Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Alex and I leave the executive suite. In the elevator heading down to the basement level that houses the locker room, he makes the overture that I’m sure I will get a lot today. “I’m really sorry to hear about your dad.”
“Thanks,” I reply with a smile I don’t feel. “I appreciate it.”
He studies me for a moment, a bit of calculation in his eyes. “Listen...I don’t need to tell you that every player needs to play at an optimum level since we’re in the playoffs. I also don’t need to tell you that you’ve got some tough times ahead of you with your dad. If, at any time, your head isn’t in the game the way it should be, I just need you to let us know. We’ve all got your back. You may be new to the team, but you are a brother to us now. If you need to take a step back, not one man on this team will ever begrudge you for taking the time you need for yourself and your family.”
That was way more than I expected, and it touches me. He doesn’t need to make those assurances. In fact, he has every right to be tough with me...acknowledging my shitty circumstances but making expectations clear—that I should be performing at peak level, no matter what.
“Thanks man… I really appreciate it,” I say and he responds by clapping me on the shoulder.
The locker room is noisy and bustling. All of the players are in front of their wooden cubbies in various states of undress. The mood is jubilant, with a lot of laughing and joking going on. It reminds me of the Vengeance locker room, and I have a moment of intense longing for my old team.
Alex leads me over to my space, stopping along the way to do quick introductions. I already know many of my teammates, either from having played with them or against them, even dating back to my junior hockey days.
My cubby is open-faced, made of solid stained wood with an etched plaque that reads R. Simmons at the top. The equipment manager has been diligent. There’s a practice uniform, the requisite pads, skates, and even my preferred brand of sticks waiting to be taped—which is something players usually do themselves.
A guy that I immediately recognize but have never had the opportunity to meet before is at his cubby to my right. Tall, with dark hair and the weirdest-looking golden eyes I’ve ever seen, ones that probably make women swoon, he shoots me an easy smile and sticks out his hand for me to shake. But it’s Alex who makes the introduction. “Rafe... this is Zack Grantham. He’ll be your left-winger.”
We pump hands, and I tell him, “Hope I can fill Bellan’s place and do it justice.”
“I’m sure you can,” he replies with an affirming nod of his head. “Looking forward to getting out on the ice with you.”
Zack plops down on the bench that runs in front of our cubbies and starts to untie his shoelaces.
Another man approaches, and I recognize him as well. An icon, Garrett Samuelson is a first-line right-winger for the Cold Fury. He’s joined by one of the best goalies in the league, the lynchpin of this team, Max Fournier.
We shake hands, and they are equally as warm and welcoming. The crowd starts to grow.
Max motions a guy over, and I can tell immediately that they’re related. He introduces his brother, Lucas Fournier, to me.
“Glad to meet you.” We shake hands, and I lean in with a conspiratorial grin. “Loved that hip check you put on Lars Nilsson a few weeks ago.”
Lucas laughs and nods. “I bet you did.”
Lars is a douchey player for the L.A. Demons. Last year, he pulled one of the lowest forms of violence I’ve ever seen in our league, and he did it with words.
Our first-line center for the Vengeance, Tacker Hall, was having a rough time. He lost his fiancée in a plane crash the year before, and as if that weren’t bad enough, Tacker was the one piloting the aircraft, so he was dealing with loads of misplaced guilt.
At any rate, Tacker and Nilsson got into a scuffle on the ice, and rather than handle it the normal way by dropping gloves and duking it out, Nilsson made reference to Tacker killing his fiancée.
Tacker went ballistic and took Nilsson down to the ice, kneeing him in his head so severely he knocked him out cold. Tacker was suspended for several games, but in everyone’s opinion, the ass-whipping was justified. I would have loved to have gotten a piece of him. I’m sure every player on our team would have.
“How is Tacker doing?” Lucas asks. Everyone in the league knows he’s had demons to deal with.
“His stats say it all,” I point out, and all the men standing around nod. Tacker is back at the top of his game, leading the league in points and dominating everyone on the ice.