Page 24 of Broken Promises

“Unlike the other photographers, Ben is going to be around as much as possible. He’s going to be getting pictures of practice, games, travel, you idiots dicking around in the locker room, you name it. Management wants to make this team all anyone can talk about.”

“I don’t think Monroe’s ugly mug is going to help with that,” Slava says. I throw the wadded-up ball of stick tape at him.

“That ugly mug pulled a smoking hot wife,” Martinez says.

“Dude, quit hitting on my wife!” I complain.

“It’s got him to stop hitting on my wife, so I’m all for it,” Oliver Bouchard, our goalie, says as he shrugs on his practice jersey.

“Get your asses on the ice and try to look impressive,” Coach says, leaving us with Ben.

“Do you have a wife?” I ask Ben.

“No. Never will.”

“Husband?” I ask.

“Not yet,” he says, but his brown eyes are pinned to me, waiting for my reaction.

“Can you get one so my wife isn’t Martinez’s target?” I ask, smiling.

Ben smirks and looks over at Martinez, who shrugs. “I’m an equal opportunity instigator.”

“What’s the plan?” Gideon asks, nodding to the camera slung across Ben’s chest.

“I’m going to get some shots of you guys getting ready. Some close-ups of you tying your laces, strapping on pads, things like that. Keep your compression shirts on and the bottom half of your gear, and I’ll get some candids of you talking and laughing.”

“You don’t want shots of our abs?” Martinez asks, seeming genuinely shocked.

Ben shakes his head. “This isn’t about thirst traps. We’re going for teamwork, friendship, family friendly, that type of angle.”

“Can you send me some good ones to send to my wife?” Gideon asks.

“Me too,” I say. “But mostly me. My wife isn’t able to go to as many games as his wife.”

“Wait. My wife is filming a movie in Greece right now. I want pictures to send her,” Bouchard complains.

Ben raises his hands. “All photos that aren’t being used by the team are going into a drive that you will all have access to. I’m sure you can find something there.”

“Alright. Get dressed and let Ben work his magic,” Gideon says.

The mood in the locker room lightens significantly with the promise of action shots for our wives. Most of the guys are either married or have girlfriends they want to show off to. We’re coming off of a tough loss to Dallas last night, and we have to go straight from this practice to the bus to travel to Pittsburg, so the break in moping to take pictures was really needed.

I’ve done what Finn asked and thought about how I feel about Willa. I can’t keep denying that there’s something there. Something more than the deep friendship we’ve always had. But I’m not getting that same feeling from her. I want to ask her on a date when we’re both back home, but I’m starting to doubt she’d accept.

I pour all my frustration into practice. I shoot on the net like we’re down by one and the clock has seconds left. I go through the drills like I’m trying out for the team and trying to impress Coach. Sweat pours down my body, and I’m breathing heavily by the time Coach calls an end to practice.

“You didn’t need to go that hard for the camera,” Ben says from behind the lens as he snaps pictures of us filing back into the locker room.

“I was just working through some stuff, so I didn’t take it with me to the game tomorrow.”

“Did it help?” he asks, aiming the lens at Slava, who is taking his shoulder pads off.

I sigh. “Not really.”

“Monroe!”

“Yeah, Coach,” I say. I just walked into the hotel with the rest of the guys, so I can’t imagine what I could’ve done wrong already.

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