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Mason burst into laughter as Jones sputtered. “Okay. Wow. Confidence.”
“Trust me, guys,” Mason said through his laughter. “Riles is unfazeable.”
Sebastian finally turned from his stare down with his locker. His intense gaze landed on me. He obviously doubted Mason’sstatement.
“I guess we’ll see if that’s true in a few hours,” Jones said, echoing the sentiment in Kingston’s eyes.
I held Kingston’s stare without a flinch as I answered Jones. “I guessyou will.”
Kingston cocked a single eyebrow then turned back around to start undressing. I averted my eyespolitely.
“Well, you got Mason here early. You’re already a miracle worker in my eyes,” Jones said.
“Hey! I haven’t missed a practice in three seasons—optional or not,” Mason defended himself, but I could see the playfulness as he bantered with Jones. Mason had not been excited about having Jones as his mentor his first year. But after weeks of listening to Mason bitch about Jones’ “try-hard bullshit advice,” his complaints reluctantly turned to thinly veiled compliments. Seeing them now, I could tell how Jones won his fellow center over. He was a natural captain—charismatic, friendly, and full of positive energy.
I couldn’t fathom why the Blizzards’ management tried to give the job to the cranky asshole undressing in the corner, even though he had the best stats on the team. I was grateful for whatever reason had Kingston turning down the captain position years ago when Armstrong retired. I couldn’t imagine him with the C on his sweater.
The sound of a door opening pulled me out of my musings, and I sat up straight as Coach Hansson entered.
“Frey, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be napping somewhere?”
Jones laughed in triumph, and Mason groaned. “Riley needed a ride, Coach.”
“You don’t have a car, Warren?” Coach asked.
“It’s on its way from Seattle, but I’m in no rush. Not when I have my own chauffeur.”
“Fuck you, Riles. See if I give you a ride home tonight,” Mason chirped.
“So, nokashafor you?”
Mason froze. “I takeit back.”
“What’skasha?” Jones asked.
“It’s a Russian dish,” Coach Hansson answered before I could. I cocked my head at him.
“You cook, Warren?” Jones asked, not looking surprised that Coach knew whatkashawas. Coach wasn’t Russian as far as I knew. How did he know what we were talking about?
Mason scoffed at Jones’ question, and I raised a middle finger preemptively. Mason didn’t disappoint. “God, no. Well, not Russian food, at least. Her mother was never able to beat it into her and, after three kitchen fires, stopped trying.”
I rolled my eyes. He was exaggerating. It was only two kitchen fires. The last one didn’t count—I put it out before it left the pan. I was about to point this out to Mason when I saw the cringe on Sebastian Kingston’s face. Jones and Coach had the same look. Right. Dead parents made people uncomfortable.
I exchanged a look with Mason, who had realized what he said, and shrugged. Whoops.
Coach coughed. “Warren, I need to have a quick word. Do you havea second?”
“Yes, sir. I was just about to find a quiet place to meditate.”
Coach nodded. “I can show you to an empty room. Comewith me.”
Glad for a chance to escape the deathly—ha—silent room, I strode after Coach.
I had only briefly met Hansson earlier at morning skate, but he didn’t say much to me past the standard “welcome to the team.” I didn’t expect to be intimidated by him, but as I watched him stand in front of the team, giving instructions, he seemed like a mountain. As a woman who regularly stared down two-hundred-pound men that wanted to send a puck through her face, that was saying a lot.
Hansson was one of the league’s best centers in his time. He was an unstoppable beast with swift feet and a brutal backhand. That was until Corey Schroeder rammed him into the boards during the second game of the 1985 Stanley Cup finals and permanently fucked up his leg. Rather than let that injury end his career in hockey, he picked himself up and became a coach. Now, twenty-something years later, after making his way back up to the NHL, he was the Blizzards’ terrifying head coach.
He led me out of the locker room and took a right. He didn’t say a word. I followed and waited.
