Page 2 of Wingmen

“We can do both.” Reef clapped Rodriguez’s hand in his and the two began a complicated handshake. “My man! I didn’t know you were in Portland.”

“Got in yesterday.”

“Training?”

“Nah, I came for this.”

Reef turned to Dustin. The smile like a Colgate commercial. “Bennet. The old man himself. I feel like I should kneel or something.”

“I’m twenty-nine,” said Dustin. “You can just say ‘the man himself’.”

“In hockey years, bro, that’s like sixty.” Reef flagged down a waiter. “Shots. We need glasses. This is a charity event and I am feelingcharitable.”

“It’s an open bar,” Dustin pointed out, “it’s not like you paid for that bottle.” Reef wasn’t listening.

Dustin set his glass down and massaged his knee under the table. He’d been on his feet too long at the cocktail hour.

“Shattered your kneecap, right?” said Rodriguez. Dustin looked up. Rodriguez was watching his hand under the table.

“Oh snap,” said Reef. “That’s right. Man, Prescottstapledyou to the fucking boards.”

“I watched that game,” said Rodriguez. “Brutal, dog.” His brow knit. “You got surgery, huh?”

The lights dimmed for the speeches before Dustin could reply.

Someone from the foundation talked about rink access in North Portland neighborhoods, and about how exciting it was tosee a growing junior hockey scene in Oregon. Dustin half-listened and sipped his water. When he glanced at Rodriguez, he was surprised to see the kid was actually listening: elbows on the table, chin on one fist. When the program director mentioned Tampa’s youth charity league, Rodriguez whooped. He was the only person in the room who did, and he seemed totally unembarrassed about that.

More shots arrived as the speeches were wrapping up, and Reef solemnly distributed them. “To the kids,” he said, raising his glass.

By the third round, the table was getting loud. Reef was telling a story about a night in Tampa that involved a pop tart and a plastic fishing trophy, and the Sharks goalie was laughing so hard he’d gone silent. Rodriguez had shifted round the table to sit next to Reef, and his eye snagged on Dustin’s as Dustin leaned back in his chair. His eyes were almost black in this light, and his cheeks were flushed from the alcohol.

Rodriguez lowered his gaze quickly and turned his attention back to Reef. Dustin scanned the crowd.

Five minutes later, Rodriguez dropped into the chair beside him, smelling like tequila and expensive cologne. “You’re quiet,” he said.

Dustin lifted one shoulder. “Running your mouth is a surefire way to get your ass in trouble.”

Rodriguez laughed, which surprised him. “Claro. My mom says the same thing.” He leaned across the table to swipe the nearly empty tequila bottle. “So,” he said, sloshing it out of his glass as he poured, “you gonna bring up that headline, or should I?”

“Nothing to bring up.”

“Rodriguez is the new Bennet?Really, cabrón, nothing to bring up?”

“It was a good shift. You were fast and I was out with an injury.”

“‘Goodshift’?” Rodriguez set the bottle down, looking astounded. “Winning the regular season with a sudden death steal in your second year?” He scoffed, sipping tequila. “Yeah, okay. It was agood shift.”

Dustin kept his mouth shut and fixed his gaze on the stage. If he’d beenon the ice, instead of up in the box in a suit and tie, that game would have ended differently.

At least, that’s what he’d been telling himself.

“I think it’s cute you believe your own hype,” he said, sipping from his water glass.

Rodriguez’s eyes narrowed. “I think it’s cute you stayed out past seven tonight, Abuelo.”

The night deteriorated:the formal portion ended, the music got loud. Reef Okafor migrated to a cluster of players near the back and arm-wrestled a Kraken forward while a woman from the foundation filmed it on her phone. It wasn’t great behavior from an NHL player. Dustin could hear Reef’s voice from across the room. He suspected he could have heard Reef’s voice from the hotel lobby across the street.

He picked up his empty shot glass and moved to the bar. Rodriguez was there, watching the bartender pour some horrendous-looking blue cocktail into a glass the size of a fishbowl.