Rookie Move (Indianapolis Eagles Series Book 9)

  Rookie Move

  Indianapolis Eagles Series Book 9

  Samantha Lind

  samanthalind.com

  Rookie Move

  Indianapolis Eagles Series Book 9

  Copyright Samantha Lind 2020

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, photocopying, mechanical or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, story lines and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales or any events or occurrences are purely coincidental.

  Trademarked names appear throughout this novel. These names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intentional infringement of the trademark owner’s trademark(s).

  The following story contains adult language and sexual situations and is intended for adult readers.

  Cover Design by Jersey Girl Design

  Cover image by Wander Aguiar

  Cover Models Colton & Elise

  Editing by Amy Briggs ~ Briggs Consulting LLC

  Proofreading by Proof Before You Publish

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Dylan

  2. Hailey

  3. Dylan

  4. Hailey

  5. Dylan

  6. Hailey

  7. Dylan

  8. Hailey

  9. Dylan

  10. Hailey

  11. Dylan

  12. Hailey

  13. Dylan

  14. Hailey

  15. Dylan

  16. Hailey

  17. Dylan

  18. Hailey

  19. Dylan

  20. Hailey

  21. Dylan

  Coming Soon

  Also By Samantha Lind

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Dylan

  I step out onto the ice, my freshly sharpened blades gliding along the newly mopped surface. I’m still a little in shock I got the call to come up to the Eagles just yesterday. I packed a bag and was on the next flight. I was met at the airport by my new captain, Mark Lee, whose wife also just happens to be the team's managing owner. Kind of a weird situation, but I guess it works for them. He dropped me off at some swanky hotel for the night, probably where I’ll be staying for at least the next few days until I know if this will be a short-term call-up or if I’ll somehow make it into the permanent lineup for the Eagles.

  “Dylan,” Scott Taylor, my new head coach, greets me as I glide to a stop near the players' bench. “Nice to have you here with us. Did you get settled in okay last night? Sorry, I couldn’t pick you up myself; I had a family commitment.”

  “Nice to meet you, sir.” I take off one of my gloves, holding it between the opposite arm and my torso so that I can shake his hand. “Mark got me dropped off, and I just laid low last night. I wanted to be ready to go first thing this morning. Thank you again for this opportunity. I’m excited to show you what I can bring to the lineup.”

  “That’s what I like to hear, and I’m very well aware of what kind of talent you bring to the team. You keep up the hard work, and you’ll soon be one of the best players in the league.”

  His words are not anything new. I’ve been told that many times by all kinds of coaches, agents, and other players. I try not to let it go to my head, but it's also a kick-ass feeling knowing all the hard work I’ve put in since I was a little kid was worth it. All the days I’d have five am practices, followed by a full day at school, and then a few more hours in the weight room and back out on the ice for even more training. I’ve lived and breathed hockey since I was five years old. At only nineteen, twenty in just a few weeks, hockey has been a significant part of almost every memory for the last fifteen years.

  “Thanks,” I reply. I don’t really want to be thought of as the hotshot with an attitude because that is far from what I’m like. My parents raised me to be respectful to my elders, well, really to anyone. To accept the praise people would shower me with but do so in a non-boasting way.

  A few of the guys call out, welcoming me, referring to me as “Rookie.” Everyone is finally making their way out onto the ice. Because I was here early, I was dressed and ready to hit the ice before most of them were even in the locker room.

  I raise my hand, acknowledging their greeting. “Where would you like me, Coach?” I ask Scott, turning my attention back to him.

  “Skate around a few laps and warm up your legs. We usually leave the first fifteen to twenty minutes open to skating around and shooting some pucks before things get going. Then we’ll split up into forward and defensive pairs and run some drills. The guys will point you to where they want you to start. I’ll probably have you on the third line, for now.”

  “Sounds good,” I tell him as I push off and start to really warm up my legs.

  By the time practice ends, I’m a tired, sweaty mess. I head for the locker room after Coach dismisses us, dreaming about stepping under the hot water.

  “Hey, Rookie, where are you off to in such a hurry?” one of the guys calls out to my back.

  “The name’s Soupy,” I call back, reminding them of the nickname I was given when I started playing hockey. With the last name of Campbell, it’s kind of a given to have the nickname.

  “Try not to take it personally,” our goalie, Beckett Karlson, says to me as he holds the locker room door open for me to follow him inside.

  “It’s going to take a lot more than being called Rookie to get under my skin,” I tell him. “I know it is all in jest. Nothing I haven’t experienced before.”

  “They’re just jealous of how young you are, and here you are showing them up out on the ice. You’ve got quite the talent, kid. I can’t say I’m upset I don’t have to defend your shot when it truly matters.” He laughs.

  “I’ve been told that a time or two by different goalies over the years.”

  “I’m sure you have. Have you gotten settled in? I know you just got the call-up, so you couldn’t have been in town long.”

  “As settled as can be in a hotel,” I tell him as I take a seat at my locker bay. It is just a few from Beckett’s, so we’re able to continue our conversation as we strip off our gear. When you play professional sports, there are employees whose jobs it is to take care of all the equipment. The first time I played on a team that worked this way, it took a week or so to adjust to it; now, it's like second nature. Each team might handle things slightly differently, but in the end, everything the players need is readily available to us.

  I toss my practice jersey into the bin in the center of the room after watching a few other guys do the same. “Do they want our equipment left in our lockers?” I ask Beckett, not sure if they want things tossed into a separate bin for cleaning.

  “Your locker. The equipment staff will come in after we’re gone and go through everything, making sure nothing needs to be repaired or replaced or washed.”

  “Thanks,” I tell him as I strip off the last few pieces of equipment. I grab my shower kit and a fresh towel before I peel my compression pieces off, wrap the towel around my waist, and head for the showers.

  The hot water hits my tired muscles, loosening them as the heat works its way into my body. I bite back a groan as I relax. Not wanting to risk hogging a shower stall, I quickly wash u
p then take one last minute to let the hot water pelt my skin before shutting the tap off and heading back to my locker to get dressed.

  “We’ve got tape in twenty. Lunch will be provided!” Mark calls out into the locker room.

  “Do they usually provide lunch?” I ask Beckett.

  “Once a week or so, just kind of depends on the day and when Coach decides to cut us loose.”

  “Interesting,” I muse, making my way out of the locker room and down the hall to a room set up with a bunch of rows of office-style desk chairs with long tables in front of them, all are facing a large projection screen. A pretty typical set up for teams to have to review tape and prepare for upcoming games.

  “Are there assigned seats?” I ask Beckett once we’re in the room. There is a long table set up along the back wall filled with food.

  “Nope, stick with me, and you’ll be just fine. Some of the guys like to haze the rookies, but they are all actually really good guys. Give them a week, and they’ll have it out of their systems,” he says.

  I fill my plate with a few sandwiches, a scoop of some pasta salad-looking dish, and a brownie to round it all out. While I tend to eat on the healthier side as a professional athlete, I burn so many calories every day during the season that I eat like a horse, according to my mom. She was always musing about how much food she had to buy every week. Now that I live on my own and have to buy my own food, I realize just how right she was.

  Coach starts the video, bringing up the team's last game against Edmonton. He goes over things he wants us to be watching for and strategies for shutting down their top scorers. I still have to pinch myself, knowing I will be lining up across and with some of my idols that I watched play when I was growing up.

  “Hey, babe. How was class today?” I ask, smiling at the camera as Hailey’s face fills my screen. We've been dating since freshman year of high school when she finally gave in to me asking her out constantly, and the rest is history.

  “It was good, but I have sooo much homework. I don’t know how I’m going to get it all done,” she pouts, and I hate that we’re so far apart right now.

  “You’ll figure it out; I’ve got faith in you, babe.”

  “How was your first day?” she asks, changing the subject.

  “It was…” I pause for a second, trying to come up with the right words to describe what today was like. “Amazing, tiring, overwhelming, all at the same time. Kinda surreal to be playing for Scott Taylor. He’s such a badass player. I’ve kind of become friends with the goalie, Beckett. He was pretty cool and showed me around after practice. They provided us with lunch since Coach had a video session after we got off the ice.” I go on to explain more about my day.

  “I hate I’m not there with you to celebrate getting called up,” she says as her lip shakes as if she’s holding back tears.

  “Don’t cry, babe. We knew this could happen, but California is where you need to be right now. You need to do this for you,” I remind her.

  “It still sucks. I miss you,” Hailey says, wiping a tear from her cheek.

  “I miss you so fucking much.”

  “Only four weeks until I’m done with the semester and get to come and see you! I guess it’s a good thing I haven’t bought my ticket yet; hopefully, you’ll still be in Indianapolis then!”

  “I have a good feeling about things. I think this might be my shot,” I tell her honestly. I’ve always been very open and honest with Hailey about my aspirations of going pro. She’s always been supportive of my dreams, just as much as I’m supportive of her goals to become a doctor. She’s determined, and that’s only one of the many things I love about her.

  “Really? That’s awesome. I’m so proud of you,” she tells me, and I know she is. We’ve celebrated some notable milestones in my career together already, and she was by my side for as many as she could be. I was lucky when I played in the juniors, as I was picked up by a team in the next town over from our hometown in Massachusetts. When I entered the draft, Hailey came with my parents and me to the big event, so she was there to share in that particular moment when I heard my name called in the first round.

  “What classes did you have today?” I ask, going back to her day.

  “Chemistry this morning, followed by English, and my math class. I have to finish my huge-ass paper for my English class, and tomorrow I have a test in my Chemistry lab that I need to study up for.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” I tell her, knowing that she’s super smart, graduating at the top of our high school class.

  “This is so much harder than anything I ever had to do in high school. I don’t know what I was thinking of, taking so many credits this semester.”

  “I know it is hard, babe, but look at all you’ve already accomplished. A few more weeks and you’ll have finished another semester of college.”

  “So, when is your first game? I need to make sure I can watch it.”

  “Tomorrow night. It’s a home game for us, so it will be a seven-thirty start time, so four-thirty for you,” I tell her.

  “Oh, good! I’ll be done with class by then. I’ll either be here in my dorm or at the library studying, so either way, I’ll get to watch it, and you, kick butt. Are your parents flying in for the game?” she asks.

  “Yeah, I don’t know who was more excited, Mom or Dad,” I tell her, laughing a little at how much my mom freaked out when I called them to say I’d been called up.

  “I so wish I was able to come for it. But I’ll be here wearing your jersey from high school and cheering you on. Can you try and score a goal for me?” she asks. Her asking me to score one for her has become our little thing.

  “You know I’ll do my best.” I wink at her via the camera.

  “And that’s all I ever ask.”

  “I should probably let you go; you need to finish that paper and study for your test tomorrow.”

  “I know,” she says, blowing out a breath strong enough to make her hair flutter around her face. “I really wish I could squeeze you right now. Snuggle up next to you and feel your fingers sliding through my hair.”

  “Believe me, babe, I want that more than anything right now. But, you’ve got some classes to slay, and I’ve got a game to win, hopefully, more than one. We’ll be together again soon.”

  “Why do you always have to be so rational about this?” She laughs into the camera.

  “Because if I just focused on how much I miss you and how long it will be before I have you in my arms and under me again, I’d go crazy. I need you, Hales, but I also need you to chase your own dreams. I can only play hockey for so long, be that one year or twenty, it will come to an end at some point, and then you’ll have to be my sugar momma.” I wink into the camera.

  “You’re such a dork, but I love you anyway,” she replies.

  “I love you, too, babe.” I flash her my hand, my ring and middle finger bent down, leaving my pinky, pointer, and thumb up in the sign for I love you. We’ve flashed that sign to one another since sophomore year. She’d flash it to me from the bleachers at my games, and I’d return the gesture. Over time, the places we flash it at one another has changed from arenas to cameras. The time we can spend together these days in person, I find myself doing it across the room. Hailey is my soulmate. For a long time, I've known that we can make it through these few challenging years where we spend most of our time apart with hundreds, if not thousands, of miles between us physically.

  She returns the I love you sign before hitting the end button on our video call. If one of us doesn’t just end it, we’ve been known to sit up all night just staring at one another and getting nothing done. Sometimes she’ll take the lead, and other times it's me who cuts it off.

  Chapter Two

  Hailey

  I run to my dorm, my backpack smacking against my back with each step I take. I’ve got five minutes until the puck is set to drop, and I don’t want to miss one second of Dylan’s first NHL game. I’m so ridiculously proud of hi
m; he’s one of the lucky ones. Born with a natural talent that most guys would kill to have. It just comes naturally to him. I bound up the stairs, my key card already out and ready to unlock my door as I come to a sliding stop outside of it. I fling the door open and dump my backpack on the couch; I turn on the TV, flipping it over to the Apple TV so I can open the NHL app. Thank god for things like sports subscriptions and streaming, or I wouldn’t be able to watch his game. I get it pulled up just as the announcer is naming off the starting lineup and I’m shocked to see Dylan out there on the ice.

  I watch in awe as the camera pans across the players on the ice as the national anthem is sung. Most of the guys will move their feet back and forth on the ice to help keep the blood pumping in their legs. Standing still is the last thing these guys want to do after finishing warm-ups before the puck drops. I have to fight back the tears, watching him on the ice. I’ve seen more games than I can count at this point, and so many have such unforgettable memories. His first varsity game in high school, his first juniors game, followed by playing in the AHL and now the NHL. He’s progressed quickly, seeing as he only spent one full season in the AHL and now getting called up pretty early in the NHL season.

  I watch as he lines up for the first face-off. He’s lined up as the left-wing—his usual place on a line—he must be able to sense a camera on him. In the slightest movement of his hand, I see him flash the I love you sign just before his hand curls around his stick before the puck is dropped and the game starts. He’s done it before, flashing me our sign, knowing that I’m always watching him.