Page 2 of Power Play Pursuit

“Have fun at practice,” Marissa says before gathering her strawberry blonde hair into a ponytail. After the two lovebirds kissagain,we’re finally ready to leave. I try to catch one last glimpse of Elizabeth, but she’s nowhere in sight.

We shuffle out to the small pedestrian street, then continue to our hockey arena.

“What do you think she sees in that guy?” I grumble, taking a sip of my coffee as my mind wanders back to her. “Elizabeth and Rogers, I mean.”

He arches an eyebrow. “What, besides the fact that he’s a popular hockey player?”

“Right.” Looking away, I take another sip. I never really understood why they were together. She's not that type of girl. Hockey means nothing to her, and the guy doesn’t exactly possess other redeeming qualities. “He treats her like crap, though,” I say, Elizabeth’s expression from earlier flashing in front of me again. “Ijust wish she’d get out of that toxic situation.”

Elizabeth has been with Rogers for pretty much the entire time I’ve known her, and he’s always been a total loser. And I’m not just saying that because he plays for the Sharks—the other New York hockey team and our biggest rival—but because they’ve been more off than on. The guy cheated and bails on her every other week.

Miles snickers, adjusting his Raptors cap on his head. “Yeah, we all know you’ve got it bad for her, dude. But even if she dumps him, that doesn't mean she’d suddenly be interested in you.”

It’s like he just dropped an ice bucket over my head. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Just looking out for you, bro.”

I snap my head toward him, narrowing my eyes. “Dude, what gives? I thought you’d be all optimistic and pro-love now that you’re a married man.” Marissa and Miles got hitched a few months ago in a surprise wedding.

He flashes me a bright smile. “I am.”

“Clearly,” I scoff.

We steer the conversation to hockey, and I try to push Elizabeth to the back of my mind. I can’t afford any distractions. As the defending champs, we have even more pressure to win this year. We’re still in the pre-season, with the first official game kicking offthe season tomorrow night, but we can already feel the weight of all those expectations. From the media, the fans, the coaching staff, and most of all, from ourselves. Winning the Stanley Cup was a dream come true, but we’re all hungry for more.

As we arrive at the practice rink that’s next door to the arena, we notice a few fans clamoring near the entrance. Raptors fans are the best fans in the NHL, and it always puts a smile on my face to meet them.

“Hey, guys!” I boom, suddenly animated. “Thanks for coming out this morning.”

They’re all smiles, stoked to meet us. As Miles and I sign jerseys and snap some selfies, I’m in my element. I smile, tell bad jokes, and entertain them the best I can. Hockey is a sport, but we’re also known for putting on a great show. Ultimately, we’re entertainers. A good number of fans also ask me for a hug. That’s my thing. I love hugging. A hug is so powerful, and mine are amazing—or so I’ve heard.

“See? You don’t even need Beth,” Miles teases as we’re walking into the building. “You can pick out pretty much any girl in New York, and she’ll go out with you for the hug alone.”

I just roll my eyes, though he’s not totally wrong. My teammates and I do get a lot of attention from fans. But there’s only one woman I’m interested in.

We reach the cafeteria, and whenwe arrive, everyone is still chowing down on breakfast.

“There you are!” shouts Maxime Beaumont, the other starting winger. “Thought you’d never come.”

“Relax, Frenchie Boy,” Miles says, sitting down across from him. “We know you guys need us. Adler just had to fill his hug quota for the day.”

Caleb Hawthorne—our captain—shoots me a sly grin, raking a hand through his dark brown hair. “Have you started charging yet?”

“Haha, very funny. It’s called being friendly and showing gratitude to our loyal fans,” I say, snatching some bread. I admit, it does take a bit of time to get through all those hugs, but like I said, I love hugging people, and I don’t want to disappoint fans who’ve been waiting hours for me.

“And anyway, it’s Miles’ fault we’re cutting it close. He was all over Marissa this morning.”

A chorus of “Ohhh” echoes around us as our teammates snicker.

“Shut up,” Miles says, his face reddening. Yep, six-foot-two, two-hundred-pound defenseman Aaron Miles is blushing.

But he doesn’t seem one bit bothered by our teasing, and I get it. We might give him a hard time, but Aaron Miles has everything he wants. The only one who comes close is Beaumont, who’s getting married next month. Professionally, we might have it all, but as I get older, I’m starting to think winning the Stanley Cup is not the most important thing in life.

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"Relationships are not always easy, but they shouldn’t be this hard either."

Beth Bowen

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