Page 8 of The Fake Play

He sits back, folding his hands over his lap. “More importantly, on your end of things, you need a win. Public relations lives and dies on reputation, and right now?—”

“Believe me, I know.”

If I hadn’t landed this job, I was going to start looking at other career paths. I had to knock whatever the hockey equivalent of this was out of the park. Otherwise, I’d have to relocate to a city where no one knew me working in an entirely new career.

Chapter 3

Luke

The gym is packed, the sounds of clanking weights and feet pounding the treadmills clashing against the steady thump of the music though most of us opt for earbuds. The gym is church to a few of the guys who spend more time here than at home, while the rest of us use it to improve our performance on the ice.

As much as I love the team gym with all its specialty equipment and a wall of windows overlooking the city, offering a spectacular view, the smell is pure gym. Dude sweat, deodorant, and a ton of testosterone. Nothing to be done about that, I suppose. But it always makes me breathe the fresh air in deeply when I leave.

Row after row of equipment lines the place. The sauna is a favorite spot of mine, though the indoor pool is the spot to be in the summertime. Atlanta summers are a beast. They almost make me miss California.

Almost. Until I remember fire season.

My family always teases that I left fire season to join the Atlanta Fire. Doesn’t matter, though. Atlanta feels more like home than Los Angeles ever did, and I will never go back there ifI can help it. I didn’t visit much during the off-season, and to my surprise, my dad got it when he came to Atlanta to visit me.

He said he’d never seen me so relaxed before. I was glad he understood why I didn’t come home much. It always bothered me, thinking he and Mom resented the fact that I didn’t fly back often. But he confirmed she was fine with it, she was just too busy to come see me as much as he did. Absenteeism was a part of their business, unfortunately.

Big-time actors didn’t get much downtime, always heading from one gig to the next. So, when Dad comes to visit between jobs, we always make the most of it. He likes the vibrant nightlife and the lack of earthquakes but that’s about it. Otherwise the weather is too humid and the food is too good. He’s complained thathe gains five pounds in a week and that if he stays any longer he’ll never book another gig. I vowed the next visit would be me in LA, but I hadn’t made that happen just yet. Once theseason is over, though, I’ll make the trip.

The guys like to ham it up in the gym, just your typical locker room bullshit, but some of them can take it too far. Justin drones on with his usual vaguely sexist jokes until Sebastian shuts him down with, “You know what women call guys who repeat ‘make a sandwich’ jokes?”

“No.”

“Single.”

Alek snorts a laugh, patting Sebastian’s shoulder before spotting him on the bench but Justin rolls his eyes in irritation. I never really got Justin's brand of humor—variations of tired, gross jokes that guys tell in locker rooms. Nothing any of us haven’t ever heard before. Why he thinks that’s the height of humor is beyond me. It comes across like he’s bitter about an ex-girlfriend or something.

He sneers. “Nelly’s got you whipped, man.”

“Maybe,” Sebastian grunts under the strain of the weight. After racking the bar he says, “But at least I’m getting laid.”

Newly single Justin nearly winces. “Yeah, sure, but for how long? You know the difference between a wife and a girlfriend, right? Sixty pounds and no sex drive.”

No one laughed. I think they’re as tired of his jokes as I am.

Sebastian smiles at him. “I’m sure your hand will think that’s funny tonight when you’ve greased her up. Do you put lipstick on it, too, for the complete girlfriend experience?”

I can’t help but chuckle while Justin grumbles under his breath about how feminists are ruining everything as he adds more weight to the chest press. Out of everyone on the team, Justin has the biggest chip on his shoulder when it comes to women. Part of me thinks he’d be a better man if he just got laid, but no woman deserves that kind of guy, so we’ve never tried to wingman for him.

I’m in the middle of a set of squats, my muscles burning in that satisfying way. Everyone needs a good squat, hockey players more than other sports. All our power comes from our asses. Our glute muscles are the drivers for every movement we do. So squats are not something I can afford to sleep on, no matter how much my muscles beg me to stop.

I hear the doors to the gym swing open but I can’t see who walked in from where I stand. Alek, now almost eye-level with me since he and Seb switched spots, glances up from his bench press and whistles. “Rookie’s here.”

I finish my set and rack the weights, wiping the sweat from my forehead as I turn to see the new kid walking in. He strolls in like he owns the place, already cocky. Impressive given we don’t even know his name yet and he hasn't played a single game with us. We’ll have to break this one in sooner rather than later based on how he carries himself, pretending to be in charge. Puffery can make or break a player.

Coach follows him in and claps his hands, calling us all to attention. Everyone loves Coach. People have said he’s a silver fox, having gone gray long before he should have, but I think the job might have been what did him in. If there is anyone we can trust, it’s Coach, and we all lean on him pretty hard.

He gently slugs the kid on the shoulder, smiling. “Alright, listen up. This is Lucas Duvall, our new winger. Let's make him feel welcome.”

I give Lucas a nod but he doesn’t return it. Instead, he looks around the gym with a smirk like he’s already decided he’s better than us. Great. I had hoped I’d mistaken his posture for something else but nope. Another cocky jock. Just what we need, more attitude on a team already full of it. He’ll either fit right in, or we’ll have to make him fit in. I have a feeling it’s going to be the latter of the two.

Coach asks, “So, do you go by any nicknames?”

“Luke.”

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