“That’s bullshit!” I spit the word at the referee’s face.
I was on a breakaway, advancing quickly toward Vegas’s goal, when my former teammate and one of Leland Alistair’s closest friends, Pierre Eckhart, who also got traded at the end of the season, tripped me from behind.
“Watch yourself,” the ref says, and I pause to take a deep breath, knowing how close I am to stepping over the line. I’m not the captain, and it’s not my place to argue this call.
Walsh skates up behind me, hooks his arm around my shoulders, and grits out, “Keep your fucking mouth shut and let McCabe do the talking.”
He’s right, and I know I can’t let my temper get the best of me. I take another deep breath and remind myself how lucky I am not to be playing with assholes like Eckhart and Alistair anymore.
On my other side, McCabe skates up and asks the ref about the penalty. They’re giving me a penalty shot, but it means Eckhart won’t have to serve his penalty. I think his trip was dirty enough to have been a game misconduct, and they should’ve given him some time in the sin bin, but I’ll just have to make the most of this.
As I stand at center ice, I analyze their goalie. Pierce is a big guy. He’ll catch anything down low, so I know everyone will expect me to take it top shelf. But as I take the puck toward the goal, a different plan formulates in my mind. I skate toward him until I’m just about at the crease, then I fake shooting to the right, and Pierce butterflies to block the shot. But instead, I spin back around and slip the puck into the opening on the left, directly behind his right skate. The buzzer sounds and I skate back to the bench amid the cheers of my teammates, but before I get there, I turn toward the Las Vegas bench and my eyes meet Eckhart’s.
As he glares at me, I nod my chin at him and call out, “Thanks!”
From the look he sends my way in return, I know this isn’t over.
It’s in the middle of the third period when Eckhart takes his next shot at me, bringing the toe of his stick up to spear me directly below my ribs, where I don’t have any pads to protect me. I hit the ice on my knees, the intense pain radiating through my diaphragm and up into my chest. But as the ref closest to me goes to grab Eckhart, all hell breaks loose on the ice. So many punches are being thrown that the refs back away, and I watch as Eckhart drops his gloves and skates toward me.
I hop up onto my skates just as he gets to me, and his fist would connect with my face, except I duck and jab him in the gut with my gloved fist as he flies by me. As I turn, I see Zach behind me and he’s grabbing Eckhart’s extended arm by his fist, and pulling him forward, using his own weight against him so he lands on the ice on his stomach. Eckhart goes sliding across the rink toward the center line, and the refs are able to break up the fight.
AUDREY:
Funny, I don’t remember ordering three containers of Fluff when I put my grocery order in with your personal shopper.
DREW:
Just looking out for my little man.
AUDREY:
And exactly how much Fluff do you think the kid is going to eat?
DREW:
You’d be surprised how fast it goes!
AUDREY:
You’re his dad, not his fun uncle. Don’t be a bad influence when his mom says no to too much sugar, Drew.
DREW:
Part of being a dad is helping to find ways around Mom’s rules.
AUDREY:
Sounds like a good way to start a fight.
DREW:
Just think how much fun we’ll have making up, though.
AUDREY:
☠️☠️☠️
“I thought I told you no fighting.” AJ’s voice comes from behind me in the locker room, and I set my phone down and turn to face her, even though I’m wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around my waist.
She doesn’t give a shit if we’re half-naked. This is her team, and she’s going to come in here whenever she damn pleases—as she should. She keeps her eyes trained above shoulder level, but other than that, it’s just like any other GM in the league coming into the locker room.
“I didn’t fight.” It’s a childish thing to say, but I feel like it’s important to establish the facts here. “I defended myself after being attacked.”
“Don’t be a smartass, Jenkins. You threw the first punch in that situation.” AJ’s hands are in the pockets of her trousers, like she’s trying to pretend she knows how to be casual. But her ramrod straight spine and the hard line of her jaw indicate otherwise.
“I’m really not being a smartass,” I tell her. Over AJ’s shoulder, Colt is silently mouthing “Owwwwww,” like I’m in trouble and he’s an overgrown child teasing me about it. I look back at AJ. “But it wasn’t fighting, it was roughing. And you told me that you didn’t want me spending all my time in the penalty box this season. So far, I’ve been in there once.”
Tonight’s two-minute penalty for roughing, thanks to the gloves-on gut punch I gave Eckhart as he skated past me, had no effect on the team. Everyone else on the ice except for Zach Reid and the goalies got major penalties and Eckhart was ejected for being the instigator within the last five minutes of the game. It was a shitshow, but it absolutely was not my fault.
She doesn’t say anything, just tilts her chin as she assesses my face. “Did you say or do something tonight to set Eckhart off?” She’s keeping her voice quiet, and with the rowdiness of my teammates still celebrating our win, I doubt anyone can hear us.
“No. Just like I didn’t say anything at the home opener to set off Alistair. This is just how these guys are.”
“Toward you.”
“Yep, toward me.” No point in denying this. Eckhart isn’t known for acting like that, and Colorado didn’t make Alistair captain because he treats all of his teammates the way he treated me. There’s bad blood and, apparently, no amount of time or distance is going to dissolve that.
“So long as you didn’t do anything to antagonize him, I don’t have a problem with you defending yourself. That was a low blow, what he did out there, just like with Alistair last week. At least you weren’t hurt.”
I don’t mention the huge bruise I know I’m going to have on my abdomen. The team doctor checked me out for any signs of internal bruising or bleeding, and she thinks I’m clear but wants a follow-up every day we’re on the road. I’m sure AJ already knows that.
“Just out of curiosity, why are you so adamant about me not fighting? I mean, you brought Zack Reid and me into your office and basically told him he might need to fight more, but you don’t want me to fight?”
“I want every player on this team to do what’s best for the team. In Zach’s case, I needed to know he would step up and defend his teammates if needed. In your case, I didn’t take over your contract to have you spend all your time in the penalty box like you were doing in Colorado. You have too much talent to waste your playing time sitting in there. You were halfway to throwing away your career with your last team. I want to see you be successful here.”
She turns to leave, then stops and turns back around. “And Drew, I know you have the potential to do great things here. Make sure you keep your mind on the game. It would be easy to get distracted in a new city, with new people. Just…stay focused, okay?”
My throat bobs as I swallow, wondering what she knows. She and Lauren are close friends, but I can’t see Lauren telling her about me and Audrey—both because she doesn’t seem like a gossip, and because she knows that we’re trying to keep this relationship quiet. What’s growing between Audrey and me is still new, and we’ve got a kid who doesn’t need any unwarranted attention. So I’m not sure what AJ knows, or thinks she knows. Maybe she’s just speaking in generalities?
“Of course,” I say, and give her a definitive nod before she turns and makes her way through the crowd of half-naked men and right through the door to the coaches’ office.
“What was that all about?” Colts asks as he saunters up, still unshowered, in nothing but his compression shorts. For an older player, he’s in impeccable shape—there’s no soft midsection or an ounce of unnecessary weight on him.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t be like that, dude. What was that all about?”
“AJ was just reminding me that she isn’t paying me to spend time in the penalty box, is all.”
“Wasn’t that your first time in there all season?” he asks.
“Yep. It was just a friendly reminder to stay focused,” I say, because that’s how I’m choosing to take it. There were no veiled threats, no undue pressure. Just a reminder that I’m here to do a job, and to not let my focus waver.
“She know about Audrey and Graham?” He asks the question quietly, because even though he, Walsh, McCabe, and Reid all know, I don’t think they’ve told anyone else.
“Don’t think so. And it should probably stay that way for a while longer.”
“Noted. You coming out with us tonight? Or running back to the hotel to call your girlfriend?” He teases that last word out so he sounds like a second grader on the playground.
“Definitely headed back to call Audrey.” There’s no way in hell I’m missing the opportunity to talk to her, and it’s already past 10 p.m. here, so with the hour time difference, if I don’t call her soon, she’ll be asleep.
“So whipped.”
“Given that she’s like a sister to you, isn’t that what you’d want to see right now?”
“Good answer.” Colt gives me one of those aggressive pats on the shoulder as he walks by, headed toward the showers. I dress quickly so I can say goodbye to my teammates and catch a cab back to the hotel, praying that Audrey’s still awake when I call tonight.
