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Glancing around, I look for an empty spot at a table. Almost all of my first-line mates are in relationships so they’re paired up with their girls. The only other single guy is Kirill and I move to where he shares a high top with Foster and Liam.
Foster MacInnis is the second-line center and Liam Nicholson is the second-line left-winger. Last season, when the new team was formed, I was the second-line center until Coen Highsmith went off the rails and got suspended. They moved me into his slot on the first line and Foster moved from the third line to second.
I did a damn good job for the team and at the start of this season, when Coen Highsmith got his head out of his ass—thank you, Tillie Marshall—I was worried what would happen to me. The most likely scenario was Coen would go back to first line and I’d be shuffled down along with Foster. As luck would have it, Gage Heyward decided to take a coaching position and that opened the right-wing position on the first line. Our new coach, Cannon West, decided to put me there and with some individualized coaching from Gage, I adapted to the position very well. In fact, I’m playing better hockey this year than last.
“What’s up?” I say as I clap a hand on Liam’s shoulder before I pull the stool out next to him. A guy appears almost out of thin air, a waiter who’s served us before and asks, “The usual?”
Okay, so we come here a lot, after almost every home game that ends in a win. I nod and he disappears.
“Dude… you were on fire tonight,” Kirill says, extending his fist across the table at me and I bump it.
“We were all on fire,” I say because I’m humble that way. Foster snorts. “I bet no one’s enjoying this win more than Drake.”
Everyone laughs and I look around for our star goalie, but he’s not to be found. Not surprised as he usually heads home with Brienne after a game unless she’s out with her girl posse—a collection of Titans’ girlfriends, fiancées and wives.
Foster’s not wrong about Drake loving this win. He played for the Buffalo Wolves when his then-wife made allegations against him for betting on his games. They were false, of course, and she was proven to be a lying drug addict but not before the team cut ties with him based on her claims.
Drake told me the other day that his dream this round is to sweep the Wolves in four and for every game to be a shutout.
Sadly, the shutout streak won’t occur since he let a squeaker goal in, but I feel good that we’re going to trounce the Wolves in the next three games.
Foster’s phone rings and he nabs it from the table. After a glance at the caller, he steps away to answer it.
Liam nudges me in the arm. “Did your friend Lilly come to the game tonight?”
“Nah. She spent all day at the hospital with her brother. I suspect she’s getting a sound sleep right now. At least I hope she is.”
Kirill frowns. “Why wouldn’t she?”
By now everyone on the team pretty much knows my history with Aiden and Lilly. Many of the players have been doing visits with me and some have met Aiden. A good chunk met Lilly earlier this week. But they don’t know the intricacies so I take a moment to fill Liam and Kirill in on her struggle with running the business and being there for Aiden. I don’t mention Steven’s issues but that Lilly finally found a way to free up her days.
“So she’s been able to get employees to cover for what she was doing so she can sit at the hospital during the day, and the stuff she has to do, she can work on from up there. I’m worried she won’t get it all done and will have to stay up late. She’s got a lot on her shoulders.”
“That’s awesome though that she gets to spend more time with Aiden, especially now that he’s on the upswing,” Liam says.
“Any idea when he’ll get out of the hospital?” Kirill asks.
The waiter returns with my beer. I pass him a twenty and tell him to keep the change. I take a sip before answering. “Not really. He’s still at risk for infection, so I don’t think anytime soon.”
Kirill leans forward on the table toward me. “Is Lilly dating anyone?”
I can’t be shocked by Kirill’s continued interest in Lilly but I am a bit surprised by how irritated it makes me. My tone is overly snappish when I reply. “I think she’s got enough on her plate without worrying about men chasing after her.”
Kirill smirks, reading into my reaction. Holding out his palms, he taunts, “Dude… not trying to move in on your territory.”
“She’s not my territory,” I mutter.
“Then she’s single?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows.
Liam reaches over and backhands Kirill in the chest. “Lay off before Boone kicks your ass.”
Before I can retort that I’m only Lilly’s friend, Foster returns to the table, deep lines creasing his forehead. He sighs as he sits, picks up his beer and takes three long pulls.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
He shakes his head but not in the negative. More like he’s confused. “I’m not sure. Sandra was supposed to fly to her parents’ with Bowie Jane today. They were going to bring her to the two games in Buffalo and then she’s going to stay there until I can take her for the summer after the playoffs. That was Sandra’s dad, and he said they didn’t make the flight.”
Foster’s ex-wife, Sandra, lives in San Francisco with their daughter, Bowie Jane. I know their divorce was contentious and she’ll sometimes fuck with Foster by screwing up his visitation.
