Fake Dating the Defenseman Next Door (Soltero Beach Scorpions Hockey #1)

2. Diego

two

Diego

M y game’s gone to shit.

Frustration rankles up my spine as I skate in a small, tight circle and tap the puck with my stick. I can feel the eyes on me, burning holes into the back of my jersey as I flick my wrist, and into the--nope. Past the net it goes.

Dammit.

No big deal. I’m just trying to find my groove again after the off-season. Adjusting to the shiny new ‘A’ sewn onto the front of my jersey and all the extra pressure that comes with the title.

Alternate captain.

Never thought I’d even get close. But ten years in the league with the team that drafted me and retired my Hall of Fame father might lend me some leadership credibility.

Even if I came into training camp a little off-kilter.

I sigh as my gaze flickers past the glass and up the stands to the back row where my imposing father stands, stone-faced. He doesn’t wave or smile or anything. Just turns and disappears down a hallway, undoubtedly disappointed with my training camp performance so far.

Can’t blame him. This year’s camp has been brutal.

Guys hungry for a roster spot have been playing their asses off, while I struggle to find my footing. I’ve been caught out of position, missed passes, had the puck picked out of my pocket, and even had young guys like that one cocky son of a gun who blew past my tired legs and found the back of the net.

Unlike me and my supposedly renowned slapshot.

Honestly, not a great start to the season when I’d just been honored with the alternate captaincy.

But at least I know why my game’s been off.

My preparation routine has been obliterated and I’m worried I won’t be able to claw it back.

Before every game, I eat a donut. Not just any donut. One made by the OG Donut Queen herself from the best shop in town, A-Glazing Grace’s Donuts.

People think I stay a Scorpion out of loyalty to the team or to my father, or just to keep playing the coolest sport on the planet in a place where I can get sun, surf, and sand year-round, but they’re all wrong.

I stay for Grandma Grace.

Alright, all those other reasons count too, but for six agonizing weeks, her shop’s been closed and not a day goes by that I don’t stroll by, hoping to see her in there doing her thing.

It’s meant to be temporary. The closure. She suffered a bad fall, but last I checked, she said she was doing better. That help was on the way. But with each passing day, my worries deepen. Not just for the sake of my game play, but because Grandma Grace is getting older. She’s run that place solo for so long. Over the years, I’ve noticed that she could do with more help and companionship and I’ve try to do what I can, but with my schedule, I can only do so much.

“You good?” Elias Pahlsson, my best friend and defensive partner turned brother-in-law, jostles me out of my thoughts.

“Yeah, all good. Just clearing the cobwebs, you know. Didn’t train as much I should’ve.”

He grins. “What else is new? Last minute trips to Ibiza, bachelor parties in Cabo, my wedding to your sister in Vegas, rolling deep with a crew to Coachella to celebrate Max’s Dirty Thirty. With Big D, the party don’t stop...”

I laugh, but it comes out choked and uneasy as I shuffle my feet and walk down the narrow hall to the locker room. “Yeah, that’s me. Number one party animal.”

“And soon, you’ll be throwing the big start of the season bash, right?”

Right. My annual season kick-off party. The one I throw every year to foster team bonding and solidify the brotherhood before we get going for another run at the Stanley Cup.

I suck in air through my teeth. “I’m not sure I’m throwing one this year.”

His eyebrows shoot up as he unlaces his skates. “You? Saying no to a party?”

I gesture for him to lower his voice, but it’s too late.

“What? D, you’re not going to throw the kick-off party this year?” shouts our back-up goalie Dominic Davies. “But we’ve never started our season without a Diego De La Cruz special. You’d be breaking tradition.”

Gavin Hammersmith, our captain, reaches across and lays his hand on my forehead. “You sick or something?”

“No,” I bark, scowling and knocking his hand away. All around the room, guys chuckle uneasily and look at me with a mix of curiosity, concern, and disappointment. My heart sinks as I open and close my mouth, searching for some kind of explanation.

It’s not that I’m getting too old for all this, it’s just... I’m not sure that it holds the same appeal it once did. Or maybe I’m just not feeling myself lately. Something’s off.

And between me, myself, and my four walls, I’ve been feeling off my game ever since we wrapped up last season. At first, I thought it was the usual blues that come with getting knocked out of the playoffs and having to nurse the beating my body takes by pushing myself so hard for such a long season.

But as the summer dragged on and I filled up my social calendar with travels, parties, and the occasional companion... I don’t know. It just wasn’t working.

Still. The kick-off party remains tradition. Part of my routine.

As I continue absentmindedly pulling off my gear the exact same way I’ve done since I played in pee wee, I realize I’m still a superstitious creature of habit.

“It’s just… I don’t have any donuts, okay? The shop I go to—the one on the boardwalk—it’s been closed for half the summer. How am I supposed to throw my pre-season party without my pre-game snack staples?”

A collective groan rips through the locker room as guys roll their eyes.

“I swear to God if I have to hear about these damn donuts again,” Maxime Lafontaine, our number one netminder, scrubs at his face with a towel and muffles whatever else he was saying.

“It’s tradition ,” Leonid Aslanov, the big Russian brawler quirks a brow at me and claps me on the shoulder with a loud thwack . “It’s important, no?”

“Yeah, you’re right.” I swallow down the out-of-sorts feeling and force a smile that has Elias’s eyes narrowing at me. “What was I thinking, eh? Can’t start a season properly without it. Come on by Saturday night at seven.”

Cheers go up all around as Elias leans over. “If you don’t want to throw a party, D, you don’t have to.”

Don’t I?

I glance around and see the boost it’s already given the guys. The young ones chattering away excitedly, the veterans’ going back to talking shit and joking. This camaraderie, this brotherhood, is burgeoning because of my ability to bring them together. It’s exactly why I was asked to step up into the alternate captain role and I’m not one to let my brothers, my family, down.

Burying the restless feeling deep, I flash Elias my trademark good boy smile. The one that says I’m still the good time guy, the party hardy playmaker both on and off the ice.

“You know me, Pahlssy. Always down for a party.”

“If you say so,” he shrugs. “I just don’t know how you do it all the time. Your neighbors must love you. You don’t get complaints?”

“Nah, not so much these days. I usually give everyone a head’s up, but next door’s been vacant for a while. No new tenants since Domino moved beachside and got domesticated,” I nod in Dominic’s direction and shake my head. Two of my long-time bachelor buddies have bitten the dust and got themselves all tangled up in love, but watching their faces light up every time they lay eyes on their partners has made me wonder what I’m missing.

“You alright there, bud? You got a funny look on your face.”

I clear my throat and remind myself that I never cared to get tied down into a relationship before, and after seeing first-hand how it all fell apart for my parents, I have no interest in one.

None. Nada. Zip.

So my curiosity about what it must be like to have someone to come home to every night, and have another person light me up from the inside the way those guys do? Territory best left unexplored.

The feeling will pass, much like this crappy camp run I’m having.

All I need is a hit of Grandma Grace’s donuts, a good party, and my world will be set right again.

Donuts or no.