Chapter Three
TYLER
Glittering red and green balls hang from the palm trees outside the arena, and garland drapes the windows.
Christmas is two weeks away, but my scoring slump is still in effect, so I’m not feeling very merry.
Even so, the weather in Palm Springs, where we’ve been for the last two days for games against Coachella Valley, is warm and sunny, the opposite of the cold, dreary weather we left in Calgary.
The sun feels good on my skin, and I’m glad for the break from the snow.
As my teammates and I exit the locker room, the guys chat about using the hotel pool after practice, and someone’s arranging a round of golf later this afternoon.
“The pool sounds good to me.” My linemate, Sid, nudges my arm. “You in?”
Of all my teammates, he’s the easiest to talk to. “Yeah, I have some rehab exercises to do first, but I’ll be there after.”
Coach Laurent lumbers down the hallway, his features a mask of annoyance and resignation. We won last night, and no one screwed up too bad, so I wonder what put our typically jovial coach in this particular mood. “Tyler, come. Walk with me.”
“Uh oh,” Sid mutters under his breath. He pats my arm before getting out of Coach’s way.
“Sure, Coach.” I fall in step beside him. We stride down the corridor, and he slows to a stop in front of a large window decorated with pictures of the Coachella Valley players dressed as Christmas elves.
With a sigh, he drags his hand through his hair. “I’ve never found an easy way to have this conversation, so I’ll just say it. The Stallions made a trade with the Slash. You, in exchange for Klaus Schneider and Adam Jacoby.”
“Traded?” My legs feel like they've taken a hockey stick to the kneecaps, but fortunately I stay standing as my mind races for the reason this is happening. Again. Is it my scoring slump? My injuries?
I close my eyes in a long, slow blink. Getting traded is part of the business. It just sucks when it keeps happening over and over and over again.
Coach claps me on the shoulder. “I’m sorry to see you go. You’re a good teammate and a good player. You keep your head down and work hard.”
I nod, a dull thumping pulsing behind my eye.
I’ve heard the same version of this too many times to count.
The thought of starting again, in another new city, with another new team, getting acclimated all over again, is daunting.
The weight of doing it all over settles over me, and exhaustion seeps into my bones.
I would give anything to curl up for a nap right now.
“After I talked to our guys, I spoke with Nils Lindstrom.” His comment pulls me from thoughts of down comforters and plush pillows.
“The Metros assistant coach.” And Soren’s uncle.
“Right. We go way back, were roommates on road trips for years. The Metros think you’ll be able to help them. It’s a two-way contract. You’ll start off with the Slash, but from what I was told, the goal is to get you up with the big club. I think they’re hoping to work on your skating speed first.”
Playing for the Metros would be awesome, but I tamp down any excitement. If a career plagued with injuries has taught me anything, it’s that you can’t count on staying healthy in this game. “I’ve been slower coming off the broken foot.”
“So, get that remedied, then show the Metros what you can do.” He fixes his gaze on me through the reflection in the glass. “This is a good opportunity for you, Ty. I hate to lose you, but I’m glad you’ll be in an organization where you can thrive. The Metros and Slash take care of their players.”
He would know. He started with the Slash before spending the first part of his playing career with the Metros. I extend my hand and he takes it. “I’ve liked playing for you, Coach. Thanks for looking out for me. I wish things had gone better here.”
“You’re a special player. The injuries and time missed don’t change that.”
“No, they just keep me off the ice.” My laugh is rusty and sticks in my throat.
Injuries have plagued me every season for a decade.
I’m thirty. Wear and tear on the body, old scars and lingering pain from injuries make each comeback tougher and each setback take longer.
There’s a sinking feeling in my gut that this chance with the Metros and Slash will be my last.
Coach clamps his hand on my shoulder and squeezes this time. “I know the feeling of things not working out the way you wanted. We roll with what life deals us, and handle it as best we can.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to stave off the prickling sensation in the back of my eyes. “I try.”
He gives me a pat, then releases me and looks at his phone. “There’s a car waiting out front to take you to the hotel so you can collect your things. You’ll be on a plane heading for Minneapolis this afternoon. A member of the Metros will contact you with the flight details.”
I’ll be arriving in cold, snowy Minnesota with only the lightweight clothes I packed for the warm weather of Palm Springs. I can’t help laughing at that. “Awesome.”
After shaking Coach’s hand one last time, I hustle down the hallway to the empty locker room.
Some of my teammates will be happy to see me go.
I’ve heard the chatter and jokes about how I can’t stay healthy.
Sid will probably be thrilled to get either Klaus or Adam as a linemate.
I send him a quick text to say goodbye, then go outside to the car waiting to take me to the hotel.
My phone pulses with new texts. The first is from a member of the player services team with my flight and hotel information, and the second is from my favorite Swede.
Soren: Heard you’re coming to us!
A line of celebration emojis follows his words and then, Call me ASAP.
My mood lifts at his enthusiasm. Coach said this would be a good opportunity for me. We’ll see, but being in the same city as Soren and Bax could be a plus.
I wait until I’m at the airport, checked in for my flight, and tucked into a chair with a coffee, to return his call.
I’ve been thinking of him and Bax since we parted four days ago.
The three of us have exchanged texts about music, food, and video games.
And after what happened today, I really want to see his face, so opt for a video call.
His face fills my phone screen, smiling wide. He’s in the Slash’s locker room, pulling a shirt over his head. The sounds of chatter and metal doors closing echo around him. “I can’t believe they traded you here.”
“I wasn’t expecting it. I’m still in shock.” And reeling. And overwhelmed.
“Good shock or bad?”
“I’m disappointed things didn’t work out with the Stallions, and nervous about starting over again. Knowing there are some friendly faces there helps.”
He grabs a bottle of sports drink from a shelf, frowns at it, then shrugs, pops it open and takes a swig. “Gio, Phil, and I have your back in the locker room, on the ice, and off. The Metros boys will say the same thing. Whatever you need.”
“Can I get a ride with you to practice tomorrow? I need to be there early to sign the contract, then meet the coaches and team after that.” With every trade, there’s so much to do.
I blow out a breath. At least if I can go with Soren, I won’t have to arrive on my own.
“I don’t think the hotel room the team got me is far from your house. ”
“You can always ride with me.” Warmth shines in blue eyes that remind me so much of the lake I went to every summer, its waters dark and deep.
I slump into my seat, relieved I have one less thing to worry about. “Thanks.”
Someone in the locker room says his name and he looks up, then passes over his drink.
“Soren, what the hell is this?” Laughter accompanies the intruding voice. “Blue raspberry? Where’s your standard strawberry?”
He shrugs. “I was in a rush this morning and must’ve grabbed the wrong one.”
“I thought you were averse to change. Same pre-game meal, same post-game and post-practice drink, same rituals and routines—”
“Yeah well, what am I gonna do, Stephens? Go thirsty instead of drink my only option? You know what, you can have it.” His ears turning pink, Soren huffs a sigh and waves the guy and the rest of the blue raspberry drink away.
“You do only drink the strawberry one.” I remember that from our offseason training.
“Don’t tell anyone, but that one swig of blue raspberry tasted wrong.
” He makes a blech face and I can’t help but chuckle.
“I’ll need to get some strawberry on my way home.
” His gaze flicks over my shoulder, to the corridor of luggage-laden people passing behind me.
“Getting traded while on a road trip is the worst.”
“Yeah. I only have T-shirts, shorts, and one suit in my bag, so I guess shopping for warmer clothes and stuff after practice is on my To Do list.” Thinking about all the things I have to take care of—clothes, toiletries, finding a place to live, getting in sync with new linemates—ratchets up the level of overwhelm.
“I need to figure out what to do about my car and all my stuff.” The thought of trying to coordinate getting everything packed up and shipped makes my skin itch, but I don’t want to carry rent on two places.
“I guess the first step is actually finding a place to live so I have somewhere to put everything.”
There’s a ticking clock on that. The team only covers a hotel room for a few weeks.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” The lockers behind his head shift as he moves to a different section of the room. “We have a guest room that’s yours if you want it. You can move in here.”
“Really?” The question comes out in a squeak, so I clear my throat and try again. “With all of you?” But mostly, with Soren?
Soren, whom I kissed. Soren, whom I watched kiss Bax and was so turned on I practically dry humped him on the dance floor. Soren, whom I haven’t stopped thinking about. What will it mean to live in the same house and play on the same team?