Page 1 of Shield
ChapterOne
Oliver
The echoof pucks slamming against the boards punched through the chilly arena air. I was already feeling the strain of practice as I glanced at my watch to check my sugar levels.
Lance “Ash” Ashman, my defensive partner, glided over with a youthful energy I envied. “Sugars okay?” he asked.
I nodded. Diabetes didn’t define me, and it certainly didn’t stop me from playing the game I loved, but fuck, it got in the way sometimes. It wasn’t an impending hypo that made my legs feel like jelly. It was the fact that at thirty-five, every stride on the ice reminded me I was getting closer to the end of my career, and I wasn’t a kid anymore.
“Yep,” I said.
It was all Ash needed to know. The entire team had been subjected to a three-hour lecture by our team medic on the ups and downs of diabetes, and what to look out for, which meant that, for the next two practices, all of them stared at me, watching for me to appear drunk. I’d shut that down faster than a slapshot—they didn’t need to stare—because I had alarms on alarms, a watch that connected to a sensor measuring my levels, and I wouldn’t collapse in front of them.
Ash now had a permanent supply of candy in his cubby after taking things way too seriously. I could handle that, after all, he was my D-partner, but the fuss, I hated.
“Just not used to practices with just me and a couple of others.”
“They don’t do this shit in New York?”
I side-eyed him. “We’re all there. I mean, we were all there, just separated off.”
“You worried about facing the old team when it comes to it?” he asked, bouncing on his skates as we waited for the next attack.
“Nah,” I lied.
Early next month, we’d be up against them, and despite the countless games under my belt—all sixteen years with the guys in the Big Apple—a knot of nerves settled in my stomach whenever I thought about it. It would be my first game against my old team since the trade, in the city itself, part of a larger East Coast stand that saw the LA Storm heading to Harrisburg and Boston as well, and it was a homecoming I wasn’t sure I was ready for. Not only was it back there, against a team I’d grown up in, but I’d miss my girls like a limb.
Being traded hadn’t been a surprise—deep down, I had seen the writing on the wall. At thirty-five, whispers of “past his prime” following my every move on the ice sparked fear. I knew hockey was a business. I understood the nature of the game, the inevitable cycle of players being traded, retiring, or being let go. But understanding it didn’t make the reality any easier to stomach. New York had probably gifted me an extra year because of my situation, a widower balancing a demanding career with the needs of my daughters.
But New York had been my home, my team, my family. I’d given everything to the game, to the team, even when it meant juggling childcare for Scarlett and Daisy on my own after my wife had died. Losing Melissa to breast cancer had thrown our world into chaos, and I’d barely made it through intact, and only for my girls. The trade, though expected, stung with a bitterness that New York thought I wasn’t useful anymore and had become a liability, rather than an asset.
So yeah, I was worried about fitting into the Storm’s structure, and one day having to face my old team.
What if I fuck up?
My pride wanted to prove to the Storm that I still had value, that I wasn’t just a player to be traded away when it was convenient as New York had done. Yet, there was also fear—the fear of not living up to my own expectations, of confirming the decision New York had made to let me go had been the right one.
The Storm had welcomed me with open arms, suggesting they wanted the experience and leadership I brought to the table. I was determined not to let them—or myself—down, and to show everyone I was more than the sum of my years. The fire of competition still burned bright.
And all I needed to do was fix the slow parts of my game, keep up with the young guys, be the brick wall they needed me to be, and not fall over because my legs gave out.
Easy.
“Ready to take on Captain Fantastic?” Ash quipped, nodding toward Charles Zhang, Storm captain and first-line center, who was already weaving through cones with a puck at a mesmerizing pace. “Practice with Cap,” Coach had said. “If you can stop him, you can stop anyone,” he’d added, but fuck, Zhang was fast, and deadly accurate.
Still, I couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Let’s not let him dazzle us too much. Remember, we’re supposed to be the wall, not the welcome mat.”
Ash laughed, bumping his shoulder against mine before we both turned our attention to the task at hand. Philippe, our goalie, was bracing himself in the net, and I knew his focus would be sharp as Charles prepared to bear down on us.
The drill was simple—he was trying to get past us to score.
So simple.
Ash and I had to work seamlessly to stop him.
Yep. Simple.
Charles darted towards us, the puck glued to his stick. Ash and I moved in sync, a dance we’d been perfecting since I’d joined the team. Our aim was clear—keep Charles from finding even a sliver of space to break through or get a shot off. As our cap approached, I could see the determination in his eyes.
