Hayes (A Carolina Cyclones Story)

7.

Hayes

What I should be doing is standing to my feet, shaking hands with the committee members of the team present, and then heading back to the locker room to get ready for practice. That's what I should be doing. Instead I find myself lingering, my feet rooted in place as I make small talk with staff all the while watching the door and waiting for the perfect opportunity to steal a moment with the woman I can't seem to shake free of, Maggie Evans.

Today she appears relaxed and confident, a look I haven't seen on her in our brief previous run ins. She's dressed in a patterned, flowy maxi skirt with a white graphic tshirt tucked into the top. Her light brown hair is pulled back, strands from the front folded into dainty braids that wind their way to a low bun at the base of her neck. If she's wearing makeup it's so light that I can't tell and I find that I like that. Usually the women I find myself surrounded by are always trying so hard. It's refreshing to see someone so comfortable being herself.

Maggie avoids my eyes, giving her full attention to the people in front of her and I feel my palms start to itch with the desire to reach out, tap her shoulder and steal her away. Luckily it's only a few moments later, and before I've given in to my urges, that the little group she'd been with disperses and she turns toward the door. I make my move, crossing the room in only two strides until I'm just behind her as she exits.

"Hey, Maggie, wait up."

I don't know why I'm so adamant about getting another chance to talk to her. Historically I've proven myself a creature of habit. I like structure. I like stability. I like routines. Chasing after Maggie when I should be getting my mind right for practice and heading straight there to make sure I arrive before my team is completely out of character for me and yet I can't help it. There's no real rhyme or reason for my need to talk to her. I just want to. And I can't remember the last time I did something simply to make myself happy. So I'm gonna give myself this one.

"Mr. Hansen." She replies and I cringe as she levels me with her eyes. Her lips set in a flat and untelling line.

"Oh God, call me Hayes or Hansen or really just about anything else. Mr. Hansen makes me think I need to look over my shoulder for my father."

"Okay then, Hayes, what can I help you with?"

"I just wanted to take a moment to apologize for yesterday." I'm not all that sorry for the fact that she saw me naked. I'm even less sorry about it when I watch the pink tinge creep up her neck and across her face. Being a professional athlete with an intense workout regimen does have some serious benefits.

"It's not a problem." She says quickly, turning to walk away and clearly embarrassed but I don't let that sway me.

"Actually, I was kind of surprised to see you." I press, walking quickly for a few strides to catch back up to her as she walks towards the front of the arena and presumably the exit. "I thought you worked at Malcolms."

She stops walking and I do the same, turning to face her and crossing my arms over my chest. I'm not flexing my arm muscles at all. Nope.

"No, I was just helping out that night. My roommate Rachel, her family owns Malcolm's. She's gonna take over eventually, but she's had a hard time finding help the past few months. I fill in every now and then. Art is my full time job."

"I guess that's my luck then. Now that you've taken the job of helping with the brand update you and I will be seeing a lot of each other."

Her eyebrows raise and she seems surprised but not unhappy about it. "Oh, yeah?"

I cock my head to the side. "Well yeah, at least for the hall of fame section. I'm the captain and I won the Selke last year." I'm normally not the bragging type but I can't help it. I want to impress her. It doesn't seem to work though and the reasoning is clear with her next sentence.

"You won the what?"

"Oh geez." I groan. "The Selke Trophy? It's for the best defensive forward in the league."

"Forward? What's that?"

I choke out a laugh assuming she's joking until my eyes meet hers and I see the wariness within their depths.

"How much do you actually know about hockey?"

"Not much, I guess." She shrugs. "I'm more of a baseball kinda girl if I'm honest. But even that I'm just a casual fan. Artists aren't really revered for our sports knowledge."

There's a teasing lilt to her words and I like it. "Sure, but I'm not sure how I feel about my team's creative image being put in the hands of someone who I'm guessing has never even seen a game before."

"Guess it's good for me they didn't leave it up to you then, right?" She quips.

"Maybe, but now I feel as though it's my duty as captain of this team to make sure by the time we're done with you you're a little less of a hockey imbecile."

"Did you just call me stupid?" She asks and it's obvious I just shoved my giant foot into my more giant dumb ass mouth.

"No, no that's not what I meant. I—" but she's already turned and made it half the distance from me to the door. She's gone before I can even apologize for flubbing my words.

And this is why I like routines. And also further proof that I have no game. Fucking zero.

*

I glance down at my watch and panic. More time has passed while I was talking to Maggie than I realized and so my day goes from bad to worse as I rush to get ready for practice. I'm not able to take the time and care I like to when getting ready and it leaves me flustered and red faced by the time I make it to the ice to find Jax and Wesley, amused and waiting for me.

"Hey there buddy." Wesley calls, leaning against the boards in front of the bench, Jax standing on his skates to his left, arm propped on the half wall that separates the ice and arena.

"Hey." I reply, keeping it short in hopes to avoid some bullshit I'm sure they're dying to expel.

"Jax, did you notice anything weird today? Because I, for one, am shocked by one particular oddity."

I roll my eyes and huff as I take my skate guards off and will Tweedledee and Tweedledum to just leave me the fuck alone.

"What's that Wes?" Jax asks.

"I seem to have noticed someone missing when I walked into the locker room today. Consider me floored wh—"

"Enough." I say simply. Grabbing my stick and narrowing my eyes at both of them. "Just fuck off and let's practice. You two are the last motherfuckers who should be razzing me for being late."

Wesley elbows Jax, wide grins searing across both their faces now that they see how annoyed I am. I blow out a breath and school my expression hoping they'll just drop it.

"Feisty. Who pissed in your Raisin Bran this morning Cap?"

I have no intention whatsoever of sharing my dumpster fire attempt at wooing a woman with these two bozos so I do what I do best. I ignore their continued attempts to prod me for information and hit the ice for practice.