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“What can I do for you?” I asked in what I hoped was my most professional, neutral voice.
“Could we talk somewhere private for a second?”
I eyed him. “I don’t think we have anything to say to each other. Do you have more locker room gossip to share with me?”
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “I, uh, I just need a minute.”
“Say what you have to say.” There was only one other guy in the general area at the moment, and he was on the phone, so I figured we’d just get this over with.
“I wanted to apologize.”
“Oh, really?”
“What I did was totally uncalled for, and honestly, none of my business. I was snooping because…I was mad at Nash and I have a bunch of my own shit going on. But I shouldn’t have gotten involved. It wasn’t fair to him and it definitely wasn’t fair to you. I didn’t realize…” His voice trailed off and he looked away.
I wasn’t going to make this easy for him, so I just waited.
“I didn’t realize he really cares about you.”
“How do you even know that?” I demanded.
“I hear things. I see how down he’s been since everything happened. I didn’t know you two were, you know, involved. Like a relationship.”
I almost denied it but opted not to give him more information than he already had. So I kept my mouth shut, waiting for him to say whatever he needed to say.
“Anyway, I’m sorry I messed things up between you both and I hope you can eventually forgive me. And him. More him than me. I don’t know the details of what went on, but I know he’s been pretty gutted since it all went down.”
“Is that true or are you just covering your ass because the whole team is pissed at you?” I asked quietly.
He shook his head. “As far as I know, he didn’t tell anybody but Lars, Drew, and Wes. Everyone except them has been the same to me. I’m sure I’ll get what’s coming to me after the season is over. But this is about doing what’s right. Some fucked-up shit has gone on in my life and I realized that I put some of it on you and Nash, which wasn’t cool. I don’t know if I can undo the damage I did, but I wanted you to know the other side to things.”
“I appreciate that.”
“So, uh, yeah. That’s it. Take care.” He turned and started walking away.
“Hey, Eric?” I called out to him.
“Yeah?” He looked back at me.
“Good luck tonight.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Nash
* * *
The fans had quieted.
It happened in the blink of an eye, as the die-hard fans looked at the clock and realized a victory was mathematically impossible. We’d known it would be an uphill battle coming into this period down by three goals, but now we were in the final minute of the game, and only the Detroit fans were cheering.
They’d scored on us again in this period, and their goaltender was almost supernatural in his ability to sense when and where every shot was coming from.
Final score: 5–1 Detroit. Fuck.
There was speculation that Annie Cain’s death had rattled our mojo and we’d never gotten it back. I didn’t think that was the case. Detroit had just been hungrier for it than we were.
And also, though I’d never say it out loud, Drew’s goaltending had been a big contributor to the games we’d lost, especially on the road. He’d been considering retiring, and I had a feeling he’d be making a graceful exit in the off-season to avoid being forced out.
Hell of a way for a future Hall of Famer to go out, but that was professional sports.
“I’m so sorry, guys,” Drew said. We were all back in the locker room after the game.
“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” Wes said, his expression defeated. “Our problem was scoring one fucking goal over three periods.”
It was one thing to lose—that happened to every team on a regular basis—but getting the shit kicked out of you, on your home ice, while your loved ones and the fans watched? That fucking hurt. There was no way around it. We were collectively angry and sad, of course, but mostly we felt like a dejected bunch of failures.
Some of these guys had to go face their wives and kids tonight. Probably tomorrow for some of the kids, because it was late. And hell, who wanted to deal with a cranky kid in a shitty diaper after a season-ending championship loss? Cringe.
I’d always thought that would suck, to have a wife asking you if you were okay after a loss. The answer was always no. But I had a feeling Sariah wasn’t the type to ask if I was okay. And it wouldn’t have been the worst thing to have her waiting for me after the game, offering to either help me drown my sorrows or fuck them away.
