Page 17 of In It to Win It

Again.

Shit.

I want to chase after Taylor, but she’s salty as fuck, and also if I do, Lacey will probably hurt me. Not to mention Mom, Dad, Grandpa, and even Everly, who’s shooting me beady-eyed looks.

“Itoldyou she’s a nice girl,” she hisses at me at one point.

As I suspected, she was warning me off Taylor.

It’s not totally my fault. But even though I can be a dick, I’m not that much of an asshole that I’m going to try to get myself off the hook by telling the truth—that Taylorverywillingly came up to my hotel room last night and stayed until this morning, and then again very willingly joined me up there for a flash fuck tonight. So as usual, I’m the whipping boy for whatever trouble goes down, and I keep my lips zipped.

If only I’d kept my fly zipped.

I sneak away from the wedding as soon as I can, taking a double shot of Crown Royal with me back to my room.

I toss the key card down and gaze glumly around the messy room, including the rumpled bed. Not how I expected this night to go. I fully expected Taylor and me to be back rolling around in that bed and messing it up even more.

I tip the glass to my lips and enjoy the warmth that fills my chest as I drink the whisky. The sting reminds me of my cut lip, so I head to the bathroom to survey the damage. It’s stopped bleeding by now, but my lip’s swollen. Hell, it’s not the first fight I’ve ever been in, and not the worst I’ve ever looked after. I wash my face with cold water, scrubbing fiercely.

Back in the bedroom, I pile up the pillows on the bed and lounge against them, drinking the whisky and surfing through channels on the huge TV.

Nothing holds my interest.

I keep thinking about Taylor.

Why? I tip my head back. The last few months, since I broke up with Emma, I’ve been with a lot of women. I’m always clear that it’s just sex. It’s not that I don’t want to get involved with anyone; I haven’t met anyone I want to get involved with. Until tonight.

I finally meet someone who’s hot as hell, also smart, sweet, and—I thought—genuine, and turns out she’s dicking two guys around, just like Emma did.

I toss back more Crown Royal.

Training camp startsthe Thursday after the wedding, which is good for taking my mind off the wedding disaster. I’ve been skating with some of the guys for a few weeks now, at informal get-togethers at the Golden Eagles’ practice facility in the mornings. I also worked out hard all summer. The whole family lives here in California now, so I didn’t have to travel back to Québec to see them like I have other years, but I went there anyway because I love Montréal. I still have a condo there, so I spent a couple of months working out with some other guys at a performance facility during the day, checking out the nightlife in the evenings.

Preseason games start the Tuesday after training camp. I’ve been away from hockey too long and I can’t wait to play.

The top is down on my Jaguar convertible as I cruise along West Ocean Boulevard from my place to the arena in Long Beach. The wind flows through my hair, my sunglasses shielding my eyes from the bright early September sun.

This year I have something to prove to my team. And my fans.

On top of making some bad decisions in my personal life, I’ve made a few mistakes in my career as well. I’ve always been hotheaded, which last year resulted in a four-game suspension. Nobody was happy about that.

I also got a game misconduct penalty for yelling at a ref, and two years ago a one-game suspension for a hit. When I was playing in the minors, I got benched because I showed up late for a team meeting. I came to the NHL with a bit of a reputation already, fairly earned or not, and people are starting to wonder if I’m more of a liability to the team than an asset. I need to shut that down.

Not even my dad now owning the team and my uncle being the new coach will save me if I don’t clean up my act. I know that. Blood may be thicker than water, but it’s not thicker than hockey. Okay, that doesn’t make sense, but when it comes to hockey, Uncle Mark and Dad are ruthless.

Which I think is partly why Dad bought the team . . . to show Grandpa he can’t dick him around. Then he hired Uncle Mark away from Grandpa’s team. That message was unmistakable. They’re out for blood.

The rivalry between the Condors and the Golden Eagles in California is legendary. The teams share a market. They both play a heavy, hard-hitting game. Every meet-up between them is billed as a “Beach Barn Battle.” But only one team from the Western Conference goes on to the Stanley Cup final.

Years ago, the two teams met in the conference final. The series went seven brutal games and the Condors lost, while the Eagles went on to win the Stanley Cup. That left a lot of bruises and scars . . . and not just physical ones. Unfortunately, the Condors tanked the season after that, and pretty much every season since.

But now . . . the rivalry is personal too, Dad and Uncle Mark against Grandpa.

I pull into the parking lot, jump out of my car, and stride into the arena, preparing to die.

Today is the medical and fitness testing.

We’ll be tortured with all kinds of cardiovascular, strength, and stretching exercises to see how physically prepared we are for the grueling hockey season. The regular season is eighty-two physically demanding games, not to mention practices and travel.

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