Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
I learned that Brooke is a good listener. She’s funny, in an understated kind of way. By the end of dinner, I could tell Brooke didn’t have an arrogant bone in her body, and as I watch her talking to Erik’s date, it’s even more evident. She’s nonjudgmental too. All the other wives and girlfriends have steered clear of the woman Erik brought, but there Brooke stands listening to whatever the woman says with immense interest.
Bottom line…she’s just nice like that.
The guys move onto another subject, the upcoming game we have in San Francisco. I’ve been pleasantly surprised this week during training camp that this group of guys now known as the Vengeance have some pretty good mojo on the ice. When you get traded to a new team, it takes a little bit of time for you to acclimate. Imagine bringing in thirty guys from the expansion draft, all with different playing styles and who have been coached differently, and throwing them all together on the ice.
Well, I’d pretty much expected disaster.
Instead, and for whatever reason, our lines came together quickly and we just sort of have an intuition out there that seems to be working for a bunch of guys that are essentially strangers. Hopefully that will continue for upcoming games and into the regular season.
Even Tacker—and my eyes slide over to where he sits alone at the bar—has integrated somewhat. He’s quiet and won’t seek out conversation, but will politely engage if you make the first move. But out on the ice, he’s a different person. He’s subtly commanding and exerts such confidence that he’s almost a comfort to the other players. It’s like if Tacker thinks we can do it, we can do it. It helps that he’s one of the best players the league has ever seen, and even at thirty years of age, he can outskate most of the rookies and beat almost any goalie in a one-on-one situation.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” I say out of the side of my mouth to whoever might be listening. Erik’s going on and on about a great topless bar in San Francisco he wished we had time to hit after the game, but he’s lamenting that sadly we’ll have to go straight to the team plane to head to Los Angeles.
Brooke’s eyes catch me from across the room as I head over to the bar. She gives me a sweet smile and I wink back at her. Miming with my hands, I mouth the words, Want another drink?
She shakes her head and I shoot her a thumbs-up.
At the bar, I take an empty stool to Tacker’s right, although there’s one on his left too. He doesn’t give off the most welcoming vibes and he’s currently hunched over what looks to be a glass of bourbon on the rocks.
“What’s up, man?” I say as I sit down beside him.
“Not much,” he mutters, hunching further around his drink. I get the guy is sort of antisocial, but why even bother hanging around after the dinner was over?
I mean, I’m sure I know the answer. It’s all tied into the devastating loss of his fiancée. I certainly can understand being withdrawn, but I’m not going to let that thwart me. Besides, Coach put Tacker and me on the first line together at the beginning of training camp and it hasn’t changed. As right wing and center, we need to trust and anticipate each other. Sometimes it’s done with communication.
Other times it has to come from knowing your man and what he’s going to do.
“Monday night,” I say to get his attention, and he turns to look at me. Monday night we’ll be on the ice playing the San Francisco Bay Brawlers. “If they have Bronson in goal, he’s always down in the butterfly stance. It’s like once he starts, he can’t stop, so be on the lookout for that.”
I know this well, because Bronson played with the Vipers for two seasons as our backup before he went to San Francisco to be their primary.
“So what’s the best play?” Tacker asks me, his expression now relaxed and interested. I’ve figured him out. As long as you talk about hockey with him and keep it impersonal, he’ll actually engage openly.
“When I have the puck behind the net if I have some space, sneak into the corner pie,” I tell him. The corner pie is a quarter of the faceoff circle that sits closest to the blue line and the center of the ice. It’s a center’s dream to shoot from. “I’ll find you.”
Tacker gives me a half smile and nods. “I’ll go high, stick side.”
“Exactly.” I look over my shoulder at Brooke, not wanting to leave her alone for too long. She’s still engaged with Erik’s date, and she’s actually talking animatedly to her using hand gestures. I’m dying to know what they could possibly have in common.