Page 5 of On Thin Ice

I glanced around the workout room. It was state of the art and I couldn’t have asked for a better space. The owners of the Stampede had spared no expense to give us everything we needed, including offering us housing in a brand-new condo building that most of us ended up living in. Maybe living in the same building with the bulk of the team, along with working every day with them, could be a bit much, but I loved it.

There were only a handful of us in town at the moment, but more would be showing up daily since training camp wasscheduled to start in the next week. I couldn’t wait to get back on the ice. Not that I’d stayed away from it during the off-season. Slacking on training year-round was the quickest way to end your career, and I was only twenty-five. I had a long fucking career ahead of me, hopefully.

“We’re grabbing dinner at Tipsy tonight. You in?” Xan asked, barely out of breath as our feet pounded on the treads.

“Sure,” I said. Tipsy Steer was the unofficial Stampede bar. Had everything we needed: near the arena, good food, stellar beer list. What more could a bunch of hockey players want to wind down or celebrate a win?

A few of the other guys showed up, jumping onto the other machines in the room, and we caught up on what we’d all done for our too-long summer. Chirps were thrown, and casual bets about who could lift the most or who was going to best Micah’s pull-up record from last year’s training camp were lobbed. The usual mix of ribbing, and it felt fucking great. I’d traveled for part of our time off, but I’d ended up spending too much time in Montreal, where my family lived close by. Too close. I’d wanted to play in the local pro league to keep my training up, but that also meant that my family could show up whenever they wanted—and my overbearing father had, multiple times. Usually, with a hockey buddy of his who was an “expert” on how I could improve my game.

I was grateful to be back in Denver, away from my father. He’d played in the NHL for two seasons before destroying his knee, so he’d been harping on me since I laced up my skates for the first time when I was four. I was better than him, and that wasn’t ego talking, just straight skill and stats, but he was always on me to be the best, to be gritty and win at all costs. He’d spent this past summer giving me shit for ending up on an expansion team and not making the playoffs.

I should’ve stayed in Denver just to avoid his bullshit, but I would’ve felt guilty ducking my mom, too, so I’d gone and immediately regretted it. Unlike Dad, Mom was indifferent about everything, and I knew I shouldn’t have let it bother me as much as it did. She never pushed me in hockey, but she used my father’s single-mindedness as a reason to drive home her point of him being a shitty father and all-around person.

Fucking dysfunctional nightmare.

I internally shook my head and focused on being present. They were back in Montreal, and I was in Denver with my teammates. I needed to tap into the energy that always came with the start of training camp and a new season. We could only go up after last year, and we were going to the fucking playoffs this time. I was determined. Yeah, it didn’t entirely would hinge on me, but I was going to put in my all to help get us there.

And not just to get my old man to shut the fuck up for once.

I hopped off the treadmill and did a circuit with weights to get in a full-body workout. I’d hit the ice tomorrow, and I couldn’t wait. The rest of the morning flew by with teammates coming and going. This was my element, and I was so damn happy to be back in it. Yeah, I missed my old team. I’d been a Striker for five years, but I’d settled in with my new team last year, and Denver was starting to feel like home.

***

Later that afternoon, I opened the door at Sugar on Top, a local bakery that the guys and I all frequented, and not just because the owner was currently dating one of my teammates. Her baked goods were to die for. I had a sweet tooth to rival that of pretty much anyone on the team, and I couldn’t resist stopping in whenever I was in the general vicinity of the place.

Who was I kidding? I’d walk a few extra miles just to grab one of Anna’s cinnamon chip scones.

“Hey, Dom, it’s been a while,” Anna said when I walked toward the counter.

I tapped my fingers on the glass. “Just got in yesterday.”

Jordan, the manager, laughed. “That explains it.”

I grinned. “What can I say? I can’t resist your sweets.”

Jordan rolled her eyes. “Cinnamon scone and an iced mocha with an extra chocolate swirl coming right up.”

“Should I package up a box for the guys?” Anna asked. She was always supplying us with baked goods. It amazed me that she managed to fall for the one guy on the team who didn’t like sugary goodness. Santa was seriously missing out.

“I’ll never say no to that,” I said, flashing her a smile.

Then I swore I heard someone mutter my name. Actually, it had sounded like,Dom, you never change, dripped in sarcasm.

I turned and froze.

“Holy shit. Ally?” I dumbly asked, staring at the woman who was never far from my thoughts. She wasn’t exactly an ex since we never really dated. Just a shit ton of flirting and a few hookups during my first three seasons as a Striker. She was also the younger sister of one of my old teammates, so I should’ve stayed away from her, but she was fucking addicting with her soft black hair that I loved sinking my fingers into and a mouth that kissed like a fucking dream. Not to mention all the other amazing things she could do with that mouth.

Fuck. My cock stirred, thinking about our most recent hookup at the end of last season when we’d played the Strikers in San Francisco.

The team had stayed in town for an extra night, and I ended up at Crash and Byrne, the Strikers’ favorite bar, to catch up with some of my old teammates. After a couple of beers, Ally showedup, and we went back to her place. We’d never been able to keep our hands off each other whenever we got near one another.

And now she was sitting in my favorite bakery, with her perfectly arched brow, giving me a look I couldn’t fully decipher.

What was she doing in town?

“Hi, Dom.” She fidgeted with the napkin next to her plate.

Ally never fidgeted.

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