“Hey,” says Shelby, her hand brushing the sleeve of my jersey. “She’ll come, okay? She’s crazy about you. If you asked her to come, she’ll be here.”
I nod, wanting to believe her.
“But you should really get out of here,” she adds, checking the clock on the wall.
My gaze darts to the wall too. “Fuck—”
“Langley!”
I push off the doorframe and peek back over my shoulder to see Assistant Coach Denison marching towards me.
“What the hell are you doing down here, planning a picnic? Get your ass back in the locker room!” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, glaring at me.
“Uh-oh,” Shelby teases with a smile in her eye.
“Busted,” I mutter.
She laughs. “She’ll come, Ryan. Go play your game.”
I shove off the doorway and start moving back down the hall towards the locker room, passing Denison as I go.
“You boys are gonna give me grey hairs before I’m forty, I swear to God,” he says, slapping my shoulder pads as I pass.
Even with Shelby’s words of affirmation tumbling through my mind, I still feel unsettled. It’s not like I’m fooling myself here. I know what this is about. It was on the tip of my tongue this morning. I wanted to hold her naked in my arms, her defenses down, and I wanted to tell her that I love her.
Because I do. I’m in love with Tess. She’s mine and I’m hers. And I think she loves me too. Fuck, I need to tell her. I can’t focus until the words are out of me.
Focus. Speed. Control.
It’s my mantra. It has been since I was twelve. But right now, the mantra I’m chanting over and over is three very different words. I bat them away, searching for my center. Mental performance is just as important as physical performance. I can’t play if I can’t get my head in the game.
Sully and Walsh cast me a glare as I take my seat between them, snatching up my stick to finish my tape job.
“You alright, Langers?” Sully says. “You seem distracted.”
“I’m good. I’m focused.”
He just shakes his head, his attention back on his own pregame.
Yeah, I’m focused alright…on all the wrong things. I let out a deep breath, trying to clear my head. Wrap the stick. Over, under, and over again. Tight lines. Down the blade, heel to toe. Finish the wrap on the backhand side. Then I need to tape the top of the shaft.
I let the rhythm of taping take over me as I sink into my empty headspace. My dead zone. My pregame black out. Nothing can touch me in here. It’s just me and my game, the feel of the stick in my hands, the movement of the tape.
But I’m not alone in my head tonight.
Focus.
Focus on Tess—her freckles, those reddish curls framing her face, the satisfied humming sound she makes when she takes her first sip of morning coffee. Focus on her eyes, so green at the edges and golden brown in the middle. Focus on the sway of her hips, the downturn of her bottom lip when she’s concentrating on her laptop. Focus on the sound of her cry as she orgasms, squeezing your dick like a vise. Focus on her words, spoken so softly—I want you too.
Speed.
Move fast. You can’t be complacent with Tess. She has exactly one speed and it’s GO. To choose her is to choose a life of endless motion. She’s the pace car. Just keep up. Keep running at her speed. Show her you can take it.
Control.
This is the hardest one for me. It’s not about controlling Tess. In fact, I’m learning it’s the opposite. I can only control myself—my actions, my wishes, my needs. What Tess needs is freedom. That’s the only way this works. If I try to take control in this relationship, she’ll bolt so far and so fast, I’ll never catch up. Worse, I’ll never earn back her trust.
Focus. Speed. Control.
I’m in my dead zone, but I can’t push her out. She’s everywhere. She’s everything. This isn’t about hockey anymore, even though I’m dressed in my full kit, minutes away from taking to that ice.
Focus. Speed. Control.
But all I can think about are those other words, dying to escape my lips, clouding all my thoughts. Three little words. A new mantra. A new prayer.
I love you.
The buzzer sounds, ending the second period, and I skate over to the boards, air sharp in my lungs. We’re down against the Blue Jackets 2-1. I’m playing like shit tonight. I’m slow on my skates, missing easy passes. I know the guys have noticed. Karlsson had an open shot to pass it to me twice in the second half of the first period, and he kept the puck. Honestly, I don’t fucking blame him.