Page 1 of One Pucking Chance

CHAPTER

ONE

JADEN

Islam the door of my locker closed. The metal reverberates with the motion. Lowering my arm, I bring it to my sides, and it aches. My whole body hurts. I’m no stranger to intense workouts, but this month has done a number on me. Back in high school, I was a three-varsity-sport athlete, and at the beginning of each sports season, the coaches would have something they liked to call Hell Week. During Hell Week, we had two practices every day—one in the morning and one after school—and they whipped us into shape. It was both exhausting and exhilarating at the same time.

Coach Albright, the head of our NHL team, does something similar, but he beats on us for a solid month. September, the month before our season officially begins, might as well be called Hell Month. Our days are filled with lifting, drills, and practice on the ice. If we’re not doing one of those three things, we’re strategizing, watching film, or learning plays. It’s physically and mentally exhausting, with very little downtime. Throw in some exhibition games at the end of September, and I'm spent.

“Yo.” Beckett, one of our starting forwards and team captain, catches sight of my face and chuckles. “What’s wrong with you, J-man?

“I’m just tired, bro,” I respond.

“I hear that.” Bash, our center, tilts his head to the side, cracking his neck. “I’m sore in muscles I didn’t even know existed until now.”

Max, the other starting defenseman and my best friend on the team, smacks me on the shoulder. “Well, you better get some pep in your step because we have that charity thing to do.”

Realization dawns, and I let out a groan. “Oh my God, you’ve got to be kidding me.” I’m not normally this big of a complainer, but after this month, I’m ready for some downtime before our season opener in three days.

Cranes Care is a nonprofit organization run by the Crane hockey organization that has done a lot of wonderful things for people in our community. Usually, I’m all for giving back, but I seriously do not feel very philanthropic at the moment.

Our other starting forward, Cade, leans his shoulder against the metal lockers. He tousles his dark, wet hair, his eyes on mine. “Dude, I don’t know what you’re complaining about. We’ve barely done any events this summer.”

He’s not wrong. Our volunteer schedule has been unusually empty these past few months, though I’m just now realizing that. I’ve been too busy celebrating to notice.

We won the Cup in June and fulfilled our dreams of being Stanley Cup champions. The summer was a blur as we rode the insane high a championship of this caliber brings. There’s nothing better. Every little boy who dreams of growing up to play in the NHL also dreams of winning the Cup. It’s an incredible accomplishment very few people can claim.

Truth be told, I’m sure it’s part of the reason Coach Albright is pushing us so hard, making this Hell Month more taxing than most. He, along with the rest of us, would love a repeat win. Once you experience being a Stanley Cup champion, it’s hard to imagine not winning again. A consecutive win would make us only the ninth team in the NHL’s one-hundred-and-thirty-plus years of history to win back to back. Yet with this group of guys, I believe it’s possible.

“Yeah, well, Penny probably hasn’t organized any because”—I smirk—“we can’t forget the blunder of the closet incident.” I raise my eyebrows as a few snickers sound from around me.

The memory of our PR rep and goalie getting caught in a precarious position in the closet of an animal shelter we were building last spring will never not be hilarious. My laughter halts when the giant brute of a goalie steps around the corner, his nostrils flaring.

“Do you want me to kill you?” Gunner asks, his voice low with anger.

“My bad. Sorry. I keep forgetting you all are married now. I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a joke.” I turn away from him and zip up my gym bag.

“Jokes are meant to be funny,” Gunner deadpans.

“I thought it was funny.” Max laughs. I turn my attention back to the massive goalie and catch his eyes squinted in a death stare. Max’s laughter ceases, and he clears his throat. “I meannotfunny. Definitely not funny.”

It’s true, though. It’s easy to forget that Penny and Gunner are married. They eloped just over a month ago, in August. I honestly never thought Gunner would get married to begin with, and I definitely never thought he’d marry Penny, whom I thought hated him. If I had to put my money on two people tying the knot, it wouldn’t have been those two. Yet when I see them together now, I suppose I get it.

Something has to be in the water because a handful of our players have tied the knot within the past year, and soon, the number of married teammates will outnumber the single ones. I have to admit I’m not a fan of that. And I will not be joining those ranks anytime soon.

There are two reasons I love this job more than anything. The first, of course, is the simple fact that I love ice hockey. It’s the most amazing sport ever to be played, and I’m thankful that I get to play it and make a lot of money doing so. The second, undeniably, is the women. Why would anyone get hitched when they could have a different gorgeous woman every night?

I hear Penny’s heels clicking before I see her. The cadence of her approach picks up speed as the guys start “oohing” in my direction. Someone whispers, “You’re in trouble.” It’s true that Penny is not someone to be messed with.

The second she comes into view, I raise my hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a joke. And you know what? It’s cool. You guys are married. You’re in love. We all support that. I was just saying I’m tired. That’s all.”

She raises her brows and surprises me with a smile. “You know…” She puts her hands on her hips. “If anyone should be looking forward to this event, I would think it would be you.”

“What do you mean by that?” I ask.

“Only that I signed up for this event with you in mind.”

“What are we doing again?” Max asks.

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