Page 9 of Rookie's Redemption
"Let's just get through today without letting a boy ruin it."
From the kennel area comes a chorus of excited barks, followed by a spectacular crash and the unmistakable sound of metal bowls clattering across tile.
I sigh, shoulders slumping.
"Or… let's just get through it."
Chapter Three
Ryder
The weight room at The Nest feels like a second home—one that smells like testosterone, Icy Hot, and ambition. Morning sun blasts through the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the hockey rink beyond into a blinding sheet of white. Perfect for an early morning grind.
I push through my third set, the bar heavy across my chest. Two-twenty-five isn't my max, but it's enough to make my triceps burn in that addictive way my body craves.
"That all you got, rookie? Pretty sure your girl Mia could outlift you."
Blake looms over me, hands hovering near the bar as he spots. His captain's smirk is legendary around here. Half encouragement, half challenge.
I push the weight up with a grunt. "Keep talking, old man. You'll throw out your hip."
"Cute." Blake adds a little pressure to the bar just to be a dick. "One more. Don't embarrass yourself."
I lock my elbows, racking the bar with a satisfying clang that echoes through the gym.
Sitting up, I grab my towel and wipe sweat from my face. The mirror across from me doesn't lie… I look good. Years of professional training has sculpted me into something different from the lanky kid who left Iron Ridge.
Logan catches my eye in the reflection, biceps bulging as he curls what looks like small cars. "You two done flirting over there?"
"Jealous?" I fire back, but he just grunts, turning back to his own reflection.
Connor's rowing machine hisses rhythmically behind us. "Some of us are trying to work here."
"Yeah, real brutal cardio day you're having, Walsh."
I toss my towel at him, which he catches without breaking stride.
"Unlike some people, I don't need to compensate with glamour muscles." Connor rows faster. "Some of us actually stop pucks for a living."
Coach Brody circles us like a shark, clipboard in one hand, protein shake in the other. His eyes miss nothing.
"Scott, your left side's still favoring. Add another set of side planks." He scribbles something down. "Kane, those shoulders better be ready for Montreal next week. Their forwards hit like freight trains."
"Yes, Coach." Logan doesn't even look up.
I grab my water bottle, gulping down half of it.
This is the dream… being part of the Iron Ridge elite. Custom weights with the Icehawks logo, a sound system pumping beats that would make clubs jealous, and cold towels in a mini-fridge by the door. Not to mention training alongside guys whose hockey cards I collected as a kid.
"Montreal's got that new center—Beaulieu." Blake grabs weights for his next set. "Fast little bastard. We need to shut him down early."
Coach nods. "That's why we're running the neutral zone trap in practice today. Scott, you'll be on the second line with Jackson."
"Got it." I stand, stretching my arms overhead.
"Speaking of fast..." Blake's grin turns wicked. "Heard you've been spending time at that animal shelter. That's where Mia Harper works, right?"
The gymnasium goes quiet. Even Connor stops rowing.
