Chapter 10
PEYTON
October and November wore on, the days getting shorter and darker as time started to blur.
I’d always lost track of the calendar by this point in the season; next thing I knew, they’d be announcing it was the All-Star break, and then the trade deadline, and suddenly the playoffs would be over and I’d be wondering where the hell the season had gone. Happened every damn year.
And just like I was every year, I was startled when the announcements came out for the team’s Thanksgiving get-together. It was Thanksgiving already? How did that happen?
This year, Baddy and his wife, Christina, were hosting. A few people had flown home last night to be with their families in other parts of the country, but most of us stayed in town.
It was always a little bittersweet, celebrating holidays with my teammates.
I’d call my parents this evening, but we’d long since given up on me trying to get home for Thanksgiving.
It was always such a blisteringly brief trip bookended by the most chaotic travel days of the year.
Nobody enjoyed that, least of all me. We’d have an informal Thanksgiving dinner in July when I was home, and I enjoyed that, but I still missed my family on the real holiday.
Same with Christmas; I tried to get home whenever I could, but some years, the schedule was just too damn tight.
The team celebrations were always a lot of fun, though, and they were a chance for everyone to kick back and socialize without any pressure. No practices or games looming. No cameras around. We could just chill. It was good for bonding.
It was especially good for those of us who were still finding our place on a new roster.
Hockey teams were always welcoming to new players, but it still took time to get in the groove with a new group.
Today, Trews stuck close to me and Laramie.
I got it—we were all new to the Whiskey Rebels, and the dynamic of this team was complicated.
I felt bad for the kid. I was having a harder than usual time finding my place among these men; it had to be even more difficult for a young rookie who was still finding his footing as a professional hockey player.
I remembered those days, and I didn’t envy him being a rookie on this team right now.
That wasn’t to say the guys were making any of us feel unwelcome. It was just a tough season for them. They were going through something I hoped I never experienced. I couldn’t blame them for everything being “off.”
And to their credit, they really were doing everything they could to bring us all firmly into the fold.
“You should be thanking me, kid.” Eminem slung his arm around Trews’s shoulders as we watched some of the guys shooting pool downstairs. “When Pittsburgh traded for me, they also got a second-round draft pick.” He smacked the kid’s chest. “Guess what they used to draft you?”
Trews laughed, and his blush was kind of cute. “Where did they get you and the pick from?”
“Edmonton.” Eminem grimaced theatrically. “You wouldn’t want to go there, my friend.”
“Oh, shut up.” Willie threw a Dorito at Eminem. “You loved it there.”
“I did, but I’m not there now.” Eminem shrugged and tossed the Dorito in his mouth. “Without me, who’d want to play there?”
We all groaned and laughed, rolling our eyes.
The attention turned back to the pool game, which was currently a game of eightball rife with relentless shit-talking.
Mix had Ziggy on his heels, and even though a number of their chirps were in Russian, the rest of us were still thoroughly entertained by the resulting expressions and middle fingers.
Shortly after Ziggy beat Mix, I headed upstairs with Laramie and Trews to refresh our drinks. The hallway between the kitchen and living room was mostly empty, and the three of us paused there just to have a break from the noise.
I took advantage of the quiet moment and said to Trews, “So, aside from Eminem’s bullshit about his trade landing you here—how are you liking it?”
“I do like it.” Trews sipped his drink. “Pittsburgh is nice. The guys are great.” He glanced toward the living room where several of the guys were watching football, then turned to me again. “Is the weird vibe just me, though? Like is this…” He chewed his lip.
I shook my head slowly. “It’s not just you.” It was my turn for a glance down the hall. “But with everything they’ve had thrown at them…”
Trews exhaled. “Yeah. Seriously.” He grimaced. “I can’t even imagine. My teammates in college—they were like my brothers, you know?”
“Yeah. I know exactly what you mean.”
“I think they’re killing it, all things considered,” Laramie said. “I’d be on the ground.”
I nodded. “Me too. It’ll probably get better after this season, but it’s gonna take time.”
“Still,” Trews whispered. “I don’t know how they’ve made it this far.”
Laramie and I both nodded, murmuring our agreement.
We headed back down to the basement to rejoin the guys playing pool.
Trews continued to stick close, and I didn’t mind.
Along with Laramie, we made the rounds through the party.
There was the pool table in the basement, kids playing in the backyard, football on in the living room, and people shooting the shit and munching on snacks in the kitchen and family room.
I sucked at pool. I could do all kinds of shit I was ridiculously proud of on ice, but knocking balls around on felt? Yeah, no. Not my forte at all.
The rookie, however, turned out to be quite the pool shark.
“How did you do that?” Baddy squawked after Trews potted the eight ball. “That’s—is that even possible?”
“Of course it’s possible,” Avery said with a laugh. “If you actually know how to shoot, which he does. You?” He made an exaggeratedly apologetic face and shrugged. “Well…”
“Fuck off, Calds.” Baddy rolled his eyes. “Act like you can get through a game without scratching when you try to sink the eightball.”
Avery scoffed. “That happened once.”
“Yeah, last time we all partied and you played once.”
Avery flipped him off.
Trews grinned in that way he did when he was about to go full ice gremlin. “You want to play, Calds?”
“Ooh, you’re asking for it now.” Eminem slapped Avery on the back. “Come on, Captain. Put the rookie in his place.”
Avery laughed and shrugged. “You putting money on me?”
Eminem scoffed. “No. Because you’ll lose on purpose just to be a dick.”
“What?” Avery put a hand to his chest. “I would never—”
A chorus of coughed “bullshit, bullshit,” rose around the room.
Avery huffed. “You know what? You guys are all assholes.” He looked pointedly at Trews. “You sure you want to play me?”
Trews was beaming. “Hell, yeah. Let’s do this.”
Watching Avery play pool with Trews was entertaining as all hell, but it was also heartbreaking in a way. Yeah, he was trash-talking like everyone else, laughing at jokes and giving Trews a run for his money on the table.
But there was a pall over him that was impossible to miss.
He reminded me of someone trying desperately to have a good time while an injury was too sore to ignore.
Even his most full-throated laughs were followed by that subtle deflation, like someone who’d forgotten for a moment or two about the awful spasm in his back or the relentless ache in his knee.
The way his expression turned flat, or—when he seemed really sure no one was looking—he let the hurt show through.
That was tough to watch.
I nudged Mix, who was standing beside me, and nodded toward Avery. “Is he okay?”
“Hmm?” Mix peered at Avery. Then he sighed and took a pull from his beer. Speaking just loud enough for me and no one else to hear, he whispered, “He and Early always played pool at team events.”
“Ooh. Fuck.”
Pursing his lips, he nodded, but he didn’t say anything else. I supposed he didn’t need to.
That had to be rough as hell, being reminded at every turn that his best friend was gone. I saw it in him today. I saw it in the locker room and on the ice. Sometimes even during games, when he’d get that distant look in his eyes before shaking himself out of it and refocusing.
The weirdest thing was that throughout the day, even as a new member of the team, I was aware of Leif’s absence myself.
It was hard not to notice despite never having known him.
Most people were in happy, festive moods, but I didn’t miss that occasional dip in conversation—the awkward pause as if someone had said something that poked at everyone’s wound, or when they’d dart helpless, pained glances toward Leif’s widow or Avery.
It was impossible not to notice when someone was telling a story, and then they’d reach the part that included Leif and suddenly get that panicked, “oh damn, did I just kill the mood?” look on their face.
Shortly after people had started arriving, Rachel had, rather than making a big announcement, quietly told a few of the wives she was expecting.
Word got around quickly, of course, and more than once I heard people offering her congratulations, the exchanges tinged with visible sympathy and pain.
Everyone told her emphatically that if she needed help with anything to give them a call; she was still part of the Whiskey Rebel family, and everyone was eager to step up.
She clearly appreciated it, but it must’ve been a gut punch every time.
A reminder that there was a need for that help.
A reason why they had to remind her she was still part of the family.
A reminder of why that was even a question.
Despite it being almost December, the weather wasn’t bad, the chill demanding jeans and a light jacket at most. Especially as the packed house grew stuffier, Trews and I moved outside for some fresh air while Laramie stayed by the pool table.