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Shit. He’s already heard.
But if so, what’s he doing walking with the condemned man?
O’Brian ducks out of the locker room and jogs over. “You hear about Whitney?”
Our third-string forward was fine after last night’s game. He’s a good kid, kind of quiet. “What happened?”
“Started feeling off after the game, ended up in the ER this morning getting his appendix out.”
I look around the lobby, and now I see it. Everyone’s noses buried in their phones. Worry etching their brows.
“Oh shit.”
“Tell me about it. He ought to be out of surgery pretty soon, but we’re all waiting to hear.”
Just then Adkins breaks away from the group, disappearing down the hall where the assistant coaches’ offices are located. Mateo blows a whistle to get everyone’s attention. “Sean Whitney is out of surgery and doing well. More updates as available, but for now everyone get your ass ready for practice.”
Popov grins and slaps me on the back while rubbing the top of O’Brian’s head. “Good news. He be back on ice in three days.”
We nod, because why not? Ericsson did it in ‘09. And while most players take a little longer than that, why not hope for the best? Which is pretty fucking ironic thinking, considering my attitude walking in here today.
Heading into the locker room, I find Baxter already dressed, dripping sweat after some drills. “Got a minute?”
He gulps down half a bottle of water and tells Rux he’ll catch up with him in a few. “What do you want?”
Natalie. And to keep playing through the end of the season.
And if he’s asking, I want to be first line and he can bethird. But mostly I want to make sure this guy isn’t going to cause problems over what happened last night. “You need another swing at me or are we good?”
He huffs out a short laugh, looking away before meeting me with a smile that’s just a little too cocky for my taste. “We’re good. And the only thing I need is for you to kick ass in every game we’ve got. When your contract comes up, I want Oregon to make an offer that’ll get you on a plane that day.”
Away from his sister.
Looks like Baxter found the incentive he needed to make it work with me for the rest of the season.
* * *
Natalie has eveningappointments at the clinic and a late ice time with her team, so it’s after ten by the time I pick her up at the rink. I’m not nuts about a six-day road trip after this shit with her brother, but it’s not like I can call in sick.
She climbs in the passenger seat and I take her bags and swing them into the back. I want to pull her into me. Kiss the shit out of her and soak up the feel of her against me for a few minutes, but blocking traffic to make out isn’t exactly keeping a low profile.
“How’s Sean?” she asks, as I merge into traffic.
“O’Brian and I stopped over with some of the other guys to see him this afternoon. He’s doing good after the surgery, but you can see the worry.” He doesn’t have the endorsements yet. The savings. “Doesn’t matter that the numbers and the doctors are all on his side, he’s freaked out. Getting back on the ice is the only thing that can fix it.”
We’re quiet through most of the ride, and I can’t help but feel like something’s off. Like somehow Baxter is sitting between us. I don’t want him anywhere near this thing with Natalie and me, so I bring us back to where we ought to be, asking about work and practice.
She tells me about the game coming up for her girls. There’s a longstanding rivalry between the teams and the other coach sounds like a total dick.
“Damn, I’d love to see that game.”
Natalie laughs quietly beside me. “Yeah, I bet.”
I shoot her a look, but she turns to her window. “I’m fucking serious. I’d love to see your team in action. See how you’re shaping these girls’ game play. In fact, I’m going to.”
“Pretty sure you’ve got a date with the Predators in Nashville that night.”
“You guys record the games?” Now I’ve got her attention.
