Page 4 of Heart of a Defender

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Zach

The locker room buzzes after another grueling practice. My muscles ache, but it’s the good kind of pain—the kind that means I’m pushing myself to be better. Though catching sight of Madison in the stands didn’t help my concentration any. How could I not notice her? She couldn’t hide in a crowd if she wanted to.

If she thinks I didn’t notice her sitting on the edge of her seat while we scrimmaged, she’s got another thing coming to her. The woman knows hockey. It’s a redeeming quality that has nothing to do with her drop-dead gorgeous looks and snoopy reporter nose.

I towel off and head towards the hallway, hoping to grab a quick moment of peace before the inevitable swarm of reporters. As I round the corner, I see her—Madison Collins—with her notebook and pen ready, looking as determined as ever. I suppress a sigh and brace myself for more questions.

“Zach, got a minute?” she calls out.

I stop, giving her a curt nod. “Yeah, sure.” But before I reach her, she dives right in with questions, like she’s nervous.

“I wanted to ask you about the team’s dynamic this year. What’s your approach to leading them?”

I shrug, keeping my tone even. If I answer her simple questions, she might eventually let me off the hook. “It’s about setting an example. If I work hard, they’ll work hard. Simple as that.”

She doesn’t let up. “Can you be more specific? What exactly are you doing differently this year?”

My patience thins. Under any other circumstance, I’d be happy to have a conversation with Madison. Madison, the person, not Madison, the reporter. “We’re focusing on discipline and consistency. Last year, we had issues, and we’re fixing them. That’s all you need to know.”

A flash of frustration plays across her features before she dips her head to scribble something in her notebook. I’m thrown off balance for a moment. Her eyes seem to change from warm brown and gold to vibrant green.

“You’ve been with the team for a while now.” She stares up at me, defiant, almost daring me to be rude. “How do you handle the pressure of being their leader, especially after a disappointing season?”

I glare at her, irritation bubbling to the surface. “I thrive on pressure. It’s part of the game. Anything else?”

“Actually, yes,” she says, her voice wavering. “How do you balance that pressure with your personal life? I’ve heard you’re very close to your family. Does that ever get in the way?”

My jaw tightens. My family’s a line I’ll defend to my dying day. “My personal life is just that—personal. I don’t let it interfere with my job, nor will I allow the press to interfere with my family.”

Madison meets my gaze, not backing down. In fact, I think I’ve rattled her cage. She’s kind of cute when she’s angry.

“It’s all connected, Zach. People want to know what drives you, what makes you tick. That’s part of the story too.”

I take a step closer, my voice low and tense. If she’d just let my family go, I’d give her what she wants.

Why am I letting her get under my skin like this? It’s crazy.

“I’m here to play hockey, not to be psychoanalyzed. If you want to write about me and the team, fine. But leave my personal life out of it.”

Our tempers flare, and I want to punch my fist against a wall as much as I want to kiss her plump, pouty lips. She’s clearly angry, but she holds her ground.

“I’m here to get the full story, Zach. That includes understanding the man behind the player. If you can’t handle that, maybe you’re the one who needs to rethink things.”

I stare at her, the tension crackling between us. To say it’s a fine line between love and hate strikes a little too close to home. She’s a spitfire for not backing down. That takes balls. But I won’t give her my family. That’s a step too far. I shake my head and walk away before I say or do something stupid. I’m supposed to be an example to the guys.

I grab a bite to eat and head back to the locker room for a quick workout. Madison’s noticeably absent from the handful of reporters hanging around the locker room entrance. I’m not sure if that worries me more than her persistent questions. But I can’t shake our previous encounter. She’s different, tenacious and annoying in an intriguing way. Most reporters don’t push like this. But Madison—she’s relentless. Is she after a story, or is there something deeper to her stubbornness?

I think long and hard about Madison’s questions, about balancing the pressure of leading a team and my personal life. She hasn’t a clue about my family or personal life, but she’s right—it is all connected. But letting her in, letting anyone in, is a risk I’m not sure I’m willing to take. My family’s been through enough and sacrificed too much to stay together, to get me where I am. I owe them the privacy they deserve.

***

I wake early from a fitful night of tossing and turning. Each time I dozed off to sleep, visions of Madison and her chameleon eyes plagued my dreams. Even more annoying was the uncomfortable hard-on accompanying them. Despite the numerous times I fisted the beast, he refused to lie dormant for long.

My phone buzzes with a text from my sister, Lauren. Good luck at practice today! Proud of you!

I smile despite my conflicted disposition. It’s no secret Lauren’s always been my biggest supporter. She also has an uncanny way of knowing intuitively when my mood needs a boost. When Mom got sick, Lauren and I were all each other had. Though Lauren’s younger, she took it upon herself to stand in and be the rock she knew I needed. It’s my turn to return the favor.

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