Then there was the reason for his absence, the fact that he had guardianship over his younger brother. And what had he said about being late? He was at work. His file mentioned two jobs. I wanted my players focused on the game, and usually it was enough between hockey, classes, and their social life. But for Moss? He had a lot more going on than his peers, and it made me wonder about his focus.
To top it all off, there was his attitude.
Those smart-ass remarks he launched at me were amusing on a personal level, but I didn’t need that kind of hassle as a coach. Very few people challenged me, especially my players. One knowing look and they backed off.
Not this guy. His gaze never wavered. He was a fighter for sure.
I looked down and realized that my hands were gripping the edge of my desk so hard my knuckles were white. Shit. A flash of warning teased the edge of my thoughts, but I ignored it. I was a professional, and I could handle a mouthy player.
Shaking off my weird mood, I did more research on his file and gulped down the rest of my coffee. Glancing at the time, I grabbed my tablet and phone from my desk and locked up my office.
When I finally made it to the ice, Silas was well into his warmup. I watched his form with my critical eye, but my gut had already made up its mind.
Silas skated up to me, sweat dotting his face, his dark brown eyes lit with a resolve I recognized. This guy was hungry for the ice.
“We’re going to run a variety of drills so I can evaluate your skating, passing, and shooting.”
“No shit.”
“No talking either,” I replied, biting back an unexpected laugh as I made a motion for him to zip it. “You want a chance; I’m giving you one. One. You ready?”
“Ready?” Silas scoffed. “I’ve been waiting for a year. Fucking right I’m ready.”
At least one of us was.
CHAPTER 3
SILAS
PRESENT DAY—AGE TWENTY-TWO
“Rowland got the drop on you, Moss! How many times do I have to tell you, don’t be distracted by his footwork, follow the puck. Run the drill again.”
I stopped short and stared at Banning, frustrated as fuck, exhausted from practice, and fighting the urge to saytake my hockey stick and shove it up your…
“Now!” Coach snapped and blew his whistle, motioning for me to get my butt in gear. “We have the college final coming up in two days. Head in the game or head out of this rink.”
I nodded, biting back a snarky reply. He wasn’t totally in the wrong, but I was pissed that he only seemed to notice my screw ups and not the good stuff. This extra practice time, one hour a week with my teammates Jace, Finn, and Axel, only proved that I still had far to go. I’d worked my ass off for months and months, but I was still not where I wanted to be.
September to December had me hanging on by my teeth, and shit, I hadn’t played so hard or sweated so much in all my life.
The winter semester was much the same, and now April was here. I didn’t feel any closer to my goal than I did thatfirst day back. I assumed that I’d return from a year away from college, hockey, and socializing, and reenter everything full force, scoring a hat trick.
Not quite.
School was good and I was caught up on my courses. I always had a mind for numbers so that hadn’t changed. And I’d finish my accounting degree no matter how long it took. That was the least of my concerns.
Socializing? I didn’t have much time for that. The first semester was all about classes, follow up medical appointments for Josiah, visiting my dad, and working at Verdant. Now I made it to the occasional party, but I was still finding my footing. With teammates like Maddox and Finn, I found new friends. Finn for sure, both of us defenseman, both of us on Coach’s shit list. Maddox, our first line goalie, was a prickly one, but I appreciated his snarky nature, and he seemed to appreciate mine. Not that there was any competition in that; Maddox won for sure.
The one thing I didn’t do was sex. Not with any guy I went to school with, that is.
I’d hooked up with Darby, one of the tattoos artists who worked at Verdant, but he and I had an understanding. After closing, we’d give each other hands jobs or blowjobs in the alley behind the shop. I only had the inclination for casual and barely any time for even that. No one else knew that I was gay. Not my dad, my brother, or anyone in my life. Not that I expected a negative reaction from my family, but I was concerned about my hockey future more than anything. Even though our team had two openly queer players, like Dane, and two couples, Maddox and Kayden, and Jace and Axel, I still hesitated to come out. I figured I had enough against me; my age and my year off, without adding any more pressure.
There was also the fact that being around guys who played hockey, or any sport—their drive, their competitiveness, theirconfidence—turned my crank like nothing else. Yeah, I had a type. Thankfully, none of the players on my team did it for me. I needed that kind of complication like I needed a puck to the head.
Besides, no one was bossy enough or crazy enough to put up with my shit anyway.
“Are you going to do the drill, Silas, or are you going to stand there growing your beard?” Banning commented.
