Page 9 of Put a Rink on It

“Gio will do. How are you adapting to Connecticut? A bit of a whirlwind for ya?” A hint of a Southern accent makes an appearance.

“It hasn’t been too much of a hassle so far. I had help finding a place to live and organizing the move. It’s an adjustment, but most things in life are. I’m not starting from scratch this time. I know what to expect from the league’s perspective. It’ll be getting used to a new team, learning to play with players I chased down on the ice, remembering which net to shoot at when given the chance.” A nervous laugh escapes, but when his lips turn into a smile, I relax.

“We’re lucky to have you. The team knows that. When they heard it was you who was coming, there was a collective sigh of relief. It won’t be all sunshine and roses, but players are used to team shake-ups. We’ll find our groove.”

“And the weather’s a lot less volatile than Minnesota,” I jest. “At least I didn’t end up in the swamp that’s Florida. Or the even colder weather of Canada.”

Connecticut wouldn’t have been at the top of my list. For familiarity, California would claim that spot, followed by Seattle, Nashville, or Vancouver—despite it being in Canada, it’s a beautiful part of the country. Not that the Northeast isn’t. Other than Vermont, it’s more unknown. Though I suppose the same was true when I was drafted to Minnesota. I don’t think it would ever have been home, but I had a good life there, and I’m keeping the lake house as an investment property.

And I’ll make the best of this opportunity. If my career ends here, we’ll see where I’m at when it’s time to retire, if I want to stay or move somewhere else.

There’s always Vermont, a voice inside my head mocks. It could be a great place to retire…

Gio and I chat for a while longer. He’s definitely one of the “better” managers in the league. On the older side at sixty, he’s fair and keeps his cool in the public eye. Guess we’ll see how that translates to being a player under him. So far, it seems like we’ll get along. Long as I play good hockey, keep my head in the game, and stay out of trouble. All doable things.

He stands, his hand outstretched. “Welcome to the Nautilus, Nero. Let’s have a great rest of the year, shall we?”

“That’s the plan.”

I say my goodbyes and make it to the arena’s garage without delay. Once in the SUV, I hit FaceTime on Marina’s contact, forgetting we’re in the same time zone and the middle of her workday. I’m pleasantly surprised when she answers, her smile wide, her eyes alight, her gorgeousness shining through.

A familiar pang hits my heart. I shove it down like I’ve been doing for years.

“Champ. How was your first practice with the Nautiluses? Nautili? Whatever the hell you’re called.”

“The Nauts, actually. Decent. A little sore from the plane ride yesterday. How’s your day? Do you have time to chat?”

The view shifts to the top of her car, and there’s rustling over the line as the camera shakes as she shimmies it into the car holder, her face reappearing a moment later. “I’m on the move for a meeting with a potential funder. You’re along for the ride.”

“Same, but I’m on my way to the apartment.”

“Oh, how is it?”

“Big.” I laugh. It’s way bigger than I need, but my agent was able to swing it with my moving stipend. The contract also includes a higher salary, which is good because Connecticut is pricier than Minnesota. Or so I’ve heard. Haven’t had the chance to explore and compare. “I’ll show you your room once I’m home.”

“Excellent. I hope I have a nice view.”

“Only the best for you, Ships.”

Since the first day we hung out, our rapport has been easy. She’s not the girl who needs a lot of material things to make her happy. Not that she doesn’t deserve them. She deserves the world. And if she’d let me, I’d give it to her. Until then, I’ll splurge on fancy nails, ice time to skate “together,” and hoodies.

I plug in my new address into the navigation system and start up the car, traversing the streets of the city. My apartment is over the Hartford city line in the small town of Bellridge. Apparently, it’s where most of the team lives.

While we drive, we chat about whatever comes up. For her, her eight-year-old niece, Lennon, and her soon-to-be stepsister, Aubrey. For me, calling out the places I want to explore and try.

With her. When I get her to come to Connecticut.

I’ve already put the bug in her ear about visiting soon for a game, but her work schedule is busy this time of year, so we haven’t worked out the details. If I hadn’t been so busy with the move and acclimating to the new team, I’d push harder.

“I’m entering the apartment complex,” I narrate as I direct my car toward the back of the buildings, parking in a spot allotted for my apartment. Shutting off the engine and removing the phone from the holder, I tell her, “You get your own parking spot.”

“Ooh, very fancy, Mr. Champion. Two parking spots for one person? It’s like you’re rich or something.”

Growing up, our family was comfortable. By national standards, we probably were above average, but Tahoe isn’t a cheap place to live. There was always money for sports, activities, and travel, and the newest video game each season, but I had plenty of friends who were more well-off. Fancier cars, designer labels, a pool house.

I’d be lying if I said the money from being a professional hockey player isn’t nice, but I don’t play for the money or the perks. I play for the love of the game, a game I’ve loved for more years of my life than I can recall. But yeah, the money is nice, affording me a lifestyle I didn’t have growing up. Giving me the option to spoil Marina without being too in your face about it. She’s always appreciative, but the minute she says to stop, I’ll stop.

Probably.