Egotistical Puckboy (Puckboys 1)

I meant what I said. I’m professional, and I’m not going to let this be weird. We’ll work together on the ice, and I’ll ignore him off it. There are twenty other people on this team I can give time and attention to. Some of them I’m already friends with.

So why, when we’re getting changed, does my gaze immediately travel across to Ezra. To his bare ass. And all I can think of is when he bent over for me.

So much for professional, Anton.

Even though Ezra and I have never gotten along, I didn’t regret sleeping with him. Until now.

If I’d known we would end up here, I would have shown better control. At the time, I thought I’d see him for a few games, maybe All-Stars if we had a good season, and then that would be it.

This rivalry-turned-besties story the press is running with is ridiculous, and it’s only going to get worse now we’re on the same team.

Our bromance is going to be put under a microscope, which will put me front and center of tabloid drama—the exact thing I don’t want.

Bromance. What a joke.

This narrative is easier to sell with us playing together though, and I wouldn’t have put it past the B’s PR to start that rumor in preparation for exactly this. I should have seen the trade coming days before I was told.

Nerves over being around Ezra add to the small seed of rejection from my old team, and the need to prove myself is all a bit too much. I’m known for being cocky. It’s a defense mechanism I developed from years of being a mediocre player. Fake it until you make it was my mantra in high school, and by the time I hit college, that confidence came naturally on the ice. But I’m struggling to bring any of that attitude out today.

Just as Diedrich predicted, the coaches keep us on the ice for far longer than usual. I get next to no downtime as Coach Stephenson tries to get the new first line working together. I’ve graduated from second line to first with the trade, so I need to prove that I belong here. Not only with the team but as one of the guys who get the most ice time.

It’s so different to Philly where we knew each other’s plays and tells inside and out. It was instinctual. Here, I’m working a lot harder to read the ice.

I grit my teeth after sending the puck sailing toward where Larsen should be but isn’t, and I try to hold back from letting my frustration show. These are usual teething issues that we unfortunately only have today and tomorrow to fix before our game against Jersey. This practice isn’t going well, and when I slip and glance over at Ezra, his expression confirms as much.

He doesn’t say anything, but the spark in his eyes is enough.

That, folks, is the great Anton Hayes … choking.

Nope. This is me. Still refusing to let him get to me.

Coach dismisses everyone except Larsen, Diedrich, and me. He makes us run drills for another half an hour before he’s satisfied, and by the time I get to the gym, nearly everyone has finished their cooldown.

I grab a bike and try to ignore the mild stiffness in my thighs from prolonged time on the ice. Even though things are familiar—the rink, the gym, a team—it’s completely foreign at the same time. Change is something all NHL players have to get good at, but it’s always been a weakness of mine. I love the thrill of the lifestyle, but I work better with consistency, in my own environment. It’s why I completely dominate at home games and have to work harder while we’re away.

I need to find that consistency again, and considering I grew up here, that shouldn’t be a huge issue. All I have to do is set up a routine, and I’ll settle.

In Philly, sometimes after practice, I’d sneak away to a shelter to volunteer. It would center me, make me feel like I’m contributing to the world, but I’d do a lot of the behind-the-scenes tasks because I don’t actually want anyone to know that I’m doing it. As soon as the media catch on to things like that, it cheapens the experience, and my parents always raised me to give to those less fortunate than myself. It was one of their conditions of paying for all my hockey shit. They’d see players like Ezra, who was born a prince of hockey because of his dad, so he had all the top-of-the-range equipment thrown at him. Me, I had to work for it. My parents could afford it, but their number one priority was teaching me humility.

The charity thing stuck with me because it reminds me of how privileged I am, so I continue to give back because it’s important to do something good for other people other than throwing money at the problem—though I do that too. I may not act like it on the ice, but I can acknowledge the world doesn’t revolve around me.