Chapter 2 #2
The puck was dropped, and Cole tied up the Luck’s center, which allowed me to scoop up the black rubber disc with my stick, and I was off to the races.
But I didn’t make it very far. The defenseman covering me checked me into the boards right as I crossed the offensive blue line, and I lost control of the puck.
It wasn’t long before one of the Luck forwards was skating in the opposite direction, barreling toward where our open net lay waiting.
I hustled as though my ass was on fire to chase him down, but thankfully, our line’s right winger, Dylan Sutton, got there first. A quick up pass to Cole and we were on the rush again, this time with numbers.
Crew skated up from defense, joining his brother and me as we tried to outsmart the two defenders for the Luck.
I crashed the net just as Cole ripped a close-range slapshot.
The puck hit the goalie’s blocker before dropping to the ice, and I beat at his pads with my stick, furiously trying to jam it in.
The whistle blew, and play stopped.
“Dammit,” I panted out the curse, exhausted after skating up and down the ice several times.
Cole nudged my shoulder. “Keep at it. We’ve got this.”
Another face-off win, and we were passing around the zone, attempting to get the Luck out of position so we could take a high-chance shot.
Cole was battling in front of the net, and their goalie kept shifting from side to side, trying in vain to track the puck.
With him screened, we took advantage and peppered him, but frustration mounted when we couldn’t get one of those shots to pop the back of the net.
I never remembered it being this hard to score a goddamn goal.
Pressured at the blue line, Crew was unable to hold the zone, and the Luck were gathering speed through the neutral zone.
With only one man to beat, they wound up for the easy shot, but just as they let the puck fly, Jagger came from out of nowhere and put his body directly in front of it, blocking the attempt.
If I weren’t so out of breath, I would have let out an impressed whistle, because I hadn’t seen him fight that hard to defend once since my arrival in San Diego.
We came off on a shift change, and the second line worked just as feverishly to defend our net that was absent a goalie.
Eventually, play came to a stop due to an offside, and Davenport called over to Rockwell, “Get back out there.”
There were audible sighs of relief amongst the team, and you could bet your ass that we did everything in our power to make sure he didn’t face another shot for the rest of the game.
As much as I hated to admit it, our coach’s unconventional tactic had motivated an improvement in play. And while it would undoubtedly suck during the early days of his reign, the Surf were better off for having him behind the bench.
After seven games of Davenport at the helm, we managed to win two of them. It might not sound like much, but it was progress, a step in the right direction.
But fuck, if the practices weren’t brutal.
Today’s “lesson” focused on precision shooting after we had an embarrassingly low number of shots on goal, despite the number of attempts taken in our game last night against the New York Freedom.
Coach had the whole team lined up at different angles in front of an empty net, and if we missed, we had to skate a hard lap before trying again.
I was ashamed to admit that I skated my fair share of laps—as did the majority of my teammates—and after practice, it became a race to see who could shower the quickest to beat the rush to the treatment room. We were all in need after that tough workout.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I lowered into an ice bath, letting the chill numb my aching muscles.
Cole sat in the tub to my right, giving me a once-over. “You look like shit, man.”
I huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “That’s because I feel like it.”
“Davenport might be running us ragged out on the ice, but that’s not causing the dark circles under your eyes. Everything okay?”
Blowing out a breath, I pressed my fingers into my eye sockets and rubbed. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just that the walls are thin at the hotel, and this past week, there’s been a baby in the next room over from mine who, apparently, prefers to scream all night instead of sleeping.”
His eyes widened. “You’re still staying in a hotel?”
I lifted one shoulder. “Hasn’t been much time to find a place with me coming over in the middle of the season.” It certainly didn’t help that I’d shown up right before a ten-day East Coast road trip. I’d spent more time in other cities than in San Diego since the trade.
“If you’re interested, I can send you the contact of the realtor I used when buying my house last year.”
“Upgrade?” I asked.
Most assumed that all professional athletes were millionaires, and while that was the case for some, hockey was the lowest-paid of the four major American sports, and our contracts followed a different structure.
All rookies, regardless of talent level, were signed to the same three-year entry-level deal, and after taxes and the amount withheld to support profit sharing between players and the league, you were looking at mid-six figures annually.
And if you happened to live in an expensive area—like Southern California in Cole’s case or New England in mine—those dollars didn’t stretch as far.
My “starter home” in Hartford had been a modest three-bedroom, and for several years, I’d been forced to rent out the extra rooms to my teammates so the mortgage didn’t eat up a large chunk of my paycheck.
“Divorce,” Cole replied.
Yikes. “Shit, I’m sorry, man.”
He gave me a tight nod, accepting my condolences. “It was over for a long time before we finally called it quits. If I’m being honest with myself, it was doomed from the start. We wanted different things and expected that the other would change their mind.”
“And neither of you did,” I surmised.
“Nope.”
“Aw, fuck. Please tell me you’re not regaling him with tales of the she-devil.” Crew’s voice called from the open doorway.
I couldn’t help but laugh at the nickname he’d given his twin’s ex-wife. “She-devil? Was she really that bad?”
His nose wrinkled in disgust as he used his fingers to list off her negative attributes. “She was self-centered, clingy, jealous, controlling, selfish. Not to mention, a lying, cheating gold digger.”
Damn, she sounded like a piece of work.
Cole let out a weary sigh. “Okay, that’s enough, Crew.”
Glaring at his brother, Crew continued to rant.
“Did he tell you he let the woman put tracking software on his phone, so she’d know where he was at all times?
That’s how little she trusted him, yet he was the one who came home early to find her blowing the neighbor.And after all that, she had the audacity to demand half his assets. ”
“I said, that’s enough!” Cole shouted, his fist slamming into the water to punctuate his statement.
My eyes volleyed between the two brothers, the air thick with the tension vibrating between them.
Crew shook his head, muttering, “Never would’ve happened if you’d listened to me in the first place.” Then he turned on his heel and left.
Cole’s eyes slid shut, his head dropping back against the edge of the tub. “Sorry about that.”
I gripped the back of my neck. “Uh, yeah. No worries.”
Not sensing that I was beyond uncomfortable after that exchange, he explained, “He never liked Kennedy. At first, I thought it was because he viewed her presence in my life as a threat. We did everything together, including sharing a womb, and he didn’t want to lose the closeness we shared.
But the night I told him I was going to marry her, he lost his shit—in hindsight, he had some valid points—and after the worst fight we’d ever had, he outright refused to stand by my side as my best man.
Even now, despite how it all fell apart, I’m not sure I’ve ever forgiven him for that. ”
I was at a loss. I didn’t know jack shit about relationships, and even less about marriage, so it’s not as if I could sympathize in any meaningful way. So, my best option was to extricate myself from this situation before I made an ass of myself.
“Well, my balls have successfully retreated into my body, so I think I’m done.” Rising to my feet, I shivered when icy rivulets of water cascaded down the grooves created by my muscles.
Cole chuckled. “Yeah, I’m getting to that point myself. A few more minutes will do me good, though.”
Grabbing a towel, I dried off as I headed for the door. “Catch you tomorrow.”
“I’ll send you that contact.” He spoke to my back.
I waved over my shoulder. “Thanks.”
Sure enough, by the time I made it to my hotel room, there was a text from Cole with the information for his realtor, Arizona Cleary.
Barring a miracle, I was going to be here for a while, so I guess it was time to put down roots in San Diego.