Page 14 of Fall Wherever They May

“I figured you might be a little overwhelmed. Here’s an extra tablet that we use in physiotherapy. You’ll find information on each player,” he says, tapping on the little device, causing the screen to light up. He pulls up one of the players. “This tablet stores their name, picture, stats, and injuries. I’ll need that back before preseason training starts, but this information should help you learn more about who the players are and what we’re working with.”

“Oh, my goodness. This is so helpful. Thank you so much!” I take the tablet in one hand and shake his hand with the other.

Hannah looks between the two of us with an excited smile. “Ready to go to your office?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I state nervously. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Dr. Winslet.” I shake his hand again.

“The feeling is mutual.”

Hannah continues upstairs to give me the rest of the tour before leading me to my office, where I find a mess of stacked papers on my desk. My eyes widen in response.

“Yeah, sorry about that. We didn’t really know what to do with everything, so we didn’t clear it out. I’ll give you time toorganize everything to your liking, and then we can talk more.” Hannah gives me a sympathetic smile and turns to leave.

“Hey, Hannah?” She turns back around. “Thank you . . . for everything.”

Hannah nods her head and walks out the door.

Sorting through the mess, I categorize what I think needs to take priority. I clean and box up someone else’s old memories left behind. Time flies, and by noon I’m starving, so I decide to leave the tablet as an after-lunch project. I trek down the never-ending hallway towards the game room, but when I get there, it’s empty. Looking around in a panic, I catch movement through the glass and make my way over to peer down at the ice. Tucker is on the ice, skating with a hockey player.Damn it.What the hell is he doing?Releasing a huff, I make my way down to the rink. I make it halfway down the stairs when my eyes widen, and my face drains of color. I quickly recover, putting on a mask of indifference.

CHAPTER FIVE

Cal

Rain pelts down on the windshield, setting the mood for the day as I head to the practice facility. Of course, every day has been like a dark cloud hanging over my head for the past four years, so what else is new? I park at the back entrance and make the trek into the facility. Due to the wet clothes and shoes, the cold air from the air conditioner slices through me, causing an involuntary shiver to course through my body. Goosebumps pebble my tanned skin.

I arrive at the locker room, strip out of my wet clothes, change into my practice gear, and make my way onto the ice with my gloves in hand. As I go to put the glove on my left hand, I flex my fingers, looking down where my wedding ring resided. Shaking my head to clear the thoughts of my doomed marriage, my hand enters the glove, and a new memory pops up out of nowhere. A foreign electric current shoots through my body at the thought. The deep green eyes. The pointed and disgusted looks. That smart fucking mouth. Her long, black hair blowing into her face.

I’ve been a professional athlete for almost a decade, and women usually throw themselves at me, giving me unwantedattention. Not that girl. In fact, I’m pretty sure she hates me. And, though the feeling is completely mutual, the way she met me toe-to-toe was something I have never experienced.

Shaking myself of the thoughts of that infuriating raven-haired woman, I skate laps around the ice to warm up. I grab a basket of pucks, dump them onto the center of the ice, and take shot after shot after shot. Rounding the crease and stopping quickly, my blades shoot ice across the goal line as I take yet another slap shot. Over and over, my drills continue.

A water bottle sits on the boards. I snatch it up and squirt the cold liquid into my mouth, then skate over to grab the pylons when movement catches my eyes. I look up and notice a boy standing in the window of the game room upstairs. Focusing back on the drills, I disregard him and lay out the equipment. I’m on the last drill when echoes of someone running down the stairs catches my attention.

The kid looks familiar, but I can’t quite place him; he’s definitely not a teammate’s kid—I know all of them. He’s sporting a baseball cap with our team logo on the front, and his green eyes are wide. His mouth is open in awe, but he quickly recovers. The boy takes his hat off, runs his fingers through his hair, then puts the cap on backwards. Taking a step down, he casually leans against a handrail, arms crossed tight across his chest and feet crossed at the ankle. I can’t help but chuckle at how much his body language resembles my usual stance.

“Excuse me, sir, are you Callan Miles?” He calls out. Shaking his head, then tilting it up, he says to no one in particular, “Shoot. That’s stupid. Of course he is.”

I give him a nod and carry on with my deke drills. Slapping the puck against the boards, I let it bounce back before cradling it with my stick. I skate around the ice, pivoting my skates left-right-left through the pylons, deking again, coming to a sudden stop. Ice flies into the crease. I rear my stick back,take a slapshot to send the puck flying into the net. When I turn around, the kid is standing on the ice. I close my eyes tight.What the fuck?

“Can you please teach me how to do that?” He looks up at me timidly. And shit, something about the expression on this kid’s face just won’t allow me to tell him no.

“Uh . . . yeah. Sure. Do you skate, kid?”

“I rollerblade sometimes, but my mom takes me ice skating at Christmas every year. I’m not as good as you, though.”

I scratch the back of my neck.I didn’t sign up for this shit, but I can’t be an asshole to a kid.My mind battles with itself over how I want to play this until I finally decide. “Come with me,” I give a reluctant sigh.

We walk to the supply room where Ivan’s son, Elija, usually keeps his skates. I find them sitting right next to a little girl’s pink skates and hand them to him, “Here, try these on.”

Making our way back to the rink, the kid sits on the bench right outside the ice, pulls off his shoes, and slides the skates on.

“Do they fit?” I push around on the toe and the sides to make sure.They seem to fit.

“Yes, sir. It feels like it.” He ties them, but they’re too loose.

“Lesson number one: make sure your skates are always tight.” I look at him, “What’s your name?”

“Tucker, sir.” He holds out his hand to shake mine. I can’t help but notice how polite he is, and the grip this kid has when he shakes my hand is firm and confident.

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