Chapter 13
Grady
I’ve had better games. Much better games.
I’ve had worse games, too, but not much worse.
Coach Larue starts me against the Barons, much to Tyson Michaels’ dismay.
I’ve never had a fellow goalie be such a little bitch before.
I would laugh if it wasn’t so uncomfortable.
And then I go and let in two goals in the first period and three in the second.
Between the second and the third, Coach comes into the locker room and tells Michaels he’s in.
He pats my shoulder and gives me a small smile, but I know he’s probably as disappointed as I am.
I look to Landon, hoping for his usual reassuring gaze and slight nod of his head.
The one that says it’s not the end of the world and I’ll bounce back.
That he has faith, and I should shake it off, but he isn’t looking at me.
He’s tugging on his skate laces like he’s intentionally trying to break them.
He hasn’t looked me in the eye since last night.
Not a good sign. To be fair, I started the day in a sheer panic and purposely avoided him, calling the Riptide’s PR director with some phony excuse about why I couldn’t make the meeting she had scheduled with both Landon and me.
She needed to film some social media videos with the new players, but I needed to get my head on straight before I faced Landon.
I didn’t think seeing him for the first time after he jerked me off in front of Riptide staff and a fucking camera was the best idea.
Then I avoided the house all day and even skipped my pre-game nap to avoid having to deal with the aftermath. And now I’m playing like shit, and my only confidant on my new team is pretending I don’t exist. Good times.
Conner hobbles over on his skates, towering above me as I sit like a festering pile of garbage on the bench in front of my locker.
He taps my shoulder with his hand, and I look up.
I hate having to look him in the eye right now.
“We’re all having a rough one. In the words of Tay Tay ‘Shake it Off’. ”
I almost smile at that. “Since when do you quote Saint Swift?”
“Since Mac and I have been fostering a seven-year-old who loves her. Like obsessed. And she’s been through a lot, and it’s like the only thing that seems to make her smile,” Conner explains.
I blink, and now I do smile. “What? Why isn’t this in the group chat?”
“Because we’ve had her a hot minute and we don’t want to overwhelm her with the nine hundred overbearing, well-meaning nutbars we call family,” Conner says with a big grin. “Her name is Violet. My parents and Mac’s parents know, but that’s it. And now you, because I knew you’d be happy.”
He’s right there. I’m thrilled for them.
I knew his wife Mac, wanted to foster because she’s a foster kid who was eventually adopted by our coach and his now wife.
Con knows I’m all about kids. I love them.
I’m excited to see my cousins start the next generation of Garrisons.
“That’s great, Con. Honestly. It does make me happy. ”
“Me too. Buck up, Grady. It’s one game, and it's pre-season. You know that doesn’t count…
unless we win. It’s a clear indication we’re Cup-bound.
” Conner taps my shoulder again and then turns to lead the team out of the locker room.
I stand, leaving my helmet on the bench.
I grab my new Riptide baseball cap out of my cubby and shove it over my damp hair, trying not to guess what the announcers will say on the television broadcast. My head conjures it up anyway.
“Well, Grady Garrison hasn’t had a great first game with the Tide, and the coach has put him on the bench for the third.
Hopefully, he can find that mojo he brought to L.A. , or it’s going to be a long season.”
It’ll be some such shit like that. And then tomorrow the podcasters will start lamenting on whether or not my results in Los Angeles were a fluke. Fuck my life.
We lose, but in overtime, which takes the sting off a little. Michaels looks like he could spit fire as he stomps by me on his way to the showers. “Rough one.”
“Thanks to you,” he growls and keeps walking. “No way I could get them back from that hole you put me in.”
Ouch. And fuck off. I don’t say anything, though, because it would just make things worse if I pointed out that he let in two super-easy shots in that shootout at the end.
Ones I know, even on my worst day, I would’ve stopped.
I shower quickly, eager to get to the friends and family lounge and get it over with.
My entire fucking family—everyone who isn’t on a team of their own—came tonight.
Landon’s in the hallway outside the lounge. “Hey.”
He turns and gives me the most insincere smile I have ever seen. It’s almost comical. “Hi. Winnie, Holden, and my parents are here tonight with Angie. I have to say goodbye before we hop on the bus to the airport.”
We’re heading to play Boston in our last pre-season game, and then we fly on to Toronto for our first game of the season. We’re one of the unlucky teams that start the season on the road. It’s more fun to start at home in front of fans.
I glance down the hallway in both directions. People are wandering by, but everyone is ignoring us. “We’ve fucked it all up, haven’t we?”
“What? No. We’re cool. Honestly.”
“We’re not. Stop lying,” I reply flatly, and he bristles, so I lower my voice. “Dude, it’s clear this has created… issues. I tried to tell you we shouldn’t.”
“You’re the one who bailed on a work thing, and I know it was to avoid me.”
“I… okay, sort of. It’s more because I was freaking out about my feelings. I’m sorry. I promise I am getting over it,” I reply. “Just maybe we should talk about it, so we can both feel better.”
He rubs the back of his neck where the blond hair is darker because it’s still damp.
The hair where I threaded my fingers while I came less than twenty-four hours ago.
I swallow hard. His gaze slips down like he’s trying to follow my Adam’s apple, but my beard is too thick.
He looks back into my eyes. “I was thinking the pretend nothing ever happened route might be a better fit for us.”
His lips turn up in the corners. I laugh. “Pretty sure you’re doing it wrong. Acting like I don’t exist is a sure sign something is up. Let’s talk.”
“Grady!” My sister Shelby’s voice slices through the din of noise around us. I turn to see her bounding toward us in a new Riptide jersey with my number on it. She hugs me. “Mom and Dad are inside with all the uncles and aunts and grandparents. All of them. Come!”
I glance at Landon, who is already heading to the lounge ahead of us. Shelby is tugging me forward. He glances back at me over his shoulder, and I mouth one word. Later?
Landon nods. God, I hope he means it.
I allow Shelby to drag me to the rest of my family.
Everyone is super supportive and cheerful, and nobody mentions the fact that I was pulled, which feels like a gift.
Until my grandpa Phil grumbles, “Maybe next time you can make it worth the drive and play the whole game,” as they all get into their cars in the VIP parking lot.
My Dad scowls. “Phil, they often play both goalies in pre-season games, so they both get practice. Remember, it doesn’t count.”
“Well, when it does count, you can’t let in five goals. I may not give a shit about sports, but even I know that.” My whole life, he’s been great at saying really shitty stuff casually.
“Well, Daddy, he did alright last year,” Mom reminds him, as casually nice as he is cruel. “I’m sure he’ll be just fine.”
Grandma Nance gives her husband of fifty-four years a withering stare before turning to me with more compassionate hazel eyes. “Everyone has off days, Grady. Your grandpa seems to be having one right now.”
I smile. She pats my cheek. “We’ll come again. To the home opener.”
“See you then.” I lean down—way down because Grandma Nance is five-foot-one on a good day—and hug her, not bothering to remind her the term home opener is a baseball thing more than a hockey term.
My mom subtly helps them both into the back of her SUV, and by subtly, I mean she hovers, only gently holding Grandpa Phil’s elbow when he teeters slightly, lifting up his leg to climb in. When they’re seated, she shuts the door for them and turns to me. “I love being able to see you so easily.”
“A two-hour drive with Nance and Phil isn’t easy,” Dad interjects in a sharp mumble.
Mom ignores him. She hugs me, rubbing my back as she does.
It always reminds me of being very little, coming in from a day of skating and freezing in the backyard with my cousins, and being greeted by her next to our big stone fireplace with a warm blanket.
She’d wrap me in it and rub my back the same way.
“Have a good road trip and see you when you get back.”
“Love you,” I say. And try not to worry about shitting the bed at the next game they attend.
What if I don’t work out my kinks by then?
What if Coach doesn’t start me because I shit the bed on this road trip?
I’ve been a backup goalie more than not in my career.
I thought I turned a corner winning the Cup in L.A. , but what if I didn’t?
I pull out of the hug and turn to my dad. “Maybe wait to see if I’m starting the next home game. I’ll keep you posted.”
Dad smiles. “You’ll start. And you know what? Even if you don’t, I want to be here. Seeing you on that bench on the ice is still a dream come true, Grady. A dream I never fulfilled. You always make us proud.”
“Aww… Cole is such a good dad,” Uncle Jordan coos from next to his car parked nose-to-nose with my mom’s.
“It’s like watching Oprah parent,” Uncle Devin adds.
“So sweet and wholesome, I think I got a cavity,” Uncle Luc chimes in.
I know they’re not making fun of me. They’re razzing their brother because it’s Garrison tradition. Teasing is love. My dad raises both hands in the air and flips them the double birds. Mom rolls her eyes and reaches up to lower his arms.
“Seriously, Grady. Good to have you local,” Jordan announces.
“And we’re proud of you too!” Aunt Jessie calls out.
“Yeah. It’s one bad night. Big deal. Your Uncle Jordan played like shit all the time, and he never let it bother him,” Aunt Callie says, and everyone snickers but Jordan. “Love you, little G! Knock ’em dead on the road trip.”
One by one, everyone gets into their cars, and I wait until they’re all in a line driving out of the garage before I head back into the building. The place is pretty empty now except for the staff and players.
There are a few things that are standard no matter what team I’m on, and one of those things is whenever we lose people clear out quickly.
Friends and family especially don’t linger if we’re leaving right after a game.
Because Boston is only two hours away, we’re taking a luxury coach bus instead of a plane.
So I grab my carry-on from the locker room and wheel it down the hall in the opposite direction to the bus parking.
It’s an elevator ride down because the oversized vehicle parking is on the ground level.
Landon and Michaels get in the elevator with me.
Between the three hockey bodies and each of our suitcases, it’s a cramped space.
Michaels’ shitty mood is also taking up space.
“I don’t see why we couldn’t leave in the morning. Tomorrow isn’t a game day anyway.”
“Yeah, but why spend daylight on a bus? This way we’ve got more time for practice and to review game footage and stuff, which is great,” Landon replies.
After this mini-road trip, we have three days off in a row when we get back before our first home game.
Now I’m worried I’ll have to spend it feverishly hunting down an apartment, because although I intend to talk it out with Landon on this trip, I doubt it will solve anything.
Not really. And continuing to live with Angie and Landon now is probably a mistake.
Tyson snorts, as if balking at Landon’s take and the trip schedule. He gives us both the once over with pure disgust in his stare, “Will it be enough time for you two to find that Cup-winning game you supposedly have? Because you both played like shit tonight.”
The elevator jostles to a stop, and the doors slide open.
Tyson storms out, his suitcase clipping mine and almost wrenching it from my hand as he leaves us.
I grind my teeth, and Landon lets out a long, low gush of air from his lungs.
Our eyes meet. “You bet your ass I’m gonna aim every shot over his left shoulder in practice tomorrow… and until the end of time.”
Clearly, Landon made note of the fact that both easy goals Tyson let in were in that area. I smirk. He smirks back, and then the sexy little fuck winks at me before exiting the elevator, leaving me to stumble out behind him in shock.
* * *
By the time we get to Boston, my body aches and my brain is cloudy.
Landon looks like how I feel, so I know it’s not the time to talk it out.
We have all day tomorrow between practice and meetings.
I grab the key to my room, and Landon grabs his.
We’re on different floors, but I turn to him as I get off the elevator.
Conner is getting off with me, and two other teammates are staying on because they’re on Landon’s floor. “Talk tomorrow?”
He nods, his eyes blurry.
I walk down the hall, Conner stops at the room beside mine, and we half-heartedly wave goodnight as we both head in for the night. I don’t even bother to unpack, and I doze off with my socks and underwear still on before I can even pull the covers back.