Fated Shot

Chapter 3

Jack

The city eases you in about as effectively as an ice bath. In less than forty-eight hours of being back, I’m reminded of all the joys of metropolitan life. Back to the hoards of people walking the street, making it nearly impossible to turn right anywhere, the constant noise of the bustling city, and back to the traffic. As I pull into the underground parking of my building, I try to remember if it was really this bad last year. I’m about to start the second season of my three-year contract in Toronto.

I had a great first year with the team. The boys were welcoming, the crowds are unlike anything I could have imagined, and it was great getting back to Canada. I finally feel settled, which is certainly a novel feeling for me. I was drafted by the Boston Blades out of high school but got a full scholarship to Michigan University. After graduating, I played two years for their farm team in Providence before getting called up for the last year of my rookie contract.

With a one-year, one-million dollar contract to continue with the Blades, I busted my ass all season. Even after all that, I wasn’t sure I was going to get an extension. That’s when I got the call and offer from Toronto. I jumped at the thought of a bit more permanency. The Tundra needed more grit, more physicality on the ice and someone to drop the gloves and protect the boys whenever necessary. Enter me .

In my first game with the Tundra, we were playing my old team. A weird, full-circle combination of nostalgia, nerves, and an insatiable hunger to prove myself. The first few minutes of the game progressed without much excitement, but it didn't take long for the tension to escalate. Theo Benson, firecracker forward and the pride and joy of the Tundra’s fans, closed in on the opposing net, easily maneuvering past the two defensemen in his way. As he wound his stick back, ready to unleash his shot, Brett Maddox, notorious shit disturber and douche extraordinaire, subtly hooked Theo’s skate in an attempt to regain control of the puck. We were never really buddies, and it was clearer than ever that his mission that night was to irk us. The crowd roared to life with expletives and boos, growing even louder when a penalty wasn’t called.

Maddox smirked, relishing in the aggravation from everyone as he slowly circled back into position for the faceoff. The second the puck dropped, my gloves were off.

It wasn’t even close. I landed one clean hit connecting square with his jaw, enough to knock him to the ground, and the refs immediately jumped in to separate us. The entire team was on their skates, slamming their sticks against the boards. The fans went absolutely batshit, and the rest was history.

As I pull into my parking space, an obnoxiously bright red F-150 catches my eye, parked right beside me. I hop out of the front seat and head to the trunk to grab the rest of my bags. Most of my stuff is already out of the Wyndham rental, but I left a duffel bag with essentials there, just in case I want to crash one last time before the season starts and I'm back in the city full-time.

With my hands full, I stride to the elevator. As it ascends to the twenty-fifth floor, the familiar ping of my phone breaks the silence just seconds into the ride. I shift my bags to my right hand and check the email. Subject line: Douglas and Beverly Cameron invite you to join their family… Coach’s start of season barbecue, th is time at their home in Wyndham. I haven’t run into Coach Cameron all summer despite residing within the same fifteen-mile radius for weeks on end.

Douglas Cameron played in the show for ten years before retiring, and he was damn good too. Started in Toronto for six years before getting traded to the Vancouver Vortex to finish out his career. After that, he made the transition to coaching. I can’t think of a single team he hasn’t been a part of. He finds inefficiencies and fills whatever role is expected of him. He was an assistant coach for the New York Knights for four years before taking his place as Head Coach for the Toronto Tundra two years ago.

He has single-handedly turned this team around. The man respects hard work and expects us to put it all out there every night we step on the ice. A lot of the guys love having Coach lead us, myself included.

As soon as the elevator dings, a loud “brODY!” booms through the air before I can take another step. Suddenly, I’m pulled into a bear hug that lifts me an inch off the ground.

“Easy there, Penn. We get it, you lift,” I joke as I take in the guy in front of me. He’s put on even more bulk since the end of last season, filling out his Storm t-shirt, with his tousled blonde hair grown out longer than I’ve seen in a while. “You need a haircut there, buddy.”

“Nah, I’m growing out the flow. It works for me, don’t ya think?”

I smile, pleading the fifth. He’s four years younger than I am, and although I’m a few inches taller and have at least forty pounds on him, the guy is a physical tank.

Penn Brooks has pure skill, energy to spare, and more talent than I could ever dream of. Less than a year into playing in the AHL, he got called up and has been playing for the Tundra ever since. I helped move him into Maplewood Tower midway through last year when we found out he was going to finish out the rest of the season with our team. He’s got the apartment next to mine, which helps me keep an eye on him and keeps him out of trouble.

It took all of two days for this idiot to set the fire alarm off after deciding it was a good idea to roast a marshmallow on his gas stovetop. Keeping him alive and well is just part of my job description at this point, but having known him my entire life, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Penn picks up the bag I dropped to the floor and turns, heading straight toward my door.

“Wrong one, big guy,” I mutter as he leads the way, letting himself in.

“Well, if it isn’t the recluse!” Evan Norwood, our goalie, calls out from the cloud sofa in my living room, feet resting lazily on the coffee table. My brand new coffee table.

“Decided to take your sweet time, eh there, Brody?” My D-partner, Max Dunn, chimes in from next to him. “We’ve been waiting here for an hour. I’m starving.”

“Chill, I already called. They said it’ll be fifteen minutes,” Penn quips back as he settles in on the other end of the couch.

From the kitchen, I hear a voice call out. “Oh, would you leave the man be? He’s a busy guy, isn’t that right, Brody?” As my refrigerator door closes, Scott Sheppard, our captain, appears, holding a bottle of water. He reaches out his hand, and I slap it, pulling him into a quick hug.

“It’s good to see you, Cap. How’s Camille doing? Kaia?” I ask, ignoring the douches on my couch who went back to playing Call of Duty almost immediately.

“Cami’s good, in her element, ya know? Always seems to know what to do. We spent some time in Prince Edward Island with her family. Kaia had her first swim. Couldn’t get her out of the water for twenty minutes.” He smiles, pulling up a picture of their chunky six-month-old daughter in a pool floaty. We catch up for a little bit longer as I scroll through a few more pictures of their family-filled summer. A slight pang of envy settles over me.

Before I have time to dwell on that feeling, the doorbell rings, and Penn calls out to the room, “Pizza’s here, boys.”

Scott grabs his wallet before I even make it to the door. “This one’s on me,” he says, handing me the stack of five pizza boxes.

I manage a “Thanks, Cap,” over the pile and make my way into the kitchen.

Max and Evan bolt off the couch, slap me on the back in greeting, and lean past me to grab slices of pizza from the boxes I set on the kitchen island. My lovely friends, everyone.

I turn to Penn. “How’d you know I was back? I told you I was coming in tomorrow.” He looks back at me, a slight tilt in his head as if to imply I should already know. Realization sweeps over me. This fucker is tracking me.

“It goes both ways, you know. I share my location, you share yours.” A necessity that came about last year when he wandered off one night with a girl from TorontoU and texted me lost at 2 am to come pick him up. I’ve had to sleep with my sound on ever since.

“Stalking’s not a good look, Brooksy,” Max calls back from his reclaimed seat on the couch, mouth full of pepperoni pizza.

“Yeah, thanks, tips. I don’t make a habit of it, unlike some people. Why don’t you tell that to Brod—” Penn starts to joke as he catches the warning look I snap at him. Thankfully, none of the other guys seem to notice and they continue to chow down on the pizza.

Penn knows about my mystery girl, not because I told him, but because this fucker likes to listen in on my conversations. I was FaceTiming Reid, his older brother, one day while he was visiting Penn in Toronto .

Reid Brooks has been my best friend since I was five. We grew up on the same street, always running to catch the bus in the morning and spending our afternoons hanging out after school. We played on the same team for years, carpooling to every practice and game. Penn would try to tag along, too, always wanting to hang out with us. Sure, we would let him join, but it was the two of us who were inseparable. Our bond has only grown over the years, raised like brothers. It’s tough living far from him, but having Penn around is nice too. Most of the time, that is.

Reid kept bugging me to get back on Tinder. I finally admitted that I had my sights set on someone already, a mystery girl I’d seen at the café, but I hadn’t quite worked up the courage to ask her out yet. Not a lie, technically speaking, but I happened to leave out the part that I hadn’t even managed a conversation with her. Penn hasn’t dropped it since.

The doorbell rings again. “Oh yeah, I invited Benner,” Penn calls to the group as he stands up from the couch and walks toward the door .

As it opens, Theo Benson stands in the middle of the doorway. He’s a smaller build, maybe five foot ten, and his light brown hair is cut short, doing nothing to hide his baby face. The kid is lightning fast on the ice, and his reflexes are unmatched. He plays with the skill of a seasoned veteran, he’s one of the best players in the league and is pegged to only get better. Didn’t get to know him well last season, he spends more time on the ice than any guy on the team and between practice, the weight room, and games, I’d rather take a step away from the rink during my free time rather than opt to spend extra time there. Penn’s been training with him this summer, they’re around the same age, both brimming with talent and seem to bring out the best in each other. I’m grateful he’s had someone else in the city to spend his time with.

Following him to the door, I call out, “Hey, Benner, great to see you, man,” with a smile, leaning in to slap his outreached hand.

“Thanks, yeah, I heard you were in Wyndham for the summer. It sounded really nice from what Brooksy’s been telling me.”

“Yeah, it was great. Come on in. Pizza’s on the counter. Grab a seat anywhere.”

Theo shifts a little nervously from one foot to the other, still not having moved more than a few steps from the door. “Thanks so much for having me. I, uh, brought brownies if anyone wants some…” he tentatively shares with the group.

“Oh fuck yeah, Benner brought brownies,” Evan calls out as he returns from the bathroom, slapping him jovially on the back before diving into the box he’s carrying to grab two. He plops back down on my couch, passing the other brownie to Max. Stuffing them in their mouths, they both nod approvingly as they jump back into their game.

“Looks like you’re in,” I joke quietly to Theo, as his posture relaxes, walking over to grab a seat by the kitchen island with Penn.

***

My alarm goes off as I roll over to grab my phone. Unplugging it from the charger on my bedside table, I shoot off a quick text.

Me: Coffee, jog, then rink?

Penn: ttoo earlly

Me: Good, you’re up, be ready in 10.

Penn: youre tge wordst t

We’re both walking out the large glass doors of our apartment building fifteen minutes later, headed to Java, the coffee shop nestled between Maplewood Tower and Oakcrest Tower. The coffee is decent, but it doesn’t hold a candle to Cordelia’s. We stop quickly, chug our drinks, and make our way to the park just as the sun is rising.

A lot of the guys choose to live in the Parkside Place complex. It’s close to the rink, has great facilities, and is just a short walk to a lot of the local restaurants and bars.

The green space out front also has an awesome running trail that I can usually drag Penn to in the mornings. Usually being the operative word, with excuses being Penn’s full-time job.

My well-intentioned jog turned into a leisurely walk thanks to Mr. Motivated, who needed to ‘rest his muscles.’ As we finish up and head back to our apartments, the morning’s already in full swing.

“Don’t forget a change of clothes for family skate,” I mention as we’re standing in the elevator.

“Yes, Dad,” Penn mocks as he crosses his arms. “We can’t skip it, can we?” he asks hopefully.

“No,” I quip back. “It’s not just about showing up on the ice on game day. We’ve gotta be there for all the guys on the team. It’s a wholesome event. Skate around for a bit, pose for pictures, and have a fun time.”

Penn nods as the doors open and he heads into his apartment. I make my way over to my door, stepping into my freshly cleaned apartment. I had to scrub it down after my uninvited visitors decided it would be a good idea to eat pizza and brownies on my white couch. They are great guys, but there is nothing I like more than having my space to myself. I hang up my bag, kick off my shoes into their spot on the rack, and head straight for the shower .

It’s the first game of the pre-season today, low stakes, but a stark reminder that it’s time to focus up. I’ve kept up with my training all summer, but I let myself get a little too distracted. It’s back to work. The boys are counting on me to hold down the team. Two more seasons, I have to keep my head down, keep grinding, and avoid getting too beat up out there.

Family skate is usually not for me. An hour of slowly skating in circles, watching everyone else making memories? No thanks, but it’s a good event for the team and good for Penn to start learning the ropes of being a full-time part of the Tundra.

I finish getting ready, pack my bag, and make it down to the car. The traffic is light on the way to the rink. As we pull in, a few tailgaters are already parked in the lot near the players and staff entrance. The locker room begins to fill as I settle into my stall, my Brody #16 name plate hanging on top. I drop my bag beside the bench and begin my pre-game ritual, starting with stretches to loosen up my muscles before strapping on my pads.

As we march through the tunnel toward the gleaming ice, the stadium lights flicker to life ahead of us. Excited chatter echoes throughout the arena as fans prepare for the first showing of our team. The announcer booms over the speakers, “Ladies and Gentlemen, we thank you for joining us today as we introduce to you… your Toronttoooo Tundraaaa!” Cheers erupt when we burst onto the ice, slapping our sticks as we all do a quick circle around the rink.

The game started off fairly eventless as we worked together to find our groove. Pre-season games are always an opportunity for us to find our stride again, see who can shine on the ice, and test out a few different lines. A rare penalty may arise, but mostly accidental, making my job a lot easier.

We’re winning 3-1 as we approach mid-way through the third period. Pre-season or not, we’re all wired for one thing: victory. I can sense aggravation growing from the visiting team. Not surprising, competition is in our blood. The puck glides into our zone, making its way around the boards to nestle behind our net. Penn chases after it, head down, looking to recapture control of the puck.

As he skates forward, one of their forwards gains traction, beelining right to check him into the boards. I spring into action, bounding behind him to crunch him into the boards before he reaches Penn. With my momentum, I’m also pushed into the glass, eyes forced to look briefly to the crowd, catching a glimpse of something golden ahead of me.

My heart stops for a moment as I notice the pair of vibrant green eyes staring right into mine, surprise painting her lightly freckled face. The arena stands still as I revel in the moment of having her complete attention. Her full, soft, pink lips curve upward in a gentle smile, radiating warmth. It’s a face I recognize immediately, pulse quickening, my body reacting the way it always does when I see her. Mia . I can’t peel my eyes away.

I’m frozen as I return her gaze, rapidly memorizing everything I can on her delicate face. She's fucking breathtaking. Locked in on her emerald eyes, I wonder how I never noticed that particular shade before. So rare, like nothing I’ve ever seen. They catch my attention even more as they start to widen, like fear is flooding in. Is she… afraid of me?

I hear the crunch before I feel it. Smashed into the boards, I’m completely knocked off balance before landing on the ice. I recover quickly, shaking off the hit, but my mind is preoccupied as I skate over to the bench.

“The hell was that, Brody? Stay sharp,” Coach shouts at me before turning his attention back to the ice.

I try my best to draw my attention back to the game. What is she doing here? Shit, she definitely saw me staring at her. Was she… worried? Worried for me? I sneak a quick glance back to where she’s sitting. Even from afar, I can’t miss her ge ntle gaze as it sweeps over me. I quickly clear my throat, feeling my ears flush. Shit, be fucking cool . Whipping my head forward, breaking our eye contact, I force myself to watch the play ahead.

The clock hits zero as the siren bellows out across the stadium. Flooding the ice, we all line up to congratulate Woodsy in net. I take another peek at my girl, but disappointment sinks in as I spot the empty seat where she was just a few minutes ago. My eyes frantically scan up into the crowd, and I’m just able to spot the back of her head as she climbs the stairs to leave the arena.

Fuck. I blow out a breath, feeling my body sink. I can’t imagine what I was expecting. Was she going jump the glass, rush onto the ice, and nestle into my arms? She doesn’t even know your name, Jack. It didn’t even look like she recognized me.

My girl, handed to me on a silver platter, the universe giving me one last chance to get a fucking grip and do something about this childlike crush. One more fated shot, and just like that, opportunity gone. Again .

I can’t get her out of my head.