Page 3 of Heart of a Defender

The smell of crisp, clean ice mixed with the faint scent of sweat hit me first upon entering the rink. Bright overhead lights reflect against the freshly resurfaced ice where team members are already practicing drills. Coaches stand near the benches with clipboards and serious faces as they watch the team with keen eyes.

I scan the floor as I find my place in the stands. A Zamboni machine emblazoned with the team’s logo sits in the far corner near the ice. Players shout instructions and encouragement as they work through their drills. The sharp sound of skates cutting into the ice and clattering sticks hitting pucks fills the air. I spot Zach immediately, leading his team through drills. His focus is intense, his movements precise, making it clear why he’s their star player.

I find a spot near the boards, close enough to observe but hopefully not close enough to be noticed. I pull out my notebook and start taking notes, watching as Zach commands the rink. He’s good. I’ll give him that. But there’s more to this story than his on-ice skills. Why else would he be worried about me stirring up trouble? I only hope I get the scoop on whatever it is he’s hiding.

The energy inside the rink builds as the players break into groups for specific drills. Defensemen work on positioning, forwards practice shooting and passing, and goalies hone their reflexes. But my eyes focus on Zach. He’s the backbone of the team, playing center position, crucial to both offense and defensive plays. It isn’t surprising with his height and muscular build. Underneath all his gear is a sturdy man with broad shoulders and a wide chest that tapers down to a lean waist and then some. Impressive, to say the least. Not that I checked him out. My press packet came with a list of stats, physical and otherwise, for each player on the team.

By the time practice winds down with a short scrimmage, I’m on the edge of my seat, watching intently, forgetting to take notes. When the final whistle blows, I’m startled back to reality and hurry to catch up with the small crowd of journalists on the beat like me. Though I promised myself I’d never get wrapped up in the excitement surrounding hockey again, I’ve caught the bug, optimistic about where this season will take the Saints. And where it might take Zach and me.

I deviate from the press group and make my way toward the locker room, determined to get some more personal insights from the man with exquisite blue eyes. As players trickle into the long hallway, I spot Zach heading my way. I steel myself, ready for whatever attitude he throws at me.

“Zach, got a minute?” I call out, unsure if he’ll ignore me or throw me a snarky jab.

He stops, staring at me with those piercing eyes, and my heart skips a beat before falling like a rollercoaster on a downward spiral. I catch my breath. There are so many ways this can go wrong.

“Yeah, sure.” He juts his chin upward, never breaking a smile as he struts toward me.

Damn, the man’s gorgeous with or without those devilish lips. Stop thinking about his lips.

“I wanted to ask you about the team’s dynamic this year.” A waft of cedarwood, musk, and a touch of citrus hit me all at once. Good grief. He smells like heaven. There’s no sense trying to hold my breath, so I soak in his scent and focus on regaining my other faculties. “Uh, what’s your approach to leading them?”

His damp, dark brown hair flops over his forehead. He shrugs his broad shoulders and wipes a drop of water from his brow. “It’s about setting an example. If I work hard, they’ll work hard. Simple as that.”

“Can you be more specific?” I press. At this point, I hardly care what comes out of his mouth as long as I can bask in his heavenly scent and drink in his beautiful baby blues. “What exactly are you doing differently this year?”

“We’re focusing on discipline and consistency. Like I said before, last year we had issues, and we’re fixing them.” His jaw tightens. “That’s all you need to know.”

My skin prickles along my spine. I’m so tired of dismissive men telling me what I do and don’t need to know. But I’m irritating him, too, which means I’m on the right track. Keep pressing.

I jot down his response but feel the frustration building in his voice, which oddly turns me on. But he’s giving me the bare minimum, and I’m not buying what he’s selling. I try a different tactic and tell my libido to hold the phone. “You’ve been with the team for a while now. How do you handle the pressure of being their leader, especially after a disappointing season?”

Zach glares at me, clearly annoyed. I’ve hit a nerve. Good. My tummy does a little hip hip hooray flip-flop.

“I thrive on pressure. It’s part of the game. Anything else?” He steps to bypass me, but I step in time with him and block his exit.

He’s not the only one who can make defensive plays.

“Actually, yes,” I say, not backing down. I’m rather enjoying this game of passive aggression. “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?”

His eyes narrow, and I can see the irritation flare across his face. That did it. I finally get a reaction that isn’t rehearsed.

“My personal life is just that—personal.” His jaw tightens. “I don’t let it interfere with my job, nor will I allow the press to interfere with my family.”

I meet his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. Overbearing jocks like him are the reason I didn’t want this assignment in the first place. Past memories flood to the forefront, yet I hold my ground. My heart pinches, and I resist the urge to drop my line of questions. I won’t back down. I won’t cower. I know my worth, and my questions are valid.

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

He takes a step closer, his voice low and tense. “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.”

My cheeks flush with anger. “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 a career in the spotlight.”

He stares at me for a long moment, the tension crackling between us. He surprises me when he shakes his head and walks away, leaving me standing alone with my heart pounding and guilt needling its way into my gut.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. This story is going to be more challenging than I thought. Zach Brooks is a wall of defenses, and breaking through will take everything I’ve got. But I’m not backing down. I’ve faced tougher challenges than this.

As I pack up my things, I replay our conversation in my head. He’s hiding something, and I’m determined to find out what. This story is about more than just hockey. It’s about the people behind the game, their struggles, their triumphs. And I’m going to uncover every bit of it.

No matter how many face-to face-clashes it takes.

---