Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Stefan comes closer like I’m a rabid dog, then sets a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get a beer after practice.”
I stare at him like he’s nuts.
“Fine, fine. A water with no carbs and a salad or what-the-fuck-ever,” he says.
At least he understands me.
Later, we’re at The Great Dane. That’s the restaurant/bar Stefan owns. Hayes is there, too, along with Fisher, who joined the team recently. Hollis is here too and he’s telling us a story of a guy he knew in college who was tired during a game from an all-nighter. “So then Brody says to the captain, ‘Well, it’d be helpful if I could get an espresso during intermission.’”
Wait. That perks me up. “Did he get one? Did he actually order an espresso during a game?”
“Said he was feeling a little sluggish,” Hollis recounts, “and that an espresso would do the trick.”
This I have to know. “And did it?”
Hollis’s eyes widen as he nods. “He fucking attacked the puck after that. Went on a tear.”
Hayes tilts his head, seeming to consider this. “Are you saying we should get an espresso cart rink-side?”
“I was promised espresso when I was traded so I say yes,” Fisher puts in dryly.
I say nothing, knocking back some seltzer as Stefan looks my way. “What do you think, Brick? Next time you’re sluggish during a game, want a cup?”
I roll my eyes, then grab onto the trash talk. “I’d think a whole jug for you.”
Hollis smiles as if he likes the idea. “Nothing wrong with a little caffeine.”
“When are you ever tired?” Stefan counters to the laidback new guy who’s magic with cats.
Hollis draws a deep breath, seems to give it some thought. “Fair point. It’s rare. But that’s because I’m married to sleep.”
“What hockey player isn’t married to sleep?” Hayes asks.
“This is like a serious devotion to it. I’ve got a sleep mask and a special pillow,” Hollis says, as if he’s proud of his bedtime accouterments.
Stefan sits up straighter, blue eyes twinkling. “Wait. You bring a special pillow on the road, Hollis? That’s fucking gold. Your new name is Mister Cuddles.”
Hollis groans, leans back in his chair. “I don’t bring it on the road, and I’m not Mister Cuddles.”
“Mister Cuddles,” Stefan says, having a grand old time, pointing to Fisher next. “Because Fisher’s other new guy.”
There’s too many new guys to keep track of.
Fisher grins with relief. “Glad I got that one.”
The nickname wars perk me up. I meet Stefan’s gaze, a little accusatory. “We agreed Hollis’s nickname was Magician. Fight me on this.”
We spend the next hour arguing over the nicknames for Hollis and for Fisher, and in the end I win.
When we leave, Hayes, Fisher and Hollis walk ahead and Stefan hangs back with me, a paper bag of leftovers from the restaurant in his hand. We’re shooting the breeze about the season and the city, then Stefan tells me he wants to take a detour. We say goodbye to the other guys and swing by the park. It’s dark and late, and I’m not sure what’s up but he finds an old guy on a bench doing a crossword puzzle by the duck pond.
“How’s the puzzling going, Henry?” Stefan asks the guy.
“This one’s easy. A five-letter word for penance. Atone,” Henry says, answering it before we have the chance.
Stefan gives him the bag. “Chicken risotto special tonight. Not too shabby.”
The grizzled man smiles. “Thanks, kid.”
“Henry, this is my buddy, Dev.”
Henry turns to me, arches a brow. “You like ducks?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t feed them then.”
“I won’t,” I say, grateful for the unsolicited advice.
Henry returns to his crossword puzzle book.
We leave, and I understand completely what Stefan did for me tonight. “Appreciate this, man,” I say to the captain as we stand at an intersection, the evening traffic passing us by.
“Anytime,” he says.
But when I’m home alone, wandering through my wide-open living room, the spacious kitchen, and the balcony with a view of all of Pacific Heights, I’m just that.
Alone.
48
CALICO JACK
Ledger
There’s a clean shot to the net. I take aim, slam the puck, and send it flying past the goalie.
Sweet!
It still feels good to score, even in practice. Nothing’s hurt much for the first few days of training camp. Empirically, that’s good, even if something’s been nagging at me all week.
Namely, this empty feeling in my chest.
“Looking sharp,” Chase says once we’re off the ice and in the tunnel. “You looked like you could play forever.”
I wince. But it’s not from the knee. “You never know,” I say evasively as we head to the locker room.
“I bet you are. Nothing can keep you down,” he says, and that’s Chase for you. Optimistic. Full of sunshine. No wonder he’s the team captain. He’s like Dev, always seeing the positive.
“Let’s hope so,” I say, and eventually I’ll tell the team that I won’t play forever. I just need to tell Garrett first.