Page 67 of As You Ice It

I don’t even roll my eyes at his use of the wordbruh, which I keep trying to ban from his vocabulary—unsuccessfully.

Parker laughs as Liam releases her. His full focus moves to the page in his hand, which he reads over and over like he’s memorizing it.

“I’m glad you’re excited,” she tells him. “Your energy will help pump up the guys. Come on, let’s go.”

I don’t have time to react or freak out before Parker leads us through a few more doors and past a security guard to the locker room. Or dressing room, as I remember Liam saying it could also be called. Parker knocks, opens the door an inch, then calls out a warning through the crack.

“Please warn me if you’re not decent! Women and child about to enter!”

“Are we ever decent?” one of the guys calls, immediately followed by laughter and several voices saying to come in. Parker throws open the door all the way, and then we step inside the Appies’ locker room.

I remember from Parker and Liam talking that the locker room doesn’t actually have lockers, but I’m still surprised by the bright, open space. The floor is some kind of rubber matting with an Appies logo in the very center of the room. A padded bench runs around three of the four walls, with wooden built-in shelving units meant for the gear and nameplates above each guy’s head. It looks like a large, expensive mudroom.

Stalls, Liam said when he was about to take his tour with Parker a few weeks ago. The term fits more now that I’m seeing everything. This is not the idea I had in my head of a room with metal lockers, cheap wooden benches screwed to a cheap tile floor, and a cloud of spray deodorant hanging in the air, barely covering the smell of old socks and body odor.

I realize only in this moment that in my head, I was picturing my junior high locker room where we had to change for gym class.

Not even close.

This room looks expensive, as I guess a professional sports team’s locker room should be. I’ve heard rumors of hockey gear smelling horrendously foul, but at least right now, the only thing I smell is the scent of very masculine deodorant or body wash. There’s a definite vibe in here, a heady anticipation almost like fire, bright and fierce, licking the air and fed by these powerful-looking men preparing for battle.

A few of the guys I’ve met smile at Liam and me, but others are clearly in serious game-day mode as they gear up. There are a lot more unfamiliar faces, including other Appies staff buzzing around, some in polos like Parker and a few men in full suits. Coaches, I’d guess. All in all, there are way more people than I would have anticipated in this room.

Immediately, I feel out of place, what with all the testosterone, and the sense of something larger I’m very much not a part of.

Needing an emotional anchor of sorts, my gaze finds Camden. Not surprisingly, he looks great. His hair is damp, like he just worked out or showered, curling a little at the back of his neck and over the tops of his ears. His dark-gray athletic shirt clings to his torso and arms. Over it, he has on his shoulder pads, which, like most of the hockey gear I feel like has been poorly named, covers his chest as much as his shoulders.

When I was helping Liam get ready the one time, I told him the shoulder pads reminded me of a superhero costume. I think it’s the shape of the chest part, which falls right where a logo would, like Superman’s S. Liam only rolled his eyes and groan-whispered,Mom, stop.

Camden’s skates are on but unlaced, and he’s wearing his hockey pants (again: shorts) while currently taping up his hockey socks (louder for those in the back:notsocks). He has a sort of swagger about him right now, even while seated. It’s in the confident set of his shoulders, the smirky little smile he gives me, like he knows I’m checking him out and ready to hand out a high approval rating.

Another version of Camden that’s new to me: Game Day Camden.

It’s a very good look on him.

“Hey, guys!” Parker claps her hands and raises her voice, though a lot of the guys looked up as soon as she came in.

Logan, notably. The way he gazes at her is somewhere between really adorable—he’s clearly such a simp for her—and also slightly uncomfortable … for the same reason. The raw, unabashed adoration in his dark eyes feels almost too personal to be visible for everyone to see.

Logan does not seem to care in the slightest.

Parker puts an arm around Liam, who is clearly about to perish from sheer excitement. “I’ve got someone special with me today. Some of you have already met Liam.”

“Yo, Liam!” Eli is sitting close enough to reach out for a fist bump.

A few of the other guys call out greetings, and Camden stands, taking a few steps over in his skates to shake Liam’s hand.

Why this just about does me in, I can’t say. But I find my throat suddenly tight with emotion as I watch them.

“Liam.”

“Coach Cam.” Liam stands straighter now, and I can see him giving Camden a good grip with the handshake. He gets an approving nod from Cam.

Before he goes back to his seat, Camden passes me by, his hand gliding down my arm before he gives my fingertips a quick squeeze. My cheeks feel hot, and I’m suddenly zinging with nerves.

Someone whistles, and Cam grabs a ball of discarded tape from the bench and pegs it their way. Not surprisingly, the target is Van, Greyson’s brother, and I almost laugh, remembering her comment about his mouth.

When the laughter subsides, Parker continues in a brisk, business-like tone. “Liam is halfway through our new youth class and doing great. I thought it would be fitting to have him read the lineup today.”

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