Page 29 of Pucking Around

I want to know what she’s thinking. Did she see my save? Did she see my slow recovery? Coach was distracted trying to make her laugh. I nearly missed the block because I’m too afraid to do a full right-side extension. Too afraid I’ll pull the groin muscle worse.

I’ve been doing all I can to rehab it on my own. It’s not my first pull and it won’t be my last. I just need some more ice, massages, and a better stretching routine. The scouts from the FIHA are coming to watch me play, so I can’t be sitting the bench with a groin pull.

I want to make this Olympic team more than I’ve ever wanted anything. It’s my legacy. My grandfather played for Finland in the Oslo Olympics in 1952. Father was in Lake Placid in 1980. This is my time. Father’s team placed fourth. I mean to make the podium. The Leijonat are good enough. I know who else they’re scouting. They can do it. They can win. I want to be in the net when they do.

“You feeling ready for the start of the season?” says Doctor Price. Her voice is deeper than I expected, smooth like honey.

I nod, dropping her hand as Coach slaps my shoulder pad. “Mars was born ready. He’s in the best shape of his life.”

“Great,” she says. “Then you should sail through your physical no problem. Just let Hillary know his training schedule and I’ll be happy to work around it,” she says at Coach.

“Can do,” he replies.

I’m just standing here on the ice as she turns to walk away. “Wait—”

She glances over her shoulder, one dark brow raised.

“What physical?”

She smiles again. Americans always do that—smile when they don’t mean it. I suppose it’s meant to put people at ease, and it works on most other Americans. To me, it always comes off as disingenuous. Don’t smile unless you mean it. And I don’t wantherfake smiles. I want to earn them.

“All the starting players have their final physicals next week,” she replies. “I’m new to the team, so I’m playing a bit of catch-up here, but I promise I’ll be thorough. We don’t want to miss anything with the eyes of the hockey world focused on the Rays.”

“We appreciate it, Doc,” Eric replies.

Sure, he can smile. He’s not the one under inspection. Meanwhile, my heart stops. “What was your specialty?” I call after her.

“Knees,” she replies. “Hips and knees. I imagine that means you and I will become good buddies this season.” With another nod, she turns and leaves.

Goddamn it.

15

Mars Kinnunen might just be the most intimidating man I’ve ever seen. I thought the man looked big from across the ice. In person, he’s a giant. Then he took that mask off, and my stomach flipped.

Jake and Caleb are pretty boys—perfect jaws, cheekbones for days, the floppy jock hair. All-American athletes. But Mars is…wild. He looks like the toughest guy on a hockey team had sex with a Viking and made a super baby.

He’s got a full blond beard an inch long, trimmed longer under the chin. The rest of his hair is shaved to the skin around his nape, leaving a full head of unruly blond hair at his crown long enough to pull back into a messy knot.

His features are rugged too—his nose sits a little crooked at the bridge, likely from a break; his left brow is scarred in two places. But he has the most beautiful ocean blue eyes, piercing in their intensity. I felt like he was staring into my soul as he scowled at me.

I shake my head with a soft laugh. This has certainly been an interesting first day.

I catch up with Tyler in his office to grab my backpack and he introduces me to Hillary, the team nurse. She’s a lovely, older lady with curly grey hair and kind eyes. She’ll be responsible for scheduling my appointments.

“We’ve got an office ready for you down here,” she says, leading me towards the gym. “It’s easiest to catch the guys during their strength and condition time, so we have a few exam rooms set up right off the floor. It’s a bit like herding sheep,” she adds with a chuckle. “Sometimes you just gotta stick your crook out and snag one. I’ve found the easiest way to get them to come willingly is to catch them on the treadmill. You show me a hockey player who likes the treadmill, and I’ll show you a liar.”

I laugh. “Strong treadmill avoidance. Got it.”

I can already hear the clank and jangle of workout equipment over the boom of loud rock music.

“They’re usually good about turning it down if you can’t hear yourself think,” she calls over the music, pulling open a glass door.

“Wow,” I murmur, stepping inside.

The facility is amazing. You wouldn’t know it from the somewhat nondescript hallway, but the room opens into a gymnasium-like space spread over two levels. There’s the main floor which is all for weightlifting. Several guys are milling around, doing reps and spotting each other. Most are players, but the guys in polos must be the strength and conditioning team.

A wall of glass lined with treadmills to my right lets the guys look down on the main practice rink. It’s already been cleared from the exhibition game, and it looks like figure skating lessons are happening now. Upstairs is a running track.

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