Zachary Ryan loved exhibition games. He knew they didn’t count and he knew a lot of his teammates used them as warm-up games, not playing their hardest, making sure to take it easy lest they get an injury before the actual season. Zach did not have that same mentality. Even though he would be the Gulls’ first line center regardless of his performance during these games, the rookies and the draft picks would be fighting hard to get noticed. They pushed harder, shot with power, and played dirty.

He fed off of that. Especially these punk kids who thought they knew everything just because they won some trophy down with their U17 and U18 teams, just because they got drafted by a national hockey team, just because they were still and vital, just because girls started to throw themselves at them, just in case they turned out to be the next big thing in hockey. He liked knocking them down by a peg. He liked putting them in their place. And more than anything, he liked reminding them that with age came experience, wisdom, and strength.

He got to the Ice Palace an hour before call time. He liked to walk up and down each staircase in the terrace portion of the rink. He would clear his mind and just count each and every step. His legs burned by the time he would finish, but he was warmed up and ready to skate. The exercise – superstition, if he was being honest – calmed him so his muscles were relaxed and his mind was clear from everything – nerves, problems in his professional and personal lives, even Harper was temporarily removed from the forefront of his mind.

By the time his teammates trickled in, he was already lacing up his skates. They were the first pieces of equipment he put on, besides black tights, even though it would be difficult to pull on his shorts and the official Gulls’ shells that went over the shorts. It was how he dressed himself for every practice, every game, every tournament. He didn’t want anyone helping him, especially not his parents’.

Regardless, they would trickle into the locker room and impart sage advice to him before his game.

“Get the hard part over with,” his mother would tell him, looking him in the eye. His own eyes, reflected back at him. “Then everything is easy-peasey.”

He took his time getting dressed. There was a lot of equipment, a lot of Velcro and clear tape to hold up his socks. When he was a teenager, he was so skinny, he’d have to use some tape around his shorts, just to ensure they were tight at the waist. Shin guards, elbow pads, shoulder and chest pads over a t-shirt – a grey shirt with a green Superman logo – and then his official Gulls home jersey. It was a sleek navy blue with off-white lettering. On the front was a silver anchor, on the back was his last name above his number: 15. Fifteen out of respect for Stevenson. Fifty-one since he was six and his mother scrawled a list of potential numbers and they randomly assigned him fifty-one. His helmet – no shield – was on his head but left unbuckled, and his black gloves were on even though they didn’t need to be. Not yet.

Coach Cherney walked in at that moment, no-nonsense and business-oriented. He wasn’t the typical sort of hockey coach – he was small and slight, bald head and bushy mustache, but in the short amount of time Zach had known him, he knew Cherney didn’t bullshit, was direct, and if a player needed it, had no problem calling him out for whatever he screwed up on. He didn’t coddle but he didn’t crack the whip unless it was deserved.

Cherney walked in the center of the locker room, careful not to step over or walk across the anchor logo stitched into the center of the floor. “All right, boys,” he said in a deep voice, “it’s our second exhibition game as a team. Some of you won’t dress because you’re assigned to various places across the Palace. Have fun interacting with the public.” A couple of chuckles from the guys in suits rather than sweaters. “For those of you who are playing, stay focused but remember that you are more than the intensity of the game. I’m not going to tell you these games don’t mean anything but if I see any one of you do something selfish, you’ll be benched for however long I see fit. Got it?”

There were nods in assent, but nothing vocal. They were getting in the game, getting ready for that buzzer.

Cherney left to take his position on the bench, leaving the team alone in silence for the next few moments. Then, Thorpe stood, dressed in all the padding and equipment that made up being a goalie, and the guys followed him from the locker room down a short hallway and to the mouth of the rink.

Zach felt his heart start to pound like a drum in a rock song, steady and hard, over and over again. He could hear the booing of the crowd as the referees skated onto the ice, could hear the booing increase as the opposing team – the Los Angeles Stars – skated out there.

Then, the announcement. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for your Newport Beach Seagulls!”

Thorpe was out first, and the rest of the team followed. The minute Zach’s skates touched the ice, he felt the adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream. He didn’t look at the fans – the building was considerably empty, considering it was only an exhibition game – and instead, looked ahead, at what was in front of him.

Zach also wouldn’t look at the opposing team. It was one of the two rivalries the Gulls had so he knew that despite the fact that it didn’t count, there was a measure of pride on the line, especially for the fans. It was his second game these people saw him play in a Gulls’ sweater. He would make sure he took the rivalry seriously.

When the team finished their welcome skate around their half of the rink, the starting line up – three shooters, two defensemen, and one goalie – lined up on the blue line as the announcer raised the singing of the national anthem. Zach was used to two anthems being sung due to the fact that his former team had been Canadian, and anytime a Canadian team played an American team, both anthems were sung. Though he wasn’t a citizen, he respected the anthem and what it represented. He had no problem standing and remaining silent during it. It reminded him to focus. Besides him, he noticed Kyle Underwood jump up and down, swinging his arm out while holding his stick with the other before switching.

Kyle Underwood, his line mate and one of the few remaining members of the Gulls pre-Seraphina. The guy was his age, maybe a few months younger than Zach. He was tall, blond, with clear blue eyes. He looked lean but Zach knew Underwood had solid muscle underneath the padding he wore. He had to, with the beating he took every game by standing in the goalie crease, trying to get his stick on a stray puck or a rebound. Plus, the guy was just a prick and opponents liked to take shots at him. Zach knew they would try to trip him up or crosscheck him.

Not that Underwood didn’t deserve it. Kyle was known as an instigator. Everyone hated him unless he was on their team. He was skilled and had no problem answering if he was ever called to fight. He rarely if ever smiled on the ice, instead choosing to focus on the game. Zach respected him and was glad he could call him teammate now.

When the anthem was over, Zach jumped once, twice, shaking out any loose nerves and started skating around his side of the ice, just to loosen his muscles. When the refs blew their whistles, he leaned forward, his hands holding his stick horizontally as he skated to center ice. He refused to look at Drew Browning, didn’t want the guy to have any chance of getting in his head.

Zach stood straight and got his stick ready. The whistle blew. The puck dropped. Zach reached with his stick and won the faceoff to start the game.

Harper couldn’t take her eyes off of Zach while he played. She had seen him before, of course, when he used to play for Toronto, but there was something magical about watching him play for her team. He wasn’t the fastest skater but that was partly because his body was muscled and strong. He made up for it in brute force. He, like his linemate Kyle Underwood wasn’t afraid to do to the corners of the rink and mix it up in order to retrieve the puck. He had no problem body checking, shoving, and throwing his hips out in order to make a play.

He was mesmerizing.

Zach Ryan had his flaws. Like, she noted, he wasn’t fast but he was strong. He didn’t shoot the puck when he had opportunities, instead choosing to pass it. His passes, however, were crisp and perfect, almost always ending up to his teammate exactly where the teammate needed it to be in order to get a shot on goal. Every now and then, he would drop a pass back without looking to see if it hit its target, and most of the time, the opposing team would swoop in and intercept it. Zach got too cute, too cocky, in his passing.

During the commercial breaks, Harper narrowed her eyes from her seat at center ice to try and gauge what sort of player he was when the cameras weren’t rolling and the game wasn’t in play. If he was on the ice and the Ice Princesses were sweeping up the ice in order to smooth it out, she didn’t notice him checking them out – even though she couldn’t blame him if he did. They were all gorgeous, in uniforms that left little to the imagination.

He did tend to spit a lot, however. And every now and then, he would clear out his nose while on the bench, while the cameras were on him. It was disgusting, but he didn’t even seem to care. Which, oddly enough, was kind of attractive. The blatant disregard for what people thought of him was a turn on. It was almost as though when he played, his attention and focus remained there. He did what he had to do in order to play his best, be it spitting, clearing his nose, or ignoring the entire rink and focus on that little rubber puck.

“What do you think?” her grandmother asked from her side in a low murmur, once the buzzer sounded and the skaters headed back to the locker room.

Zach was so close to her, if he just looked up, he would see her. Except he didn’t. And Harper’s respect for him grew.

Right now, the game was the only thing that mattered. Right now, that was the only thing that should matter. She didn’t want to be the girl that distracted the athlete during a game, even an exhibition one. Her pride didn’t take a hit because of it. In fact, she preferred it that way. It showed her he had his priorities in order.

“I think he’s amazing,” she responded honestly. And Harper meant every word.