Page 80
“Vegas’s starting goalie is Johnathan Stevens, he played game one, but they drafted this kid, Tuomo Koskinen, two years ago. That’s when we . . .” He gestures to himself. “Traded them a second-round pick for two years in a row for Matty Poole, our current starting goalie. Stevens might be getting older, but he’s one of the greatest goalies in the history of the league, and on top of that, he knows how to train guys up. Now that Koskinen has some time under his belt, Vegas has been using a tandem system during the playoffs. It means the goalies switch between games so both can be as fresh as possible and the team has a better chance at winning.”
He looks so eager as he speaks, and speaks and speaks, and I have to bite my cheek to keep back a smile and a comment about how adorable he is.
“That is so much hockey information,” I whine when I know I’m not going to embarrass myself.
“It’s the entry fee for my friendship,” he says, completely unrepentant.
The game begins soon enough and we keep working out, Tucker exclaiming every few minutes when he likes or hates something that happens on the screen.
“So, do the results of these games affect your team—the Demons,” I correct myself when I remember the name. “In any way? Or are you just watching ’cause you love it so much?”
“A bit of both, honestly.” I don’t dare look over at him since he’s doing biceps curls, and there’s only so much I can take. “I love hockey, everything about it, but I also should know if a team shows a particular weakness in the playoffs because that means they’re either going to draft or trade for a player to strengthen that weakness—or at least they should if they’re smart. If I have a player they could trade for, then that means I have to know what I’d want in return, and if I don’t, then I have to figure out what other team they might trade with, or who they might pick in the draft. Overall, it gives me an idea of what the off season is going to look like and helps me and Sarah, our new general manager, plan accordingly.”
“That’s intense,” I say, super eloquently, and then feel the need to expound. “That you can just send a guy to the other side of the continent. His whole family just . . . has to move.”
“Yeah.” He sighs, and I do too when I hear the thud of the fifty-pound weight being put back in the rack. “My plan with Sarah is to try to avoid that as much as we can, but sometimes it can’t be helped. Every player who doesn’t have a no-trade clause in their contract is well aware that it’s always a possibility. They know what they signed up for.”
Even as he shrugs, and he’s clearly doing his best to appear nonchalant, I can tell he cares, very much.
Especially when he can’t help but overexplain.
It’s endearing.
“I’m actually in the process of buying a building that’s right across from the players’ entrance to Barclay Arena.”
He doesn’t have to explain what that is.
It’s possibly one of the most emblematic venues of the city—hell, of the country. Everyone who cares about concerts or sports in any way knows Barclay Arena is a historical landmark, and a kickass place to see a show, whatever its nature.
I don’t know why it’s taken me so long, but I realize right then that he owns Barclay Arena. Like, literally.
That’s a mindfuck.
“What for?” I manage to ask.
“Well, my idea right now is to have a restaurant on the ground floor, one where players can go after games to chill, celebrate, commiserate, and where—if any fans are in there—they won’t be bothered or have to be constantly on alert. Then I want to set up the management offices for the three teams on the floors above it, so they’re all in the same place and I don’t have to drive hours every day if I need to check in with everyone.”
“That’s—” I have to clear my throat, because for whatever reason, this is making me like Tucker a bit too much. “That’s nice.”
“I think so.” He spares me a quick smile but goes back to setting up the rowing machine and focuses on the game again before he continues. “I need to talk about it with Richard Cockerton too, but I want to set up a few suites and rooms as well, probably on the top six floors. If my players are hammered at the end of their celebrations, then I don’t want them driving anywhere, or if the artists playing at the Arena prefer to stay close by. I don’t know shit about hotels, but I know the Certon is the best I’ve ever stayed at, so maybe we can make a deal.”
Again that shrug manages to hide nothing from me. I wonder if he’s always this bad at pretending not to care, if it’s only with me, or if it’s because I know him and have seen a side of him no one but his family has.
His sisters did warn me about this when they interviewed me, I remember.
“Besides saving you unnecessary scandals,” I say at last. “That’s a great way to show them you care.”
“Yeah, and it wouldn’t be only for the players.” He nods emphatically, but still looking straight ahead as he keeps on rowing.
I don’t buy it, but I look away too and tell myself it’s because I have to focus on my reps.
“Maybe you can do something similar at Barclay Park.” Which is another sporting landmark that’s probably been standing for at least a century.
“I hope so,” he says softly, and I suddenly want nothing more than to—
Nope, not thinking about it. Not about how caring he is, how hopeful he always looks when we talk about his teams or the people who work for him.
Seriously, there are so many other attractive things about Tucker, but how much he cares even when he pretends he doesn’t is the one I can never just shake off.
