Lost lives, p.18
Just Add Ice, page 18
Just Add Ice
Copyright © 2024 by L.C. Chase
Wild Roan Press
This book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All trademarks and copyrights are the property of their respective owners. Cover design is for illustrative purposes only, and any person(s) featured is a model. 100% Human Created: No generative AI is used in the creation of this work.
Cover design: L.C. Chase
ISBN: 978-1-952878-14-5
First edition
June, 2024
Also available in paperback: ISBN: 978-1-952878-15-2
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. NO AI TRAINING: Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact L.C. Chase at authorlcchase@gmail.com. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
NAPH (North American Professional Hockey) - Major league.
PHL (Professional Hockey League) - Minor league.
HLENA and HLWNA (Hockey League of Eastern North America and the Hockey League of Western North America) - Second tier minor league
Sparks fly when ice meets fire.
After eight years in the minors, Rayne “Rain the Pain” Hamilton has realized two things: One, his chances of getting called up to the Big Show are rapidly dwindling with each passing season; and two, he needs a plan for life after hockey. What he doesn’t bargain for is the gorgeous instructor at the fire training center he attends during the off season, who ignites his heart with burning desire.
Nick Seavers had a great life until his husband died suddenly, and his sun blinked out. His demanding career firefighting and teaching the next generation of firefighters are the only things keeping him sane. The last thing he wants is one of the new trainees, a larger-than-life hockey player with mischievous eyes, taking up space in his head and making him feel things he never thought he’d feel again.
As the heat rises between Rayne and Nick, Rayne receives an offer for a new contract and has to decide: Move to yet another city and start all over again or step off the ice and into the fire with Nick.
About Just Add Ice
Chapter 1: Rayne
Chapter 2: Nick
Chapter 3: Rayne
Chapter 4: Nick
Chapter 5: Rayne
Chapter 6: Nick
Chapter 7: Rayne
Chapter 8: Nick
Chapter 9: Rayne
Chapter 10: Nick
Chapter 11: Nick
Chapter 12: Rayne
Epilogue
The Games We Play Continues
Share Your Experience
Also by L.C. Chase
About the Author
“Rain the Pain!”
“Rain the Pain!”
“Rain the Pain!”
THE CROWD CHANTED DEAFENINGLY LOUD, but Rayne “Rain the Pain” Hamilton was so focused on the little black disc sliding over the ice that the seven-thousand-plus shouting voices may as well have been whispering.
It was the last game of the regular season. They were on home ice; the score tied at two with less than twenty seconds of play on the clock in the third period. Even though he knew his team had no chance of making the playoffs this year, he still wanted them to wrap it up with a win. Their fans deserved at least that much, after sticking with them through their disappointing season.
And he wanted to give the crowd what they wanted and rain the pain.
He dug the edge of his blades into the ice, and changing course on a dime, he cut across the rink through the neutral zone and landed an open ice body check on Bridgeport Corsairs forward number eighty-nine. At six-foot-two and a few pounds over two-hundred, Rayne’s hit struck like a wrecking ball, knocking the six-foot-six player clear off his feet and the puck off his stick. That Rayne’s opponent was bigger than him didn’t even register in his mind. The crowd roared, stomping their feet and banging their fists on the glass.
Rayne grinned as he snatched the loose puck and carried it into the Corsairs’ defensive zone. He flicked the disc back to point for his right winger Jacobs to pick up and just missed getting himself slammed into the boards by one of Bridgeport’s defensemen.
Rayne skated to the crease, getting in front of the opposing team’s goalie—a huge guy named Dansk who practically filled the net with his sheer size alone—to block his line of sight. Jacobs found an open lane and let a shot rip. The rocket of a puck went top shelf in the net so hard it sent Dansk’s water bottle flying onto the ice. The red goal light flashed as the horn sounded.
Jacobs shot his arms up in victory, and a second later the air whooshed loudly from his lungs when Rayne crashed into him and wrapped him up in a bear hug, pulling him off his feet. Jacobs gloved Rayne’s helmet before giving him a playful headbutt, laughing, and a second later Rayne was the one with the breath knocked from him when his teammates, a bunch of two-hundred-pound overly excited guys, dog-piled on him and Jacobs, hugging and mugging each other’s helmets and faces in celebration of their win.
It hadn’t been a pretty game, or season, for that matter, but they’d ended it with something to cheer about. Even though Rayne and his teammates had missed their shot at the playoffs this year, they were heading into the off-season on a high note. Rayne couldn’t even be mad about that.
“That was a great pass, Hamilton.” Jacobs slapped Rayne on the back as they entered the locker room. “And that hit!”
“Right! Dude . . .” Lavoie, a defenseman who was also Rayne’s roommate, laughed. “You Rayne’d the pain on Kostas hardcore. I’ve never seen anyone knock that guy off his feet before. Didn’t think it was possible.”
Rayne beamed as he high-fived Lavoie. He had to admit; it was a beautiful move. There was nothing quite like landing a perfect check, especially when it led to a goal—a game-winning goal at that.
“Gotta give the fans what they want,” Rayne quipped as he sat on the bench in front of his stall and pulled his Boulder Blitz jersey over his head.
He had a reputation for being quick to drop the gloves and throwing major checks, but he’d mellowed on the fighting in the last couple of years. Hockey had worked its magic on the angry kid from the south side of Chicago he’d been and had channeled his energies into more positive outlets. Who knew where he’d have ended up if not for hockey. Nowhere good, he was certain.
“So, what do you have going on this summer?” Jacobs sat beside him.
“I’m starting at the fire training center next week.” Rayne undid the Velcro straps of his shoulder pads and removed them.
The guys all knew that he’d gone to the Beyond Hockey Career Program the league offered to all professional players to help them find new careers off the ice. Real estate and firefighting were the most popular professions, and he’d settled on the latter as it was more physically demanding. That and he couldn’t imagine himself in fancy clothes trying to sell homes. He shuddered. It was enough that he had to wear suits to the arena on game days—even if he could skip the ties and wear sneakers instead of fancy loafers.
Since he was still playing hockey with the Blitz—the Denver Mustangs’ minor league team—he’d opted for the blended program with four months of online self-paced academic learning followed by four weeks of practical training onsite at the Boulder County Regional Fire Training Center. So far, he’d aced all his academic courses and was looking forward to getting into the hands-on stage. After that, he’d hopefully get hired on at a local station and begin his on-the-job training as a rookie for another year before earning the official rank of Firefighter.
But that would depend on the outcome of this year’s contract offers, now that he was a free agent.
“Yeah, Jacobs,” Lavoie cut in. “Why do you think he’s had his head in all those firefighting course books after games instead of partying with the rest of us?”
Rayne shook his head. Both Jacobs and Lavoie were only twenty years old, and this had been their first season in the Professional Hockey League. He remembered when the North American Professional Hockey League first drafted him. He’d been so full of himself, so certain he was going straight to the majors after only one season in the PHL. But eight years later, with no call up and trades to half a dozen teams, he knew that the window of opportunity to get called up was getting slimmer with each passing season.
“You can still make it, Rayne,” Jacobs said, his voice so solemn that Rayne couldn’t look at him. For a young guy, Jacobs was eerily intuitive. Which was one of many attributes that would make him a star player one day.
Guys like Jacobs and Lavoie had the potential to make it, but that didn’t always mean they would. Some guys spent their entire careers in the minors. Which wasn’t a bad gig. You got to do what you loved and make a few bucks at it, but now at twenty-six years old, Rayn
“We’ll see,” he said noncommittally. He tugged off his skates before standing to shuck his hockey pants. “What are you two assholes doing this summer?”
The guys laughed at the teasing note in his voice.
“Headed home to Montreal,” Lavoie replied, but Rayne already knew that since he talked with Lavoie more than anyone else on the team, them being roommates and all. He just wanted to change the subject. “My folks have a real estate company, and they want me to get my Realtor license.”
“That’s a good gig,” Jacobs remarked.
Rayne agreed. Even though he hadn’t chosen real estate for himself, he knew there was some serious coin to be made in that field.
“Yeah, well.” Lavoie shoved his shin guards into his hockey bag. “I won’t need that when I get called up to the Denver Mustangs.”
Rayne watched him for a minute and hoped the kid got the call up. He had some good stick handling skills and was as fast as lightning on the ice, but it took more than that to make it in the NAPH. Plus, there was always the risk of a career-ending injury. Rayne had seen more than a few players’ careers cut short because of one too many concussions or catastrophic damage to knees and shoulders. He’d come close himself, with a severe ACL tear during his first season in the minors.
“How about you, Jacobs?”
“Trading my skates for cowboy boots.” Jacobs chuckled. He was from northern Alberta and had grown up on a sprawling cattle ranch.
“Yeehaw,” Rayne and Lavoie shouted loud enough to earn a round of laughter from some of their teammates and curious looks from the rest.
“Seriously, though.” Jacobs stood, dropping his base layers and wrapping a large white towel around his waist. “You should come up to the ranch after your fire training and hang out.”
Rayne snorted. “What am I going to do on a ranch? Rope cattle?”
“Of course!”
“Thanks, man.” Rayne couldn’t see it. Trading his skates and helmet for cowboy boots and a wide-brimmed straw hat, and riding horses? Nope. Those animals were way too big. “I don’t see that happening, but I appreciate the offer.”
Jacobs shrugged. “Well, the offer stands. Anytime.”
“Thanks, man.” Rayne nodded as he headed for the showers.
Back in the locker room, Rayne watched as his teammates left one by one. He’d see most of them at the exit interviews on clean-out day, but he said his goodbyes just in case.
“Have a good off season if I don’t see you at the exits,” Rayne said to Jacobs as he heaved his hockey bag over his shoulder. “Make sure you get ice time.”
Jacobs grinned and gave him a two-finger salute before spinning on his heel and leaving the locker room.
“I’m going to hit the clubs,” Lavoie said. “You in?”
“Nah.” Rayne shook his head. Clubbing had never been his scene. “You have a good time.”
“I swear you’re the oldest twenty-something I know,” Lavoie teased as he headed out of the locker room with shouting “See ya!” over his shoulder.
Rayne smiled as he watched him go. One by one, his Blitz teammates said their goodbyes, but Rayne stayed back until he was the last person in the room. The air in the empty space felt heavy on his shoulders. Another season had come to an end. Another season he hadn’t been called up to the major league. And another off-season where his teammates scattered to the four winds, leaving him alone once again. Even Lavoie would be gone in a couple of days.
Hockey had been his savior when he was twelve years old, had become the family he’d needed when his own parents forgot he was there most of the time. But hockey had always been a transient family for him. Faces and cities came and went, and not for the first time in the last couple of years, the need to plant his feet permanently, to keep those faces and cities the same, tugged at him.
Rayne sighed, taking his time clearing out his locker. He would be back, of course, for practice and training on his own throughout the summer, but as he closed the locker door, a thought crossed his mind that he had just played his last pro hockey game.
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BED WAS COLD.
Nick sighed, closed his eyes, and rolled onto his back. Geoff’s side of the bed would never be warm again. His gentle, teasing kisses and caressing hands would never again awaken Nick. And Geoff’s heart-melting smile would never again be the first thing Nick saw every morning.
He swallowed against the tightness in his throat and squeezed his eyes shut at the prickling threat of tears.
It had been a little over two years, but it still felt like yesterday that Geoff had kissed him goodbye before being tragically taken away from him. Geoff had gone for his regular morning bike ride before work, and a careless driver had struck him, killing him instantly. For that, at least, Nick had been grateful Geoff hadn’t suffered.
A wet nose nudged at his hand, reminding him he was still alive and needed. That Geoff would want him to live, not just exist. But existing was all he’d been able to do since that fateful day.
“Okay, Roo,” he mumbled. “I’m getting up.”
Roo was a massive German shepherd, golden retriever, Doberman mix that he and Geoff had rescued as a puppy four years ago. She’d been part of a horrible neglect and hoarding case, and they’d hoped she’d been young enough to not remember much of the horrors of her first weeks on earth. Nick and Geoff had showed her how much she was loved from the moment they brought her home.
Family and friends had been there for him after Geoff died, making sure he was doing okay and that his freezer was never short of ready-to-eat dinners, but Roo had been the one to comfort him through his darkest hours with her soulful amber eyes and steady, quiet presence. She gave him a reason to keep getting up in the mornings. To keep facing each new day in a world that had lost its shine without his husband at his side.
He kicked off the covers and staggered into the bathroom to take care of his morning ablutions before throwing on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. He stopped in the kitchen for a glass of water before heading to the mudroom. Roo followed him the entire way, watching with hopeful eyes while her tongue lolled, and her tail did a slow wag.
“Ready for a run, girl?”
Roo barked and did a little spin in answer, always excited for their regular pre-dawn three miles. Smiling, he put on his shoes and a light jacket before attaching the leash to her collar. The chill of the late April morning woke him up faster than a cup of black coffee. Nothing helped get him into a functioning frame of mind for the day better than running off the suffocating blanket of grief that he woke up with each morning.
The route they ran every day was the same, taking them a few blocks across town, where they picked up the Boulder Creek Path and continued up into Boulder Canyon. The gurgling of the creek that hugged the trail, the trees full of birds singing their cheery, new-day welcome, and the rhythmic pounding of his feet had a way of easing his mind enough to face another day without his other half.
Back home, he took a quick shower, dressed in his station wear for training, fed Roo, and sat down to a cup of coffee and a peanut butter-smothered bagel while he mentally prepared for the day ahead. The routine was the same, whether he was going to work at the station, or to the center to teach, and it helped keep him sane.
Today, a new crew of firefighting recruits would arrive at Boulder’s fire training center, where he was one of four instructors. He’d joined the fire service right out of high school, and thirteen years later he still couldn’t imagine doing anything else. The job was both physically and mentally demanding, and too often heartbreaking, but every person he’d helped save made it all worth it. He’d felt like he’d made a difference and that was what he’d loved most about the job.
When the new training center opened near the Boulder Reservoir, he’d signed on as one of their training officers. Being a part of bringing up the next generation of firefighters was a way of giving back and ensuring the new recruits were as prepared as they could be when they entered the service full time. Now, though, the hours spent working and training kept him occupied and exhausted enough that he didn’t dwell on the missing part of his heart. Not too much, anyway.
