I shake my head and turn back to my stall, gaze landing on the torn photo strip lying on the shelf. There are only two images, but I’ve carried them with me for the last five years. In both of them, Ava and I are kissing.
It’s hard to make out her features since her face is in profile, but there’s no mistaking her beauty.
I reach out and tap the photos with my index finger. Once. Twice. It’s the same ritual I’ve done before every NHL game I’ve played.
The long-standing tradition started by accident. I’d been dressing for my debut in San Jose, nerves damn near eating me alive, when the photo strip fell out of my wallet. I’d forgotten it was there, a keepsake from a night I couldn’t stop thinking about. The instant I picked it up—the instant I saw Tink’s gorgeous smile—something in my chest loosened. Just the sight of her, and the memories of that carefree night, relaxed me.
That night, I played a near-perfect game, with two goals and an assist.
After that, the photo strip became my good luck charm. I pull it out before every game and tap it twice, just like the first time.
The guys all know about the tradition. They’ve seen me do it a hundred times—and chirped me twice as often.
What they don’t know is that she’s the reason I have a flamingo tattooed on my ass.
And they sure as hell don’t know she’s the same woman who walked into our practice facility yesterday as the team’s new mental performance coach.
“Still tapping the mystery woman?”
I glance over to see Dvorak watching me, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. D-Vo and I go way back. I billeted with his family when we were teenagers, and he’s the closest thing I have to a brother. He’s also the only person on this team, aside from Coach, who can read me.
“Don’t start,” I mutter, reaching for my helmet.
“I’m just saying, that thing’s going to wear out long before you retire.” He nods toward the photo strip. “What are you goingto do then? Frame it? Laminate it? Get it tattooed on your other ass cheek?”
I snort. “Fuck off, D-Vo.”
He laughs, but then his expression shifts. His eyes narrow, and he leans in closer, squinting at the photos. “Wait a second. Is that—”
My chest tightens. “Don’t finish that sentence.”
“Holy shit.” His voice drops to a whisper, but his eyes are wide with shock. “Is that Ava? Is Coach’s daughter the woman you’ve been—”
“Shh!” I grab his arm and pull him close, my voice low. “Keep it down.”
D-Vo glances around the locker room, but no one’s paying attention to us. McGinnis is still running his mouth, and the rest of the guys are too focused on their own routines to notice.
Still, my heart is pounding like I just skated a full shift.
“Are you serious right now?” D-Vo hisses. “You’ve been carrying around a picture ofherfor five years?”
“I didn’t know who she was,” I say through gritted teeth. “Not until a few days ago.”
“Jesus Christ, Knox.” He runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “Does Coach know?”
“No. And it needs to stay that way.” I meet his eyes, my voice firm. “You can’t tell anyone, Luke. I mean it.”
He stares at me for a long moment, and I can see the wheels turning in his head. The fact that I used his first name is about as serious as it gets.
Finally, he nods. “I won’t say anything. But you know this is completely unhinged, right?”
“Yeah.” I turn back to my stall. “I’m well aware.”
D-Vo claps me on the shoulder, and relief flickers in my chest.
If there’s anyone I can trust with this, it’s him. He’s been there for me through everything—losing my parents, the dark days that followed, the climb back to something resembling normal life.
He’s not going to screw me over now.