“WHAT THE FUCK are you so nervous about, Babs?” Razor asked me. My name was Jamie Babcock, but all the guys called me Babs. Getting a nickname was just part of the deal in hockey, like a rite of passage. He tossed a towel at me from across the locker room, a goofy grin on his face. “Shit, you made the team. You’re fucking crazy if you think they’re sending you back to juniors.”
“Fuck you,” I said, trying to laugh it off. He was a lot better at laughing things off than I was, though. Maybe because he was a couple of years older than me. But I wasn’t so sure he was right. In fact, there was a part of me that hoped he was wrong. I wasn’t sure I was ready.
I couldn’t quite put my finger on the cause of my nerves. I just knew that I was such a mess I was about to fucking piss myself, sitting here in my stall at the Portland Storm’s practice facility. Training camp was at an end. Ray “Razor” Chambers, along with three other rookies and me, were all waiting for word of our fate. The rest of the guys here already knew they’d made the team, but the five of us were fighting for two roster spots, one for defense and the other for a forward.
Seeing as how I was only eighteen and had just been drafted a couple of months ago, it should be Alex Petersen or Jared Tucker who got the final spot with the forwards. They’d already paid their dues, at least more than I had. But everyone thought it was going to be me.
The general manager, Jim Sutter, had already called JT back for a meeting with the coaches, but the rest of us were waiting for word while we cleaned up after practice. I put my head down and went about my business, trying to stop the nerves that were jumping around in my stomach so much I thought I might puke.
“Everybody listen up,” Zee said, and I whipped my head around so I could see him. He was in the stall right next to mine. He’d grabbed me on the first day of camp and steered me over there, telling me he was going to look out for me, make sure I knew what was up.
His name was really Eric Zellinger. He was the team’s captain and had been for a few years. The guy seemed to have everything together. Part of me wondered if I would ever be as cool and calm as he was. Probably not. Some guys were just born like that, I figured, and he was one of them.
“We’ve got our annual Ice Breaker tomorrow,” he said once all the talk in the room died down. “If you’re still on the team as of tomorrow morning, you are required to be there. Slacks or khakis with your jersey on—no suits, but no jeans, either. Don’t be late.”
I figured I didn’t have to worry about that, since Jim and the coaches were about to cut me, but I filed it away just in case.
JT came back in the room a minute later. The other rookies and I all looked up, unable to hide our curiosity.
“I’m heading up to Seattle, boys,” he said. “Jim wants to see Petey next.”
My heart started pounding harder since it was down to just me and him. Told you , Razor mouthed at me. I put my head down again, put on socks and shoes, and tried not to think about whatever was coming.
Zee rested his arms on his knees and turned his head toward me. “Have any plans on where you’ll live this season?”
He made it sound like it was a given that I’d be with the big club, too. I’d never thought he was one to lay it on thick before, but I reserved the right to change my opinion on that matter.
“My billet family is expecting me back,” I said, doing my best to keep my tone even. No doubt I was blushing, though. I always did. Couldn’t help it. It fucking drove me crazy. The guys were always giving me shit over it, none more than Razor. He had more than enough shit to spare since he—unlike Zee—was full of it.
“Is that so?” The way he said it made my stomach flip. “Well, if for some reason you end up needing somewhere to stay here in Portland, let me know. I’ve got a separate apartment in my
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