Victor: A Chicago Blaze Hockey Romance

by Brenda Rothert

  Bile rises in the back of my throat and I cut him off midsentence. “I know, but…just give me a chance. I can turn things around.”

  He considers this while looking frustrated. “I’m under pressure. I have bosses, too.”

  “I get that. I do. I’m just asking for a chance.”

  “Two games.” He holds up two fingers to reinforce his point. “If I don’t see the best of you in the next two games, I’m moving you to the third line.”

  “The…third line?” I swallow back the queasy feeling that just won’t go away. “Okay. Thanks, Coach.”

  I stand up, hoping to end this conversation. Now that I know where I stand, I need to be alone for a few minutes. I’ve fallen hard and fast in the past six months. I know for sure that it wasn’t the breakup with Kristen that caused my game to tank, but no one else knows that.

  It was embarrassing finding out my girlfriend was cheating on me in a tabloid. But this—losing control of my whole career and having the world think she’s the reason—it makes me want to get drunk off my ass and hop the next available flight to a remote country.

  “I’m here if you need to talk,” Coach says, dismissing me.

  I laugh inwardly as I exit his office. If I hit Coach up with what’s bothering me, he wouldn’t have the first clue what to say. No one would.

  This is all on me. I have to find a way to bury the stress and figure out why I can’t seem to get to the puck or keep control of it lately.

  I haven’t been able to face my numbers, because I know how bad they are this season. Anton and Luca can only make up for my lousy play so much. The top article on a popular hockey blog last week had the headline, “Victor? Uh, not so much.”

  It was all about how I used to be a winner and now I’m just dead weight on the ice. And though I blew it off when I saw it, it fucking sucks to be pegged a loser.

  The other guys on my team all have someone. Wives, children, parents…someone. But not me. This team I’ve played on for the past four years is the only family I’ve got that’s worth a shit. And hockey’s my life. I won’t let myself fall from grace and lose the one thing I’ve ever been good at.

  I don’t have all the answers about how I lost my edge, but I know where to start. My college coach helped me elevate my game to the pro level with just one tenet—work harder than those around you. By being the first one at the rink and the last one out, I became his star forward.

  I’ll have to start drilling on my own at the rink during off hours. I can also get cleaner with my diet and ask our conditioning coach to help me train legs harder than I do now. No more drinking either.

  I’ve been lazy. Distracted. It ends now. My after-hours extra practice starts tonight.

  Chapter Five

  Lindy

  The soft serve ice cream machine’s motor whirs and the dispenser sputters as the sanitized water starts cycling through. Two down, four to go.

  I’m working alone, pulling the once-a-week overnight shift that is spent sanitizing concession machines. No one else likes getting stuck with this job, but I do. No Bruce breathing down my neck, no long lines of customers and I can listen to music on my headphones.

  Being in the Carson Center from midnight to 8:00 a.m. was spooky the first few times I had this shift, but I’m used to it now. I keep an air horn clipped to a belt loop on my pants, and if I sounded it, security guards would come running.

  Well, hopefully. I’ve never had to test it out.

  The sound notification of an incoming text interrupts the Ed Sheeran song I’m listening to. I grab my bucket and head for the arena’s next concession area, reading the message from Ari on my way.

  Ari: Ughhhhhhhhh that date was a total fail girl!

  Me: Aw, sorry, what happened?

  Ari: I shoulda ditched him when he took me to dinner at a street cart and told me to order a hot dog so he could watch me eat it…

  Me: Ew, really?

  Ari: REALLY!

  Me: And you did it?

  Ari: I like hot dogs!

  Me: And after that?

  Ari: Back to his place, where he jackhammered the shit out of me. I thought he was gonna break my pelvis dude.

  Me: You slept with him???

  Ari: Calm your tits; I made him wrap his weiner…

  I roll my eyes, the darkened Carson Center corridor my only witness. I’m a virgin, and based on Ari’s accountings of her sexual adventures, I’m good with it.

  Me: So you won’t go out with him again?

  Ari: Hell no. I’ll buy my own hot dog next time…

  Ari: How’s work?

  Me: Boring.

  Ari: Want me to tell Manny you’re all alone there tonight? He’s got a key card; he could come keep you company…wink wink

  Me: NO!

  Ari: Lol just kidding.

  Me: Is Mateo at your mom’s? You can come hang out with me if you want.

  Ari: No, he’s asleep right next to me. My brother babysat. I better go to bed since it’s already 12:30. This boy gonna be wanting pancakes at 6:00 a.m.

  Me: Goodnight!

  Ari: Night girl, hope the night goes by fast!

  My song comes back on just as I arrive at the next concession area. I open the employee entrance door with my key card and walk back to the kitchen area. I see a man standing at the sink, using the overhead sprayer to clean something.

  I take off my headphones and say, “Hey.”

  He turns around and I see that it’s Domino, one of my coworkers who does everything in slow motion. And I can tell from the faraway look in his eyes that he’s high, which makes him even slower.

  “Lindy. Hey.”

  “Hey, what are you still doing here?”

  “Oh.” He looks around and I realize he has no idea how late it is. “I’m still closing down.”

  I set my empty bucket on the ground. “Okay, no worries. I’m sanitizing machines. Have you shut yours down yet?”

  Domino has to think about this for a good three seconds before shaking his head. At this rate, he’ll be here for at least another hour. I could dive in and help him, but last time I offered him help, he went outside to smoke and I ended up doing all the work.

  “Okay, so…I’ll just take a break and check back in a bit,” I say, leaving my bucket by the door as I exit.

  “Cool.”

  I usually end up with at least an hour to kill when I work the overnight shift, so I’m not stressed about the down time. Sometimes the rink maintenance crew works late at night, so I wander into a tunnel that leads to the arena, hoping to watch them work.

  Even when it’s empty, this place is magic. I run my fingers over awards and photos of past Blaze championship teams and star players on the walls. My dad took me to a game here for my seventh birthday, and I still remember the electricity in the air here that night.

  Hockey is unlike any other sport. I can feel the excitement fans have when they come here. They bring with them a deep pride in their home team, and an ambitious hope for a great game that you can feel.

  I’ve got a worn-out old Blaze shirt on tonight, actually. When I work the overnight shift, I don’t have to wear a uniform. It gets cold in here, so I’ve got on an old pair of black leggings, my faded red Team Blaze tee, and a light hoodie.

  The maintenance crew is already gone and even though I’m apparently alone in the arena tonight, I hold my breath as the rink comes into view. I can’t stop the feeling of reverence I have for this place. Since I’m always working during the games, I don’t get to watch them live. I occasionally get a peek on one of the TV screens around the concourse if I’m on a bathroom break.

  That’s why, on the rare occasions I get to sit in these stands, I always sit right behind the Blaze team bench. Cue the chills.

  I slide into a seat behind the middle of the bench and grin, closing my eyes to take in the smells of popcorn and fresh ice. Though I could never afford to sit here for a game, right now this seat—this whole arena, in fact—is all mine.

>   That only lasts a few seconds, though. My eyes fly open when I suddenly hear the sound of a skate blade gliding across the ice.

  Oh, holy Jesus. It’s him. Victor Lane is less than twenty feet away, looking casual in one of those formfitting, lightweight long sleeve shirts. His is black, and it outlines his arm muscles to perfection. He’s also wearing gray sweats and hockey skates, but doesn’t have a helmet or pads on.

  I consider slinking down to the floor and crawling out of here, though I still might not escape his attention once I reach the stairs, which are out in the open.

  If I don’t move, he may not see me. I swallow carefully and slowly ease my phone out of my pocket, powering it down to avoid any notifications drawing his attention.

  Victor skates over to a small silver bucket, which looks like it’s filled with pucks. I didn’t see it on the ice before. Now that I’m looking, though, I see that the ice is carved up with curved skate blade lines. He’s been in here practicing by himself.

  My heart melts. In regular clothes, skating around the perimeter of the rink with a focused expression, Victor looks…mortal. There’s an air of vulnerability in the way he hangs his head that I feel like I’m not supposed to be seeing.

  But there’s no way I could leave now. I’m mesmerized, getting a private show from my favorite player.

  He’s out here after hours because he knows his position on the first line is in jeopardy. I’ve heard the talk. My dad and I had a heated discussion about it as we watched the last preseason game on TV. He says Victor’s gotten lazy; I say everyone has ups and downs. I’ll admit he’s been sluggish, but he’s proven himself to this team time and time again.

  I can’t look away; he’s a perfect mix of polish and power. The way his legs push forward, propelling him around the rink so smoothly and quickly, it’s obvious he’s been skating his whole life.

  Victor is one of the better skaters on the team; I’m not sure why he’s drilling on this. Maybe he’s just out here for fun, enjoying a chance to have the rink to himself.

  At 1:00 a.m., though? When rumors about Easy getting his first line position are swirling around the NHL blogs?

  A few droplets of sweat fly from his hair onto the ice behind him. He’s working hard, and the team has a home game tomorrow. There’ll probably be a pregame skate during the late morning.

  He glides to a stop near the goal and disconnects it from the ice. I think he may be done for the night. This could be my only chance to sneak out of here unnoticed; he’ll have to skate right past where I’m sitting to leave.

  But before I can make up my mind, he’s sliding the goal across the ice with one hand and carrying the bucket of pucks with the other. As he skates over to the bench, he leaves the goal on the ice and carries the bucket with him, closing in on where I’m sitting.

  I will myself to be invisible as he glances up, doing a double take when he sees me. His brow furrows slightly.

  “How’d you get in here?” he asks, sounding more amused than annoyed.

  “I…uh…”

  Come on, Lindy. Don’t be an idiot.

  Wrapping my arms around myself, I manage to say, “Work. I work here.”

  I smile nervously. Victor swings one leg over the wall and then the other, sets down the bucket, and then hefts his body over the wall separating me from the bench.

  When he sits down next to me, my heart pounds in a panicked rhythm and I get lightheaded.

  “You work here, huh?” He eyes my casual outfit.

  “Oh, uh…” My laugh is cringeworthy. “I, yeah, I do.”

  I flash my Carson Center badge on the lanyard around my neck.

  “Belinda,” he reads out loud.

  “Lindy. I’m Lindy.”

  Oh God. Please stop talking before you humiliate yourself, Lindy.

  “I’m Victor.” He holds out his hand to shake mine.

  I couldn’t stop it if I tried. My mouth just drops open. I’m suddenly sweating hard. Never did I imagine sitting here next to Victor Lane with his attention focused on me. I don’t know if I can shake his hand without fainting.

  I can’t just leave him with his hand out like that, though, so I regain most of my composure and try. It’s quick handshake, so he hopefully won’t notice my shaking hand.

  “Nice to meet you,” he says. “How long were you watching me?”

  Well, for about four years, if I’m being honest…

  “Oh, not long. Just since you came back in and skated laps. I’m from the Concessions Department, and I’m sanitizing machines tonight, but one of the areas isn’t closed down yet, so…” I halfheartedly gesture at the tunnel I walked into the arena through.

  Stop talking, Lindy.

  Victor nods and smiles, his eyes bright. “If you watched me shooting, I thought you might have some advice for me.”

  “Me?” I squeak.

  He shrugs. “Just kidding. I’m in here trying to figure out what I’m missing lately.”

  “Well…you don’t need to drill on skating. You’re still one of the fastest, when you want to be.”

  He turns his body to face me, widening his eyes. “When I want to be?”

  My heart’s pounding so hard I have to take a steadying breath before speaking again. “Yeah. I may not have said it the right way—”

  “No, it’s not that. I guess I just…” He shakes his head. “I can’t figure out why I wouldn’t always want to be the fastest out there. I’m not saying you’re wrong.”

  I don’t know if he wants to hear my thoughts, but this is my one and only chance to maybe help him, so I muster my courage and go for it.

  “You used to be first on puck most of the time. This season you seem to count on Luca or Anton to be first.”

  He narrows his brows slightly, listening.

  “And you used to pass and shoot harder. You’ve always been a fighter. Not like a man-to-man fighter, but for the puck. This season, you seem to have lost your fight. A little. Or maybe your fight is focused somewhere else, which happens.”

  Victor looks at me in silence. Really, actually looks at me, his eyes focused on mine. I remind myself to breathe as I look back, willing myself to hold his gaze.

  This is my dream. All I’ve ever wanted was to be noticed by my crush, just one time, and here we are. Even if this place was filled to capacity with screaming fans right now, I wouldn’t see or hear anything but him.

  I commit his expression to memory. He looks thoughtful, his lips level and his eyes swimming in shades of blue. There’s a tiny crease between his brows.

  A bead of sweat drops from his hair to his face. He reaches a hand up to wipe it away, breaking our moment of eye contact. I expect he’ll stand up now, say it was nice to meet me, and go get some sleep in preparation for tomorrow.

  “You’re right,” he says softly, looking out across the ice. He slowly turns to face me again. “And you know your hockey. What else have you got for me, Lindy?”

  Chapter Six

  Victor

  Lindy’s eyes have lost their shine.

  It happened as soon as I asked her to tell me more about her work here at the Carson Center. She works in Concessions and is cross-trained as an usher and can fill in as a waitress at the Center’s restaurants when needed.

  And while that’s honest work, it’s a waste of her talents. She has an infectious excitement for the game of hockey that I wish I could harness for myself.

  “So you get to watch the games sometimes?” I ask her.

  “Not really. People gotta have their beer and nachos.”

  I smile and glance at her before looking away. “So you think there’s hope for me?”

  “Not just hope.” The confidence in her voice brings my gaze back to hers. “I know you can do this, Victor. You came back from that knee injury two years ago better than ever.”

  This woman I just met a few minutes ago seems to believe in me more than I do myself. And it’s not just the blanket reinforcement all fans feel for the players on th
eir team. She knows my strengths and weaknesses. Lindy is a student of the game of hockey.

  “I want to come back better than ever again,” I say.

  “Maybe—” Lindy stops herself and I look at her expectantly.

  “Maybe what?”

  Her cheeks flush light pink. “Nothing. What do I know? I just work in Concessions; I’ve never had to do anything like what you do.”

  “You’ve given me good advice so far. Don’t hold out on me now.”

  She smiles shyly, causing the corners of her lips to tip up as she plays with one of the drawstrings on her hoodie.

  “Well, I don’t mean to go all Dr. Phil on you, but…can you confront whatever’s taking your focus? Maybe try to put it behind you and then just have hockey to concentrate on.”

  A knot forms in my gut. If only I could. But there’s no confronting Bryan. If I push him, my whole world will probably implode.

  “You do know Kristen Moore is a complete idiot, right?” Lindy says.

  I shake my head, clearing away the anger and disgust. “Oh…it’s not her. I mean, now that the photographers have stopped camping outside my building, I’m good. Everyone thinks I’m still…pining for her, I guess, but I’m not. I thought we had something, but we obviously didn’t. Better to find out after a few months than longer down the road, right?”

  “Yes. She didn’t deserve you.”

  I shrug. “I’m done with relationships for a while. They’re just too complicated with my travel schedule. And I’m probably not an attractive prospect anyway since I’m on the verge of unemployment.”

  I try to laugh, but I can’t even pretend to feel light about all this. It’s a fucking nightmare.

  “You are not on the verge of unemployment,” Lindy says fiercely.

  I’m not sure what it is about her that makes me want to spill my guts. I can’t even bring myself to tell Anton and Luca what I’m about to tell her.

  “I’ve got two games.” I rest my elbows on my spread knees and look down. “If I don’t play like a rock star in the next two games, I’m going to the third line.”