The burning of my lungs didn't subside until after I had exited the showers. Unfortunately, the cold water did nothing to ease the pounding in my head. Tuesday's game had been rough and Coach Miller had us bag skating until we couldn't keep down our dinners from the night before. I wanted to throw my head against the wall––not only because of the headache, but because of the frustrating losing streak we'd been on.

At this rate, any NHL team that had shown interest in me over the last couple of years was going to rescind their offers. I couldn't put my finger on what had changed over the summer, but the Fenton Falcons weren't competing at the level we once were. The team was getting sloppy––making rookie mistakes that guys wouldn't make in a Sunday morning Men's League.

And Coach Miller was going to have our asses for it.

The locker room lacked its usual buzz of camaraderie as I made my way back towards the benches with a towel around my waist. Resentment was rearing its ugly little head within most of my teammates. Cole, the enforcer on the Falcons, changed in the corner. On a good day, he didn't talk much, but the hard angles of his face were pinched in a way that I thought he might crack his jaw from how hard it was clenched.

Having been pulled aside after practice, Hendrix had been the last to enter the locker room. He was still hunched in the same spot on the bench as when I left for the showers. The practice jersey was still plastered over his padding. Distraught, he ran his hands through his short blond hair. Out of everyone, he was probably taking our most recent loss the hardest. Especially when the university newspaper was stating that he was an 'encumbrance to the team'.

Whatever the fuck that meant.

Then there was the pressure of him being assistant captain. Which, I'm sure, made the losing streak we were on that much more unbearable.

During our Sophomore year, Hendrix had managed to secure the A on his jersey. While some guys on the team were still sour about McKinley being named captain the minute he joined the roster, no one would dispute our goalie being deserving of his title. Hendrix would be the first one at practice and the last one to leave. He was that guy. Someone the rest of the boys could rely on if they were in a tough spot––both on and off the ice. Hell, even Coach Miller, our very own dictator, would ask Hendrix about what he thought about certain plays during video review.

And once he was in net, Hendrix Tate was a force to be reckoned with. There was no one more qualified.

But things were different this year and even he was beginning to notice it.

My tongue twisted before darting out between my lips as I searched around for either one of my more sentimental teammates. Sappy shit was above my capabilities and I normally left it to McKinley or Booker to deal with.

Of course, neither one of them were in sight.

I sighed, making my way over to the sulking giant with a forced smile plastered to my face. A ball of discomfort wedged its way into my chest, but I swallowed it down. We were teammates whether we were on or off of the ice.

Fixing the front of my towel, I plopped down on the bench beside him. "Aren't you glad Booker didn't get you to make us breakfast this morning?"

The grin I gave him wasn't returned. Hendrix did little to acknowledge my presence at all. His midnight blue eyes were casted downwards as he kicked his foot out, tapping the back of his skate into the floor.

"What did Coach say to you after practice?"

When he winced I wished I would have simply gotten changed and kept my mouth shut. It was as if he was experiencing the memory all over again.

This is why I don't do this shit.

Hendrix gave a slight shake of his head. "I don't know if I'm going to be the one to finish the season off with you guys."

That's where I was afraid this conversation was going. Coach Miller wasn't known for being a gracious leader. If you couldn't prove to him that you deserved to be on the team, he had no problem casting you out and finding a replacement. I was sure he'd exile his own son if McKinley couldn't pull his weight.

To add to Hendrix's worry, Coach Miller had brought on some fresh blood the year before. A Russian goaltender named Nikolas Petrov, who was expeditious in proving his worth.

He knew as well as we did that if he didn't turn things around––and soon––the Falcons line ups were about to go through some changes.

My expression went slack. "Did he say that?"

"Not in too many words."

"Come on, Tate," I tried again, "It's too early in the season for that kind of talk. We'll turn it around."

Hendrix sniffled, nose still running from the chill of the rink. "Maybe."

I bumped his arm with my elbow, trying to draw him out of his thoughts. "What's there to be down about? You don't plan on heading to the NHL after graduation anyways."

He turned his head to look at me, eyes hard. "This has nothing to do with me. I fucking hate letting the team down."

I really was shit at finding the right things to say, wasn't I?

"You're not letting anyone down."

"Don't sugar coat it," he bit out, running a hand down his stumbled jaw. "I let in nearly half the shots on net in the last one."

Oh, I was well aware. McKinley and I were working our asses off to keep the other team as far away from our zone as possible. It was clear he was starting to lose his nerve midway through the second period. Minutes before Coach Miller decided to switch him out for Nikolas.

"And you're right. I don't plan on going to the NHL, but I wanted to end our senior year off on a high note." He stared down into his lap again, fidgeting with the hem of his jersey. "The first Fenton roster to win the Frozen Four."

That was the goal––the carrot dangling from the end of the rope. We all wanted that championship status. It was something we'd been working on for the past three years. But did we have what it took to pull it off?

"Don't count us out just yet." McKinley joined the conversation. Droplets of water rolled down his jaw as he fixed the sopping towel around his hips. "We've got a lot more season to go."

I could have kissed him for how relieved I was not having to tackle this conversation alone.

Hendrix coughed out a humorless laugh. "I won't be playing in much more of it if I don't get my shit together."

McKinley and I exchanged looks.

"I got you covered," he said, smacking our goalie on the shoulder. "I'll ask Joey if we can pick up an extra ice slot and figure out what we need to tighten up."

I bumped my elbow into Hendrix's arm. "See, nothing to freak out about."

Easton took that opportunity to join the conversation as well. He came around the corner in nothing but a pair of black sweats with the Falcon's logo. "What are we freaking out about?"

"Nothing," McKinley said, breaking his eye contact with Hendrix. "We're just picking up an extra ice slot if you wanna join."

Easton stretched, both fists jabbed in his lower back. "Yeah, no thanks, I'll be out of commission until our next practice."

I chuckled. "You're going soft, Zhang."

He responded by rolling his eyes.

"In other news," McKinley mused, brown eyes batting between all three of us. "I heard that you guys have a new roommate."

I scoffed, rising from the bench. There was nothing more that I wanted than slipping out of that wet towel while simultaneously getting rid of the squatter who was in the room next to mine. "More like an unwelcome guest."

Easton shot me a glare over his shoulder. "You're the only one who's got a problem with it."

"Who would have thought I was the only sane one?" I asked, parting my lips as if it were a shocking revelation.

"Deal with it. You've been out voted three to one."

I peered over my shoulder as I dug through my locker for the clothes I was wearing prior to practice. "Any room in your penthouse, Miller?"

McKinley shot me a grin. "Maybe if it were Tate asking me. The rest of you are animals."

The man mentioned gave me a half-hearted shrug as he finally moved to tug his practice jersey over his head.

"Bunch of fucking haters," I uttered with a smirk as I pulled on my boxers.

"Quit your whining," Easton told me for the third time that week. "Celeste doesn't plan on sticking around for long. I'm sure she heard what you said in the kitchen the other day."

Good. Maybe it was heartless of me, but I'm glad she overheard our conversation. The boys and I had a good thing going at the Hockey House. We didn't need things to change now that there was a girl staying there.

I slipped my shirt over my head. "Let her know I'll be the first one to help her when she's ready to move out."

"You're acting like you hate this girl," McKinley stated with a furrowed brow.

"Look, it's nothing personal. Celeste could be the sweetest fucking chick on the planet, none of that matters. I simply don't want a female roommate. They take forever in the bathroom, their hair clogs up the shower drain, I don't need someone nagging at me about where I keep my shit––I already have Tate for that––" I threw my hand in our goalie's direction. "And to be honest, I don't want to deal with the drama when she finally falls in love with me."

For the first time, since we showed up for practice that morning, laughter broke out amongst my teammates. Even Hendrix, who's mood was as sour as an unripe grape, cracked a chuckle.

"That's what you're afraid of?" Easton gapped at me. "You don't want Celeste living with us because you think she's going to fall in love with you?"

Of course she was. I had girls fawning over me for much, much less. And they thought she'd be able to resist my charms when she was sleeping mere feet from me every night?

I shrugged, taking my phone out of my locker. "It's bound to happen."

A new message from Mila flashed across the screen. It was a risque request for me to pick her up on my bike after practice and have some fun before class. Suddenly the conversation about our unwanted roommate was swept from my list of fucks given that day.

He blinked at me, pointing a finger between the two of us. "Who's the sane one again?"

"Fine," I breathed, throwing my bag over my shoulder as I made my way out of the locker room. "But it's not my problem if your little friend gets her feelings hurt."

_ _ _ _ _

author's note:

Someone's got a bit of an ego. I wonder if Celeste is going to be able to knock him down a few pegs.

How are you finding this story so far? I'm really enjoying writing Maverick's character. Hendrix and Booker were both such nice guys. I missed writing from the moody mindset.

Happy reading!