Page 22 of Jaded

Chapter 6

Olli

Thesnowcruncheslightlybeneath my snowshoe-clad feet.

Slanting morning sunlight catches the soft wrinkles of white, making it sparkle, nearly blinding me when I slip through openings in the trees. Broad ponderosa pines tower up over me, light scrub brush and gentle aspen crouched below like younger siblings begging for attention.

The narrow single-track path slants gradually upwards, though I’ve already climbed a good thousand feet up into the mountains and have earned this slight respite. My lungs heave with the effort of pulling in crisp winter air, drinking in the soft tang of pines, the freshness of snow and arid mountain dirt.

It’s gorgeous, and my heart sings with the joy of being engulfed in nature. Playing pro hockey means I spend a lot of time indoors, but I’ve always been the kind of person who needs to get out, stretch my legs, and taste the sky. Keeps me calm, centered. Keeps the darkness at bay.

Keeps me from remembering any illicit interactions with any boys I definitely should not be thinking about. Who are almost definitely not thinking about me. Because nobody does, after the initial interaction—

Focus, Olls.

Be here, now. On this hike.

The best part of my little pre-practice dawn hike? I walked here from my house. That’s correct; a quick Google search last night led me tothe Day River Urban Trail System—DRUTS, terrible acronym—which begins a block away from my lovely new cottage.

The city sits right on the edge of a small mountain range. This unassuming little path cuts diagonally between houses, through tumbles of trees and tangles of underbrush, right out of the city . . . and into the mountains.

Ten minutes from my house, it started to climb and climb and climb, switchbacking through pines and aspen and ragged jumbles of rock.

The exertion feels good, the burn in my legs and lungs, the crisp air, all of it so very needed after days in the rink, in the car, in Miami. After the guy at the bar.

Too much time inside and alone, and the darkness starts to knock. It’s always there, like a quiet beast curled up on the doormat of my soul.

Sometimes it makes for great poetry.

Sometimes, it makes me unable to get out of bed.

Today, I’m just trying to walk fast enough that I don’t have to think about it, hoping the burn of exercise keeps it all at bay. But it’s still there, tugging, stretching its little paws like it’s thinking about whether it wants to raise its big ugly head.

Keep moving, Olli.

This is why I need the ice. Need to feel like I’m moving forward, working towards a dream. The time between when I get off the ice and when I next climb back on, that time hardly exists at all.

My snowshoes crunch, crunch, crunch, back down the mountain. Through the urban trail. Right up to my back yard.

Then I’m in my truck, sliding through the city, the buildings a blur around me as I circumnavigate downtown Day River towards the rink on the north side of town.

I scoped the place out yesterday, of course. But this will be my first time at the rink at the same time as the Dingoes. My new team.

I swallow down my nerves, hop out of the truck, and grab my bag from the bed. I get halfway to the door before a mid-fifties white guywith a full beard and an even fuller head of classic hockey-flow hair jogs up beside me. “Oliver James?”

“Olli, yes.” I pause to let him catch up. “Coach Douglas?”

“Ethan.” He doesn’t bother with a handshake, waves me towards the doors instead. “You got in okay? Got settled?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He holds the door for me, and I follow him into the rink. “We’re just doing some conditioning and stuff today, figured I’d break you in easy.”

The air’s a solid few degrees warmer than the frigid bite outside, and blissfully free of wind. My hiking boots pad against the rubber matting as I follow Coach through a wide hallway behind the bleachers.

He leads me down another hall, through a padlocked door, and into a roomy office space playing host to four desks. A door on the far wall declaresCaptain Ethan Douglas, and likely closes off his personal office from the rest of the staff.

“Associate coach, defensive coach, goalie coach, second assistant, and your desk.”

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