp?”

“Better not be.”

For a moment I can’t even speak. He can’t seriously think that little of me. Can he? “Christ, Théo. We work for different teams, but we’re not enemies.” I hope. Jesus. The last thing I want is for the feud between our dad and uncle and grandpa to spill down into our generation. Of course, I didn’t help that by screwing over Théo.

“I know, I know. I’m kidding. Sort of. Maybe we should agree not to talk hockey together.”

“What else would we talk about?” I smile wryly, then tip the beer bottle to my lips.

“Politics. The economy. What the fuck happened at the wedding last weekend.”

“Right. Look, I’m sorry. I had no idea he and Taylor were a thing.”She could have fucking told me.“I was just dancing, minding my own business, when that lug nut jumped me.”

Théo sighs. “I know. I don’t know what got into him.”

“Apparently he was jealous.” Bitterness rises in my throat and I wash it down with another swig of beer.

“Yeah, apparently. Let’s go out on the patio.” Théo picks up the tray with the steaks, a couple of foil packets, and some barbecue tools.

I follow him outside and try to change the subject. “You’ve got a great place here, right on the beach.”

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