Page 43

“If I told you the landlord’s giving us a huge discount, does that make any difference?”

He wrapped his arms around his middle, rubbing his hands up and down his biceps. The evenings were getting cooler as we tipped fully toward autumn, and up here on the roof, the breeze was especially chilly, though I barely felt it. I was practically sweating through my clothes.

“Like, a huge discount, Mikey,” I continued. “He’s probably out of his mind, but he built this place thinking to turn a quick profit, only this unit’s just been sitting empty.” My words came faster, the story I’d concocted tumbling out of my mouth in a rush. “And since I’d planned on taking the better bedroom, I’ll pay way more.”

Mikey dropped his hands down to rest at his sides. “How much would my portion be?”

After morning skate but before meeting at the title company, I’d spent some time scrolling through rental listings for one-bedroom apartments, places a guy making an NHL salary wouldn’t be embarrassed to bring someone back to. Nothing close to what this place cost, but enough to know what a believable number looked like.

I told him the number I figured sounded most realistic, adding, “Including utilities.”

He squinted up at me. “Dude. Heat runs like five hundred a month in this climate.”

“Uh.” I curled my hand, pressing my thumbnail deep into the side of my finger. I had no idea what heat cost; I’d never paid a utility bill in my life.

“You have no idea what things like that actually cost, do you?”

I grimaced. “Sorry?”

The corner of his mouth twitched to the side before he looked away, his eyes moving slowly over the deck.

I held my breath.

“Okay,” he said at last, his shoulders dropping. “But I’m covering cable, too. And internet. I’m not—” He shook his head. “I’m already taking advantage of you here, man.”

“Deal,” I said before he could take it back. “And you’re not. You couldn’t.”

He dragged his gaze back out over the water. “If you say so.”

TWELVE

MIKEY

We lost in Toronto, and it wasn’t even close. I’d been on plenty of teams over the years with losing records, but from top to bottom, this team simply wasn’t clicking.

Bell was maybe the only player who could hold his head up high after the shit show we’d just experienced, but even he’d flubbed a few passes that should have been gimmes.

The worst part was that Toronto hadn’t even played all that well. We were just that bad.

Coach Hendricks hadn’t even yelled at us. He’d just looked at us, his hands on his hips, and shook his head. “We’ll watch the tape on Tuesday,” he said before walking out, leaving the rest of the post-game debrief to Petras.

I found a spot at the table half the team was gathered around down at the hotel bar, and dropped down into a chair, pouring myself a pint of beer.

Cally slid in next to me a minute later, setting a tall glass of clear, bubbly liquid with a lime floating at the top on a coaster in front of him.

“Going hard tonight?” I teased, knowing there wasn’t a trace of booze in that glass.

He shook his head. “Nah. I never drink after a loss.”

I lifted my half-empty glass, toasted him with a smirk, and brought it to my mouth.

“You good?” he asked, his voice pitched low so only I could hear it.

“I’m always good.” I knocked my knee against his under the table. “You?”

“Fine. Disappointed, obviously.” He scowled down into his sparkling water. “I fucking hate losing.”

I huffed out a laugh. “We all do, Cal.”