Page 5 of Power Move
As it has since we arrived in the weight room, my attention draws to Sage. His dark hair curls around his ears and shirt collar and fine lines of concentration fan across his face. He’s doing a series of lunges, his back leg propped up on a green exercise ball. His thighs flex and bulge with every movement.
We haven’t had a chance to talk. Before the weight room, we gathered with the team to view video clips from their previous game with the coach. He sat beside me, focused on the screen, nursing a coffee, his sneaker-clad foot resting over his knee, bouncing like he had excess energy to burn.
I place my water on the bench and begin a set of shoulder extensions, counting out the reps, focusing on the muscles I’m working. I haven’t played in a game since I separated my shoulder in the middle of October. Three and a half months is a long time to be away.
The green exercise ball rolls past me. Followed by Sage, jogging after it. The ball bangs into a rack of free weights.
He picks up the ball and his gaze locks on mine. The thrill I felt when meeting him the other night is still present. Something draws me to him. I don’t know what it is. Only that he intrigues me.
I keep thinking about what happened in the bar. I wonder if he is too, and if that’s why he seems more reserved than the open, happy guy he’d been before the drink spill happened.
Using the wand that helps me with the stretches, I point to the ball. “It got away from you, huh?”
“Yeah.” He pauses beside me, the ball resting against his hip, bright neon against his black tee and shorts. Eyes so blue they remind me of the lake where I spend my summers, focus on my shoulder before returning to meet my gaze. “How’s it going?”
“No pain, so that’s good. And I haven’t heard any complaints about my music selection either.” Something in me relaxes when he smiles. I motion to the wand. “I have another set to do. You?”
“Same. Forty reps on my other leg. If the ball doesn’t run away again.” He shoves his hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in several directions. It’s so cute and I fight the urge to smooth it down.
I nod at the empty space in front of the bench. “You can do them here if you want. I wouldn’t mind some company.”
His half-turned stance screams indecision. I’m about to tell him he doesn’t have to stay, that it’s fine if he has a ritual he doesn’t want to break, but then he nods and sets the ball down.
We get to work. He murmurs a tally of the lunges, counting up to forty. Watching him, I lose count of my extensions and have to tack on a few more. When he finishes, he rests the ball against the side of my bench.
I stand and move into a stretch, opening my arms out wide, and lifting my chest. Sage’s focus goes to my shoulder again as he brings his heel to his ass in a quad stretch. “How’s the sweater?”
Considering how upset he was the other night, I’m not surprised he’s asked. But I didn’t expect him to bring it up here. Hopefully, he hasn’t been worrying about it for the last two days. “It’s fine.”
“The stain is gone?”
I bring my arm across my chest and lock my other arm around it, holding it in place to stretch the back of my shoulder. “Yeah. I think getting soap on it at the bar helped. I texted one of our equipment guys after I got home and he told me what stain remover to buy. I soaked it in that stuff yesterday, then washed it last night. Can’t even tell anything was there.”
The line of tension in his shoulders deflates and relief eases the pinched worry in his features. “That’s good. Really good. Where’d you get it? The sweater, not the treatment stuff.”
“Ireland, last summer. I spent a week there, visiting family with my parents.”
His breath whistles through his teeth. “I’m really glad I didn’t ruin your souvenir.”
I switch arms, bringing the opposite arm over my chest for a stretch. “You didn’t ruin anything.”
He ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck. There’s color in his cheeks and a small smile on his lips. Only a few steps separate us. I eliminate one, then another. I don’t know what I’m doing, only that I want to be close to him.
Tilting his head back, he meets my gaze. The pull is stronger now, as he searches my face. Movements and conversations around us grow louder. The mirrored wall to our left shows the guys are filing out of the room. Sage tucks his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “We have about half an hour before we hit the ice. Time to tape our sticks and get into gear.”
“Lead the way.” I follow him down the hall, and can’t keep my attention from ranging over his body. His hair, the line of his shoulders, the play of the muscles in his back as he walks, his ass, those thighs. He’s shorter than me by several inches, and his size helps him zoom around the ice like a rocket. From what I saw in the video clips earlier today and what I was able to find online yesterday, he has to be one of the fastest skaters in this league. Maybe in my league too.
Several of the guys chat with me while we get into our gear. Sage was right, they are a fun group and seem to mesh well together.
I tug the practice jersey over my head. It’s odd wearing the Slash’s logo. Our teams share the same shades of dark purple, golden yellow, and gray, but while purple dominates the Metros, the Slash stand out in yellow.
Helmet on, stick in hand, I head to the rink. It’s closed in like a warehouse, the opposite of the Metros’ penthouse-like, top floor rink with large windows overlooking the Minneapolis skyline. Still, the ice is good, and that’s all that really matters.
Yanni Olofsson, a defenseman called up from the Des Moines Monsters, is paired with me as we warm up with skating and edgework drills. He’s tall, skinny, and maybe nineteen. “Rhys,your dad was my father’s favorite player. I’ve watched a ton of highlights from his games.”
I weave around the tires and cones spread across the ice, and Yanni follows. “Thanks. He’s my favorite player too.”
All my life, I’ve lived with comparisons to my dad, a hockey legend who casts a huge shadow, one that’s gotten bigger with his induction into the Hall of Fame last year. I’m proud to be his son, and I’ve done my best to carve out a place for myself. The one thing he didn’t accomplish was winning the Cup. I hope I can win it for him one day.
