Chapter Twenty-Three
Rip
Practice was light—we went through the playbook and watched films of the Polar Bears from the past five seasons. They were tough, and I anticipated a seven-game series that would be as physical as I’d ever played.
When we broke, Coach beckoned to me. “Rip. Come with me.”
Curious, I shut my locker door. “What’s up, Coach?”
“Not here. In my office.”
Seb raised his brows. “What’s that about?”
“Not a clue.”
“Never a good sign when you get called to the coach’s office,” Denis called out.
“Shut up, Denis. Do what you do best—blocking shots on goal, not running your mouth.”
I knocked on Coach’s door and opened it.
“Sit, Rip.”
Nervous, I folded my arms. “No thanks. I’ll stand. What’s wrong, Coach?”
He sighed. “You’ve been playing some of the best games of your career.”
Not what I expected to hear, but the glow of his praise settled the dancing butterflies in my stomach. “Thank you. It’s been rough, but I’m ready to bring the Cup to Blades Arena.”
“Well, we’re armed and ready for a hard fight. It’ll take real team effort.”
I allowed myself a grin. “That it will. But we’ve been waiting, and this time we’ll do it. No egos, just pure hockey guts.”
“No ego is correct.” Coach’s returning smile was thin. “Which is why I’m starting Lindstrom in Game One.”
The door opened, admitting our defensive coach, Alexi Aranov, along with the team physician, Dr. Mike Hutchinson.
A pain hit me center mass, as if I’d been kicked in the nuts. “What? Starting Lindstrom? Why?”
“Rip, we watched the tapes during and after the game and at practice. You’re clearly favoring your knee.” Hutch, as we called him, was sympathetic but firm. “I’d like to take a look at it.”
Goddamn it. “I mean, yeah, I fell on it hard and a few pucks slammed into it, but I’ll be one hundred percent by game day next week.”
“Rip.” Coach pointed. “Lift your pants. Now.”
I did as told and presented my bare leg. Hutch bent in front of me and prodded the skin above, below, and on top of the patella.
“It’s swollen. There’s no apparent damage, but it’s obvious to me the knee is not in its best shape.”
“And with a week of rest, heat, and therapy, it’ll be fine by game time,” I insisted.
As I spoke, Coach shook his head. “We can’t take that chance, Rip. It’s not the beginning of the season. It’s the Stanley Cup. If you improve and Hutch gives the okay, you’ll play.”
No use arguing. Coach wasn’t about to budge. “Sure. Yeah. Lindstrom will do a great job.”
To my surprise, Coach left his seat behind his desk to sit beside me. “I know how disappointed you are. And I wouldn’t do this if I felt you were one hundred percent. Believe me, the moment Hutch gives us the go-ahead, you’ll play.”
I couldn’t break down. Not here. Not now. “What if that doesn’t happen?”
His hand rested on my shoulder. I gazed at him, mute and trembling with a myriad of emotions. “I promise. You’ll get ice time. I know how much this means to you. Therapy every day, but only light practice. And you’ll suit up for the games.”
All I could do was nod at him and Hutch, get up, and walk out of the office with my head high.
I left the arena and called a car for home.
I could have sworn I didn’t take a breath until I shut the door behind me and collapsed on the couch.
That was when I started to shake. I wanted Adrian, but he was at work and I couldn’t bother him with my problems. Not when he’d had the best news of his career.
I didn’t want to be the one to dull his shine.
I picked up my phone and called Neil. “Great news about Adrian.”
“Yeah, he texted me. I hope this’ll boost his confidence. From what I heard, the station is very pleased with the show. And with Louie having to retire—”
“Whoa, he is? I haven’t heard that.”
“Adrian didn’t know,” Neil explained. “He’s not going to get the news slot, but they do like how he handled the interview. But this isn’t why you called. I hear it in your voice. What’s going on?”
Neil always was a sharp bastard. I sighed. “They’re pulling me out of the starting lineup for at least the first game, most likely the next as well.”
“Your knee? Is it bothering you that much?”
My heart sank. “You noticed?” Dammit.
“Rip. Come on. It’s me.” A gentle Neil was a Neil I never wanted to hear.
“So you agree with them that I should be benched.”
“Listen. No one knows how bad you want this more than me. It’s all we talked about growing up, only you’re the one who made it to the top.
And you don’t get to your level without giving everything you’ve got, which you do every game you play.
But the goal is the Cup. And if your coach thinks the road to getting there entails resting your knee, then that’s how it’s got to be. ”
“Realistically, I know you’re right. But dammit. Sitting out the opening game? Maybe the whole series?” I pounded the pillow with my fist. “It’s killing me.”
“I doubt that’s gonna happen. What did Hutch say?”
Over the years, Neil had visited me enough to become familiar with the whole Blades team.
“He said it’s swollen, and I should rest and take hydrotherapy, acupuncture…the works.”
“It sucks because you’re the fiercest competitor I know, but promise me you’ll listen to him.
You don’t want to wreck your health in pursuit of the Cup.
What happens if you don’t win it this year and you wreck the knee to the point where you end up permanently injured and have to retire? You’ll never be able to play again.”
At his words, a chill ran through me. Never play another game? The thought was inconceivable.
“Yeah, I know. Just…sitting while everyone else is skating…I don’t know if I can do it.”
“You can because you’re the heart of the team, and if they sense your anger, their concentration will be off.”
I rested my head on the pillows lining the couch, gazing upward. “It just sucks.”
“I know. Take the therapy and rest.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you get back to work.”
I didn’t know how long I remained sitting in a fog of despair before I picked up the phone.
“Hey, Hutch? It’s me. When do you want me to come in?”
**
“Ahh, man. What the actual fuck?” Seb shut the door to his locker. Coach had made his announcement that Lindstrom would be starting the series while I rested and took care of my knee. The weight of everyone staring felt like a thousand pounds on my shoulders.
“Coach isn’t wrong. I hate to admit it, but my knee did take a shot in that last game, when it was already sore.
And I don’t want to slow down the team. I’d never forgive myself if I cost the team the Cup because of my ego and unwillingness to step aside for the betterment of the Blades organization.
I went home, wallowed in some self-pity, and talked to Neil.
I kicked my ass in gear, came in and did hydrotherapy, acupuncture, and stretches. ”
“You’re gonna be one hundred percent, and we’re gonna win this Cup, with you on the ice.” Seb gripped his stick, his expression fierce.
“Thanks. I’ll do everything in my power to make that happen.”
Denis strode over, and I braced for a sarcastic comment or a smirk. Instead, he sat beside me, serious. “I’m sorry, Rip. I know we haven’t been good to each other—”
“We haven’t?” My lips twitched.
An unexpected and surprising blush rose to his cheeks. “Okay, you got me. I haven’t been good to you. In fact, I’ve been a petty shit. But I’d never wish this on you. I know how bad you want to win.” He stuck out a hand. “Shall we call a truce?”
Call me a sucker, but being at odds with Denis was exhausting. Aside from it creating tension on the team, at one point I did love him. I could tell he meant what he said. Maybe he was growing up. And though he’d cheated on me, I’d moved on. I had Adrian.
I grasped his hand. “That would be a good idea.” Our eyes met, and the anger and hurt no longer hung around me like a dense fog. Nothing remained but a gentle pang of what had once been but now was gone forever.
“I truly am sorry, Rip. For everything. I wish you and Adrian the best. The two of you are better than we ever were.”
“Thanks. And for the record, I hope you and Gordie are happy together.”
He broke eye contact. “Well, let’s say I’m zero for two in relationships. He and I…finis.”
“I—Denis, I’m so sorry.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.” He shrugged and rose to his feet. “Make sure your boyfriend takes good care of you. Better than I did. And I expect to see you on the ice as soon as you’re able.”
He walked off, and Seb waited until he disappeared to speak. “What the hell was that about?”
“Maybe Denis has finally woken up.”
“And realized what he lost?” Seb waited. “He has lost you, hasn’t he? You and Adrian are solid?”
At the mention of Adrian, I grinned. “Yeah. We are. As a rock.”
It was well after six when I opened the door to my apartment and saw Adrian behind the island.
God, I loved seeing him. Loved coming home and finding him there, waiting for me.
At his welcoming smile, all the bad in my day vanished.
I hefted the bottle of chilled champagne I’d picked up after I left the arena.
“Congratulations to my hot and sexy boyfriend. The newest TV star of Channel 8.”
Adrian blushed. “Stop.”
“I’m serious. How’d the rest of the day go?” I leaned in for a kiss. “Mmm. I’ve never kissed a real television news star.”
Adrian gave me a playful shove before reaching for two flutes. “And you still haven’t.”
I popped the bottle and poured us two glasses. “Don’t downplay your accomplishment.” I lifted the crystal to make a toast. “To you and your show. I know it will be a massive success.”
We clinked and sipped. Adrian set his glass on the counter. “How was practice today? Must be so exciting to be heading to the finals.”