Chapter 6 Striding into the Lions' arena for my first NHL game has me alive with nervous anticipation. I'm wearing a new custom suit, made for me by some designer I've never heard of but Fisher raved about. And I gotta admit, he was right about splurging out on a great suit, because I feel pretty damn good in this getup. It's black with white pin stripes and a simple white dress shirt beneath it with a turquoise tie that matches the turquoise in our jerseys. I've got my pregame drink order in hand, a dirty chai latte, and cameras from the Lions media team click wildly as I walk down the long hallway that leads to our dressing room. Penn is on my left, also dressed to the nines thanks to Fisher's suit guy, and Fisher is on my right. As he passes one of the cameras, he winks and does a finger gun. I ignore him and walk faster so I'm not in a photo with him acting like a dumbass. When we arrive inside the dressing room, we change quickly into our gear and head out onto the ice for warmups. Sandine and Carver have left me alone so far, thank goodness. After the last few days, I'm not sure I could handle more stress. First the nepo baby thing, then finding out I'm living with a woman and a cat. I woke up yesterday morning to find Ally padding barefoot towards the bathroom that I guess we now share, beating me to the shower. She was wearing some ridiculous pink silky pajama shorts and a camisole that sent me running in the opposite direction. I ended up spending most of the day at the iceplex, then worked out to waste more time, and then had dinner at Mitch and Andie's house...all to avoid Ally. And Harry. I hate cats. The loft was perfect until two nights ago. But when I skate onto the ice, my whole body relaxes. No place feels like home quite like the ice does. I've felt that way ever since losing my parents back in fifth grade. The cold iceplex and the swish of my skates was my solace then, and it still is. I skate in a few circles in our zone before dropping down and stretching my hip flexors. I spot Penn and Fisher shooting pucks at the goalie, which he blocks deftly, and end my stretching. When I make it to the guys, the goalie skates out of the net and starts his own stretching routine. Penn smiles as he looks around in awe. "Our first NHL game; can you believe we're actually here?" We've been dreaming about this day since our first practice together in college. "Wild, right?" I grab a puck with my stick and line it up to shoot into the empty net. Right as I pull my arm back to send it, Fisher's booming voice nearly breaks my ear drums. "Hey! Ally!" My head swivels to where he's looking, and the puck misses the net by about a foot. I scowl as I spot Ally beyond the plexiglass, grinning and waving at Penn and Fisher. Her blonde hair is down today, falling over her shoulders, and she's wearing a pink hoodie and light blue jeans. "Puck," I mutter to myself, careful with my language so I don't add any more stickers to my chart. I glance at the biscuit that missed the net. This is exactly why I didn't want any distractions. And Ally is definitely a distraction. I close my eyes and remind myself she's just another pretty girl. There's never been a girl who could distract me from my goals, and new roommate or not, this one's no different. I can live across the hallway from her and her damn cat and play my ass off and have a killer year. It's not that big of a deal. It's the same inner speech I gave myself this morning when I walked into my previously pristine bathroom and saw her makeup products strewn all over the countertop. Penn nudges me in the side. "Dude, say hi to Ally." Swallowing, I look over at the glass and give her a curt nod. Her smile falters, and she mimics my movement, giving me a nod back. Yeah, she's not any happier about me than I am about her. "She's a nice girl, Downsby," Fisher says. "What's your problem?" I grind my teeth in annoyance. "Well, for starters, you never mentioned that some random girl you went to college with and her furry friend were moving in. And secondly, I didn't want any distractions this year, and now⁠-" Penn cuts me off with a low whistle. "Ahhh, now it makes sense. She's under your skin." Fisher waggles his eyebrows. "Dude. Why didn't you just say so?" I tut. "She's not under my skin; I⁠-" "Protesting just makes you sound more guilty," Penn crows, and I expect Fisher to take another jab at me, too, but instead, his expression grows uncharacteristically serious. "Listen, just be careful with her. She's been through a lot." His comment ignites my curiosity, and I want to know more about Fisher and Ally's connection. He's a total ladies' man, but he doesn't flirt with Ally at all...he treats her more like he's her protective big brother. I bury my curiosity and sigh heavily. "She's not under my skin, and I don't need to be careful with her, because I won't be pursuing her in any way." Penn huffs a laugh. "I've never seen you flustered over a girl like this." "I didn't know you were even capable of looking at girls in the same affectionate way you look at your hockey stick," Fisher adds, his previous glimmer of seriousness replaced by his usual smirking assholery. "Can it, both of you," I order. In response, Penn and Fisher both grin at me dumbly. I roll my eyes, deciding this conversation is useless, and skate off to finish warming up. Once warmies are over, we head back to the locker room where I'm looking forward to hearing my notoriously grumpy brother-in-law deliver a motivational speech. This should be interesting. Coach Anderson follows us into the dressing room, and we all sit down and await his words. He's wearing a black suit that can barely contain his big shoulders and a purple tie that's probably killing him. Mitch Anderson recently retired from a long career as a defenseman for the D.C. Eagles, whose colors are navy and red, and he's mentioned it still feels traitorous to don the Lions' purple and turquoise. Mitch unbuttons his suit jacket and shoves his hands into the pockets of his black pants. "Well, it's our first game, boys." He arches one eyebrow. "Not just for the season, and not just for the rookies." His eyes dart to me. "But for me and Slater as your coaches." He nods to his assistant coach, Sebastian Slater, who's standing beside him. Coach Slater is the polar opposite of Mitch, with dark blond hair and a permanent smile on his face. Like Mitch, Slater is also a recently retired NHL player who's just getting into coaching. He spent most of his career playing as a forward for the Atlanta Cyclones, and he's another player I grew up watching and admiring. I'm looking forward to learning from these men, and though they're both rookies at their jobs, I think they'll make a good coaching team. "We all have something to prove, but let's work together." Mitch pauses, his eyebrows set in a straight, no nonsense line. "Now get back out there and kick ass." I laugh as my teammates stand and cheer for Mitch's speech. Mitch ignores them, turning and making his way to our bench. Coach Slater follows with an iPad in hand, a smile playing on his lips, like he's holding back a laugh. Oil and water, those two. Once the game starts and I'm back on the ice, I'm no longer nervous about being on the first line, or focusing on the massive crowd surrounding us...I'm zoned in on the puck. I'm moving on the ice, snagging the puck from a player on the opposing team, and my instincts take over. Suddenly, this isn't my first NHL game, I don't have anything to prove, and I'm just playing hockey and doing my best the way I always have. I pass the puck to our forward as we skate toward the offensive zone and get into a position close to the net. He hits the puck back to me, and I tap it into the corner, the black cylinder barely sliding past the goalie's skate. The buzzer blows and the arena goes wild. Suddenly I'm surrounded by my linemates, congratulating me on my first NHL goal. I blink around in disbelief, trying to fully absorb what just happened within minutes of taking to the ice. The feeling is unreal, a high like no other. Everything I've worked so hard for. So why do I find myself sneaking a look at Ally in the crowd, to check if she's jumping up and down and cheering like everyone else? I have no idea. But I can't find her. The rest of the game goes by with less fanfare, and I don't score again. But the Lions win their first game of the season two to one, and we're all on a high from our win. In the dressing room after the game, Mitch-er, Coach Anderson-gives me a rare grin as he hands me the puck from my first NHL goal, and we pose for a photo. Fisher gets a puck too, his first NHL assist. He poses with our coaches, and while Slater is the picture of relaxation, Mitch just grimaces at the camera. His grimace only deepens when Fisher, dumbass that he is, tries to put his arm around him. Mitch shrugs him away. "You stink, don't touch me." With that, Mitch stalks off, and Slater looks at Fisher. "I mean, he's not wrong," he says with a shrug before following my brother-in-law out of the dressing room. Fisher, meanwhile, is grinning. "Your brother-in-law is so cool. I think he secretly adores me." I snort. "Yeah, okay." As I start removing my gear, anxious to shower, Carver and Sandine meander over toward us. My spine straightens, bracing myself for what they might say. "Well, well, well. Nepo Baby had a decent first game," Sandine says. Carver grins, and it actually looks somewhat friendly. "Yeah, good job, kid." I relax, smiling back. "Thanks." "Not sure if anyone told you guys, but rookies always host the post-game party when we win our first game," Sandine adds. "So, it looks like we're celebrating at your place tonight." "Sorry," I shrug. "I don't own the place, so no can do." Fisher perks up. "I own it, and we're in!" I sigh heavily and shoot him a narrow-eyed look. "Oh, come on! It's our first win!" He pulls me toward him by dragging a sweaty arm around my neck. "You need to have more fun, Downsby." "All I want to do is shower and go to bed." Carver snickers. "Going to bed would be so much sweeter if you had a warm, feminine body beside you to help you celebrate." He winks. "And luckily for you kid, we have a list of girls who are dying to party with the Lions tonight." I try to keep the disgust off my face. I somehow doubt I'd be even remotely interested with the women who hang around Sandine and Carver. If I were remotely interested in any woman, which I'm not. Penn yanks his jersey over his head, smiling big. "Did someone say party? Can we order food for said party? I'm starving." "Puck, yeah," Fisher says, clearly trying to get on board with our superstition now that he's racking up so many stickers on the swear chart. First person to ten stickers has to take out the trash, and Fisher is not the household chores type. "I've got you covered," Fisher continues. "I happen to know the best pizza place in San Fran." He then sends our address into our team text thread. I want to find a time capsule and shoot myself into the future so I don't have to be at this party. Hockey players have a reputation for working hard and playing hard, and I know Sandine has a particularly wild reputation. Who even knows when I'm going to get to sleep tonight? Maybe I can stay the night with Mitch and Andie...wait, no, Andie's still sick. I don't have time to get sick. So, I guess I'm stuck hosting a party. Penn sees my glum face and nudges me. "Cheer up, buttercup. Winning, parties, women, us getting lumped with hosting and probably also footing the bill...well, you gotta view it as all being a part of rookie season, my friend." All I want to do is play hockey, dammit. But I guess nothing is that simple. "Pucksake," I say glumly. Penn grins. "That's the spirit." Discover our latest featured short drama reel. Watch now and enjoy the story!