Chapter 30 Adrian
ADRIAN
“The GM is trying to reach Eric Jung,” Coach Forrester tells me after we’ve spent the last six hours going over different ways to close the gaps in our defense. “To have a conversation with him.”
The whites of my knuckles stand out.
“Breathe, son.” Forrester folds his hands together and leans forward on his desk.
“Remember, we’re on the same side. I’m telling you this because I think it’s best if we connect with Jung before the GM does.
We can loop in his sports agent and coordinate how to present a united front.
” He pauses. “But to do that, we need to find Jung. He hasn’t been answering any of my calls recently, but I think he’s vacationing overseas right now. ”
“Don’t worry, I’ll find him.”
My muscles cramp with pressure, but my promise is infused with steel. Protective energy pounds my veins as I leave the arena. Even if I want Jung to enjoy his time off, the priority is to make sure he has a career to come back to.
Taking out my phone, I message the Wings’ group chat.
ME
Anyone know where Jung is vacationing??
My phone lights up right away.
Macklin, another rookie, is the first to reply.
MACKLIN
Last selfie he took was in Italy but I think his phone screen cracked after that.
LOKHOV
The rookie needs to stop breaking his damn phones. That’s his third one.
QUINN
He’s backpacking through Europe with his roomie. I have his number so I’ll confirm Jung’s whereabouts
RAGHR
Waitttttttt
I need to send my selfie
Despite the tension banded tight around my chest, I feel myself smile.
Selfies. It’s a tradition I started the year I made captain telling the team it would help with our team bonding, which it does.
But also, staying connected with the guys when we’re apart, no matter where we all are, eases something inside me.
I want to know they’re okay. Happy. Thriving.
Raghr sends a picture. He’s on a safari ride with his wife and teenage daughter.
That kicks it off. The chat explodes with photos.
Macklin is on a jet ski.
Nick, Kevin, and Ahmed are biking the Seawall in Vancouver.
Quinn and Lokhov are scarfing down rolls of some sort of flatbread. Our goalie has sugar on his cheek. Lokhov attempts to hide his face in the photo, but Kavi doesn’t let him, clearly poking him with her finger.
Jai sends a picture of him scrimmaging with campers at the transgender youth hockey camp we helped raise money for last season. Matt and Emmad are there beside him, grinning happily.
A bunch of our teammates are in Ibiza. I get a flurry of selfies from their pool party.
Looking at the chat, despite all the stress I’m under, I can’t help but laugh.
I fucking love these guys.
It’s why I work so hard for them.
My fingers itch, wanting to push myself even harder. But right now, all I can do is wait for Quinn’s message. I’ll give it an hour, before I try figuring out another way to find Jung.
Mostly because that’s how long it’s going to take me to drive home.
Traffic was light. Thirty minutes later, I’m pulling into my driveway. As soon as I park, my phone buzzes.
My hand shoots out to grab my phone.
It’s not Quinn or the group chat.
But another daily update I’ve been waiting on. It’s from Team Nutcracker.
I rub the side of my jaw, my heartbeat leaping. It’s been four days since Sonya started working with them.
My grin goes lopsided, and this warm feeling grows inside me.
I remember, after hours of watching game tape, how I poked my head through the door the other day and whispered my own input when she was being interviewed about her training and mindset.
“Sonya’s the best and most impressive person you’ve ever met. ”
And how later in the middle of the night I baked cupcakes and decorated them to look like they were wearing little tutus.
The perfect treat to get everyone pumped up the next day.
Not that Sonya seemed impressed. She was too busy covering her face because she’d caught sight of the custom WE TOE-TALLY BELIEVE IN YOU banner I’d hung up in the middle of my gym, right by where she was about to get videotaped dancing.
Watching that pretty blush spread across her cheeks made my day.
Though since that incident, I’ve been banned from the rest of the sessions. Apparently, I’m a “distraction.” Don’t know how that makes sense.
But now they’re over. I read the message Team Nutcracker sent me.
Team Nutcracker: We wrapped up with Sonya around noon today. This weekend we’ll pull our findings into a report. Until then, we strongly recommend Sonya take a break from ballet for at least three days. Studies have proven that resting can significantly improve the yips.
I glance at the time.
Noon was five hours ago.
As I get out of my car and jog inside, I’m thinking she can’t still be here.
Sonya has worked so hard, pushing to get the evaluation done as quickly as possible.
It’s been grueling, having to be physically and mentally tested for hours like this.
So to finally have a break must feel like sheer fucking bliss.
My shoulders tense. Wait. What am I talking about?
This is my very stubborn ballerina we’re talking about.
When I go to the gym, I see the door has been left open.
I move forward and look inside.
No.
Every primal, protective urge comes to the surface and pounds through me.
Because she’s lying on the floor, and the state Sonya’s pushed herself to makes me lose my mind.