Chapter 33
LOGAN
Frustration ripples through the locker room as we strip out of our gear. According to the white board, I’m on deck to talk to the media tonight. So are Coop and Toth.
“I’ll go first.” I yank on a team shirt and shove my bare feet into slides.
After a decade in the league, on a team that has never made the playoffs, I know how this goes.
Come January, everyone is resigned to our fate, or on edge about the last vestige of hope slipping away.
My job is to give them a sound bite about hockey they can roll on the news that makes the next game a good question mark rather than a sad trombone sound.
And because we lost, I need to look appropriately grave. The sweat-slicked hair, pre-shower, is a good aesthetic for all of that.
There are five reporters tonight. I’ll take one question from each of them, and maybe a follow-up or two, depending on how good a job I do with my end of the bargain. Grave. Serious nods. Hockey talk. Go.
“Logan, tough loss tonight. What do you think was the difference maker for St. Louis?”
“They’re a strong team, and they were really fast tonight. We needed to be faster.”
“You had some good looks tonight.”
“Is that a question?” I grin to show that I’m fine, we’re fine. But the smile falls away real fast, to show that I don’t like to lose. And I don’t, that’s not an act. “Credit to their goalie, he had my number.”
“Are you tired from the road trip?”
“We had two days off, and my bed is very comfortable. But it’s possible I do play better in balmy weather, so if you guys could do something about this Arctic freeze we came back to, that would be great.
No, seriously, we weren’t tired tonight.
We created some decent chances. Just need to find the finish, because that’s the part that matters. ” I scratch my beard.
“There’s been some speculation about potential trades before the deadline.”
“I don’t pay attention to rumors.” I shrug. “My job is on the ice, and in the next game.”
“If Buffalo decides to buy at the deadline—”
“I’m going to stop you there, because I don’t want to get in trouble with the general manager for trying to do his job.”
That gets a round of laughter. But charm can’t be leveraged too much when you’ve just lost a game.
Serious face again. “Every guy in that locker room is focused on winning the next game, every game. We can’t pay attention to the standings, because that’s outside our control, but wins can and should be in our control, and we’re disappointed we didn’t get that done tonight.
The next game is another chance to get it right. ”
“One more question,” the media liaison announces.
A young guy from a local sports blog speaks up. “How do you feel about being utilized for fewer O-zone starts this season than last?”
I jolt a little at the specificity of the question.
Covering it up with another jaw scratch, I finally nod, because how I feel about it is irrelevant.
That’s not the soundbite to offer tonight.
“It’s a two hundred foot game. I’ll take the draws where they happen.
” Then I give the signal that we’re done.
“Thanks, guys,” our media guy says, and they move out of the way for me.
After I shower and grab some food from our chefs, taking it to go, I fire a text to my agent.
Logan
Got a question tonight about not getting as many O zone starts? Was that you?
Tom calls me when I’m halfway home. “Did you see the clip from the pre-game show?”
“No…” I stop at a red light. “Got a question about it from a local blogger in the post-game scrum.”
“Smart kid.”
“I think he’s the same age as me.”
“You’re a kid, too.”
“I’m thirty.”
“Ancient, never mind.” He sounds like he’s in an extraordinarily good mood.
“Are you cooking with something here, Tom?”
“No, no. Just having some fun. There’s no chance you get traded as long as you’re playing well.”
“We lost tonight.”
“And you might not have lost if you had more O-zone starts.”
I groan. Tom knows I don’t like Wilson, and we’ve talked before about how he has some latitude to talk about that on background with insiders. But now the stakes are so much more complicated. “Hey, listen…I don’t want you to fuck with the coach.”
He’s quiet for a minute. “You’re serious.”
“Yeah.”
“Why? You aren’t being utilized in a way that optimizes your strengths.”
In the past, I just accepted that the man doesn’t like me for whatever reason. And now I have other reasons for not wanting to worsen that relationship.
But Tom’s right that Wilson’s outdated systems are handcuffing my trade prospects if GMs aren’t seeing a nightly display of my talent in an optimized way.
I sigh. “Tread carefully. Wilson doesn’t like me, and if we make it into the playoffs, I don’t want the tension between us to become a story.”
“Fair enough.”
The light in my garage turns on as I pull into the driveway, the door sliding up to reveal the wide open empty space where I park my truck. My house is too big for just me, but I usually like taking up the middle of an empty two-car garage.
Tonight, it’s just a reminder that I’m really fucking far away from Frankie.
I text her that I’m home, and she calls before I’m out of the truck.
“Hi,” I say with a deep exhale. Just seeing her face makes some of the tension bleed out of my shoulders.
“Hi,” she says softly. Then she frowns. “Are you okay? I mean, of course you’re not—”
I groan.“You watched tonight.”
She winces. “Yes.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.”
“But I like knowing you’re watching. And I’m not a grouchy asshole after a loss, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
She just nods, because I told her I don’t want to talk about it, but now I’m talking about it.
“So this is my garage.” I angle the phone so she can see.
“You drive a truck!”
“Buffalo winters.”
“Ah, of course.”
“Do I not look like I drive a truck?”
She squints and tips her head to the side. “I dunno. I don’t really think about cars that much. But yeah, maybe I thought you were more of a sports car person.”
“I like a sports car. Love muscle cars, too.” I hang up my coat and toe off my boots. “You mind if I eat while we talk?”
“Not at all. What are you having? I had pizza.”
I take her into the kitchen and open the takeaway container, showing her my chicken parm and broccoli. “Tell me about your day as I eat.”
“Dr. Chen asked me to present a case at grand rounds next week.”
“Frankie, that’s incredible.” Pride swells in my chest. “What’s the case?”
“We had a patient in clinic today who presented with a long history of fractures, and it turns out they probably have a previously undiagnosed genetic condition. It’s kind of a complicated story, so I won’t bore you with the details.”
“I want to hear about it.” I love watching her face light up when she talks about medicine. “Tell me everything.”
“Yeah?”
“Please.”
She does, and I listen, asking questions whenever she pauses, craving more of the passion in her voice and the animated excitement that grows as she talks. When she finally finishes, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are bright.
“I can’t believe you actually care about this,” she says.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you’re...”
“Your husband?” I fill in when she trails off. “Who wants to know everything about you?”
“Okay, fair.” She gives me a look so sweet I want to crawl through the phone screen and wrap myself around her. “I want to know everything about you, too, you know.”
I dump my empty dish and fork into the sink. “Want to tuck me into bed?”
She blushes and nods.
“Come on, then. Let’s go upstairs.” I grab my phone, then head upstairs.
On the screen, she’s moving, too.
“I have to brush my teeth.”
She smiles happily at me as I park my phone on the bathroom counter and get all minty clean.
We climb onto our respective beds at the same time. Her attention sharpens when I pull off my t-shirt, her lips parting, her gaze growing hooded.
I settle against the pillows and grin at her. “What do you want to talk about now?”
“Books?” She swallows hard as I turn onto my side and put my phone against my lamp. Now she can see more of me. All of my bare chest, and my sweatpants, too, at least to my knees. The good stuff.
I rub my hand over my abs. “Yeah, we can talk about books if you want.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Or…?”
I shift on the bed, making sure she can see that I’m hard, my cock tenting my pants.
“Or we could talk about how sexy you are when you get going about work. How fucking cute you are when you happily watch me brush my teeth, too. We could do some hard-core talking about how incredible I think you are, in general, and in very specific ways, too.”
Her eyes widen slightly as she realizes what I’m implying.
I keep my voice gentle, coaxing. “It’s just you and me, baby. No one else. Do you want to make yourself feel good?”
Her gaze flicks beyond the screen, and then back. To her bed, and then back to the screen again. She’s still holding her phone. “You want me to touch myself?”
“More than I want my next breath. Have you ever touched yourself while someone watched?”
“Not like this, not on the phone.” Lust softens her face. So soft and eager.
The thought of being her first for this makes my cock throb. “I’d really like to see you. And you can watch me, too.”
She makes a small, needy sound in the back of her throat.
“I’m your husband, Frankie. It’s okay if you want to see me naked.” I push my hand against my waistband, hooking my thumb inside the elastic. “See what you do to me? Just talking to you gets me this hard.”
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and she nods. “Are you going to jerk off?”
“If you want me to.”
“Mmm… Yeah, I do.”