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That ginger head comes up and he points to me. “You want next, man?”
I snort and wave him off.
But Baxter is up now, bouncing on the balls of his feet. And sure enough, he jumps into the ropes that aren’t there, his feet syncing up with Rux’s.
Jesus.
A handful of guys have their phones out recording, and one of them is talking about making Natalie’s week when he sends it to her. Great, now I’m thinking about her again.
“Whoa, you okay, man?” O’Brian asks, adjusting his chest pads in the stall next to mine.
“Yeah, why?”
He shakes his head and sits back on the bench as I drop my gear. “For a minute there, you almost looked like you were smiling. I mean, no worries, that shit’s good and gone, but wanted to make sure you were okay. No fever or recent body-snatching incidents.”
“Ha-ha-ha. Fuck off.”
“There he is. That’s the guy we all know and give a wide berth to.” He slaps my shoulder. “Enough dicking around, Vassar. Time to get on the ice.”
Practice is brutal and intense and keeps my head where it should be. On hockey. But once it’s over, I’m back to thinking about Natalie, keeping one ear open for her brother to start running his fucking mouth and spill something about her I don’t know.
Like whether he’s flying her out to the game tomorrow night. Or what her favorite cereal is. But all I get is that his wife is out of town and his parents came by to make sure he wasn’t lonely and ruined some spank date he’d set up with Julia.
Shit like this is why I wear my headphones. But I can’t keep them on for more than ten seconds before I dump them again and suffer through the monotony of my teammates’ post-practice minutia.
Jesus, why can’t I shake her? Six months from now I’m going to be half a country away and she’s going to be here, coming to games wearing Baxter’s number.
I need to get my focus on where I’m going, so once I’m done with tape and lunch with the team, I call up Garcia.
“If it isn’t Chicago’s sweetheart.” He answers like it’s been a day since I talked to him instead of a month. “Baby, you been missing my big stick?”
I snort, shaking my head. “You know it. Just not the one in your pants, thank fuck.”
Jesse Garcia and I have been paired up since my rookie year. We clicked. He was my friend. And that was something rare for me. Right up until he got picked up by the new expansion team in Oregon. They wanted us both. It was part of the plan. My contract was coming up first, so they took him with the intent of me coming on board after this season.
The deal is as good as done. So long as I don’t fuck it up.
“Things not gelling with O’Brian? You two looked pretty tight against the Predators.”
That was a good game. “He’s a solid player. And there are moments where it feels like something’s there, that connection, you know. But it’s not the same.”
Not like it was with us, where I’d look for Garcia, and he’d already be where I wanted him to be, eyes on me, waiting for the pass I’d already be taking.
“It’s one season, bro. Get through it and then get your ass up here.”
Climbing into the Escalade, I close my eyes without starting the engine. “Yeah, I know.”
“Haven’t heard anything about you and Baxter mixing it up lately. You behaving?”
When I don’t answer, he groans. “Come on, man. I’m not getting any fucking younger. I want the cup next year. And I need you to make it happen.”
I get it. He’s three years older than I am and while he isn’t looking into retirement communities, it means it gets harder for most guys to come back from injuries and perform at the level we do without seeing some slowdown.
“I’ve been staying away from Baxter. But—” Shit, I don’t want to tell him, but he’s pretty much the only guy I can. “You remember the girl from Vancouver?”
Silence. Then deathly low, “If you fucked his wife, I’m catching the next flight and—”
“Jesus, no! What the hell, man?”
