Team captain Isaac “Ice” Wolfe entered the room and took a seat next to Gorst. His face wore its usual stone-cold expression. He’d earned his nickname. I couldn’t recall him smiling once during our entire training camp. Usually, he was scowling.

“Easton, your stats are some of the best in the nation for a rookie. Hell, even for a veteran.” Gorst’s words almost seemed rehearsed.

Did I hear a but in there? I tamped down my growing excitement and forced a neutral expression on my face. Now my fingernails were digging painfully into my palms, but the pain didn’t distract me from this man who would set the course for my future with his next words. I glanced at Ice, who scrutinized me intently, as if gauging any signs of weakness. His scrutiny only amped up my nervousness. I was sweating now. If they kept me in suspense much longer, sweat would be trickling down my brow.

“You’ve become a valuable member of this team in a surprisingly short time,” Gorst continued, then gave Ice a nod. Being valuable had to be a good thing, didn’t it?

Ice cleared his throat. Was I hallucinating, or was there a ghost of a smile on his face? “I’ve watched you develop throughout training camp. You keep your head down, work hard, don’t cause any problems. You’re a good teammate, and I’d be proud to play beside you.”

“Thank, uh, thank you.” I was fucking going to faint. I put my hands, palms down, on the table to steady myself as my world began to tilt and lurch like a carnival ride badly in need of repair.

“Welcome to the Sockeyes.” Gorst ended my torture and stood. He held out his hand. I hauled myself to my feet and shook his offered hand. They were smiling, both of them, and all the tension poured out of me.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” I was gushing, but neither man appeared to mind.

Ice shook my hand next. His grip was strong and sure. “Congratulations, Big E. You earned it.”

I opened my mouth to say thank you again and snapped it shut. Ice was a man of few words, so I nodded instead.

“Do you have any questions for us?” Gorst asked.

“Uh, not right now. I can’t think of any.”

“Good then. Stop by personnel and fill out the necessary paperwork. We’ll be seeing you on the ice.”

I’d been dismissed, and I wasn’t about to overstay my welcome. I hurried for the door, tripping over a chair leg in the process, and flailed my arms to get my balance. Reaching the door, I let myself out without looking back. I was too elated to be embarrassed.

I wanted to race down the hallways shouting out my good fortune to the rooftops. Instead, I forced myself to walk slowly to the elevator. I hadn’t planned it, but seconds later, I stood in the empty locker room in front of the stall with my name on it. My stall. I was a Sockeye. I was a professional hockey player.