Broken Laces (Eagles Hockey Book 1) by Elise Faber

Author:Elise Faber [Faber, Elise]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Elise Faber
Published: 2024-02-26T18:30:00+00:00

TWENTY-FIVE

Rome

Considering I started the day by scaring the hell out of the woman I care a fuck-ton about then finding out some heavy shit, heavy shit we would need to revisit later (so I can understand how to never fucking scare her like that again), I would have expected my morning to improve.

At least a little bit.

But the shitty start to the day has extended, flowing over the rest of my day, tainting anything positive with disgusting, awful⁠—

Shit.

First came the torture of Media Day—being in front of the camera, having to pose like an idiot, smile like a goober.

Look sternly into the camera, Rome. Yes! Just like that! Now, smile! Chin down. Hold. Hold. Hold. Now, stick up and⁠—

It doesn’t stop.

Pretending to shoot, to stop suddenly, to glare at an opponent.

Posing next to a fucking eagle.

Posing next to the stuffed eagle that is our mascot, Blaze.

Stupid name. Stupid mascot.

Stupid—

Media day.

Especially when it’s already dumb and uncomfortable and I feel like an idiot in front of the camera, and Pat keeps walking by, Duncan his moronic shadow, their smirks wide and dumb and⁠—

God, it feels like high school.

Especially when they snicker as I get off the ice.

And when they decide the best course of action is to keep fucking with me.

Starting with deflating the ball I brought in for some backstage soccer, a way to keep us warm and engaged as we rotate through our turn playing model.

It was an “accident.”

But I know what it is.

I interfered in their spat, and now they’re going to make me pay the price.

Duncan is an idiot, banding with someone like Pat, apparently forgetting that I was the one who saved his ass and stopped him from getting choked out.

But po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe.

Apparently, he doesn’t think that attempted murder is a bad thing.

Regardless, I ignore their antics, reinflate the ball, and bring it back into the hall.

And…they decide to join in.

Of course, joining in means fucking with the game, missing balls they can easily get, or sending them off way too hard for no reason.

Or, for a reason—that being to frustrate any of the guys who are coming together, succeeding at keeping us apart, at being a roadblock to something that might develop into camaraderie.

Dumb, right?

I think so.

But I’m not in Pat’s head. I don’t get the motivation. Nor Duncan’s.

And I can only…

Sigh as I bend over and pick up another piece of glass from the shattered light overhead—the one that Duncan “accidentally” broke with a too-strong kick.

“You want to grab a beer?”

I look up, see King and Cam standing there, having cleaned up plenty of shards themselves, and…things might not be going well with the team, but at least the three of us are figuring our shit out, and I know I can count on them to be decent.

Maybe we’ll be able to rope in a few more and form a decent chunk of the locker room to counterbalance the assholes.

“Yeah,” I say. “I want a beer.”

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