Hayes (A Carolina Cyclones Story)

1.

Hayes

It takes two hundred and forty one steps to reach the Carolina Cyclone professional hockey team's locker room from where I parked in the players lot outside of Rucker Arena. There are 48 overhead lights, and seven doors in the hallway that leads from the parking lot to here. I know because I counted. I can't help myself.

I'm the first one on the team here for morning skate, only a few of the coaching and medical staff dispersed throughout the players area aside from me. That's not unusual. As the captain of the team I pride myself on being the first one here and the last to leave practice every day. Even if I weren't the captain, I'd still be here. It's ingrained in me. My dad made sure of that. Not that I credit him for anything I've made myself into.

I set my gear bag down in my cubby and get to work changing into my practice uniform. There's a specific way I have to put everything on, always my left side before my right. I'm a little uptight about the way I do things and some might consider it a character flaw but it's just the way I've always done things. Ever since I was a little kid first learning to play on a frozen pond back home in Vancouver I've been particular. Some might call me a bit neurotic. Maybe it's a little over the top, but it led me here, to a career as a first line right-winger on a professional hockey team. So even if it is a little much, evidently it worked.

Just as I'm starting to tie up my right skate my teammates begin to trickle in. Jax Faulkner and Wesley Allen arrive, my line-mates and the two guys I'm closest to on the team, they drop down beside me and I grin as I turn to rib Jax.

"Someone is gonna be in deep shit tonight." I quip as I crack a smile. He only rolls his eyes.

"It wasn't as bad as they made it out to be." He promises, unzipping his bag and digging through it.

"Oh, so you didn't get tossed out of that actress you have been seeing's house naked when she found you in her bed with two other girls?"

He cringes, and ignores my question. Jax is a bit of a wild child, the playboy of the team with a reputation that's not the best and certainly not focused on his charity work. I'd thought, or rather hoped, his dating some actress for the past few weeks was a sign that he was starting to grow up a little bit, maybe nearing the point of wanting to settle down, but the web story featuring a photo of his bare ass as he streaked across the woman's yard to Wesley's car to escape, seemed to suggest otherwise.

"You owe me money for a car detail, man. I'm not driving around in a car with seats you've had your bare ass on. Wouldn't want to have a lady passenger and her get an STD or something from your hoe ass." Wesley jokes.

"I don't have any fucking STD's you asshole."

"Are you sure? I mean, I'm just saying, would you even know given the company you keep?"

"You two are just jealous of all the pussy I get." Jax throws a towel at Wesley who jumps from it like it's a snake or something. I just grin and tune the rest of their bickering out while I finish gearing up.

The three of us have been playing together on the Cyclones for three years and for as much shit as we give each other there's a kind of camaraderie between us that makes us feel more like brothers than teammates. It's great for our play, the chemistry we've formed off the ice making us a first line to be reckoned with on it. We made the second round of the playoffs last year and with moves by the front office last off season we're poised to make an even deeper run this year.

If I have anything to say about it, we'll be hoisting the fucking Stanley Cup come June.

Maggie

"Fuck, Chloe! Now's a damn good time to tell me!" My roommate Rachel doesn't do anything quietly. Especially talking on the phone. I've never understood her desire to yell her conversations but I think she feels more in charge when her voice booms off the walls.

"You know we're understaffed, you can't just call me half an hour before your shift and tell me you need off for your boyfriend's birthday. We need you." She speaks a few decibels softer now, resigning to a sound of defeat. "Things would be different if you'd just given me a head's up..."

I sigh, and pause the episode of my show on Netflix, raising a spoon full of Chocolate Therapy Ben & Jerry's to my mouth and savoring the goodness as she continues to rant and rave at who I suspect is one of her employees on the other end of the line.

Rachel's cool most of the time, but she's a little uptight when it comes to the bar she manages. It's been in her family for three generations and she's expected to take over full operations within the next few years when her dad retires. Staffing has been hard lately and so she tends to get a little tense when one of her bartenders calls out at the last minute like I suspect poor Chloe is attempting to do right now.

I sigh and gaze longingly back at my half-watched episode of Bridgerton. I've binged the whole season before of course but I had been looking forward to a night of relaxing and ogling Rege-jean Page while eating my bodyweight in chocolate ice cream but alas, not all hero's wear capes.

"Rach!" I yell in the general direction of the last place I heard her. Her head appears in the hallway of our shared apartment, her body still hidden from view in her room. "I can cover for her."

"Aw, Mags thanks but you know you don't have to."

"I know I don't." I say, standing and heading towards the freezer to stow away my treat. "But I know you could use some help and I could use some time out of this apartment."

Rachel's eyebrows raise and she steps fully into the hall. "You're sure?"

"Yep, but you owe me ice cream!" I call behind me as I make my way towards my own bedroom.

It's not like I had much else to do. I'm an artist, a painter. My artwork's not in any museums or anything yet but I make enough to pay my bills and splurge on my specialty ice cream addiction. Being an artist doesn't lend itself to much of a social life though, as I've discovered the past five years. And my social life has been practically non-existent since my boyfriend of three years called it quits with me six months ago.

Asshole.

But I'm fine. More than fine actually. And now I'll spend the night helping out a friend and people watching instead of another boring Saturday night vegged out on my couch. Yay.