Chapter 6
Theo
October…
I lace my skates as my phone buzzes in the cubby above my head.
Grady is across the room, telling everyone some story about the time he played Toronto and their goalie, Vetrov, challenged him to a goalie fight.
“And I didn’t even realize it was happening,” Grady says.
“I was distracted by one of their forwards going after Barker, and then, Vetrov tripped halfway down the ice and never made it to me. Ref hauled him to his feet and told him to try again later. After skating lessons.”
Everyone laughs, and I pretend to because my stomach is a pool of anxiety, my nerves feel like they’ve been zapped with electricity, and all I can think about is the fact I’m about to step onto the ice again, in an NHL game.
Sure, it’s preseason, but it’s still technically a game.
And just a month ago, I didn’t know this could be a reality.
Now, I have to prove I still have it, or I’ll be dropped.
Coach Larue has been quietly axing guys for the last three weeks.
We’ve gone from six rookies to two. Two other free agents who were offered a chance to skate with the team have also been let go.
It’s me and one other veteran, Landriault, left in that category.
He’s in his mid-thirties, so this really is a last shot for him.
For the rookies, Landon’s brother Callan is still here.
And he’s paired with me on defense and isn’t happy about it.
He hasn’t said it with words, but he says it with his face—always frowning and glaring at me in between plays.
Once my skates are laced, I stand and reach for my pads. Callan’s locker is right beside mine, so I look down at him as he tugs on his own laces and smile. “Gonna be a good one, I think.”
“Yeah. Sure.” He grunts.
I get it. He hasn’t outright said it, but he’s mad at me for what happened and how it affected his brother, and probably his whole family.
I can’t blame him for that. “Callan, I get you hate me,” I say after I pull my shoulder pads on and sit beside him.
“I hate me too for what I did to Grady and Landon. I have apologized to them, and now I’m apologizing to you. ”
He blinks, and his blue eyes widen. I continue before he can tell me to shut up. “I never would have done that sober, but there’s no way to prove that because I was hardly ever sober back then. All I can do is tell you I regret it, and will for the rest of my life.”
He stares at me, and I can see him battling with what to say next, so I keep talking.
“We both want to make this team, and I’m going to do everything possible to make you look fantastic out there by being the best defensive partner I can.
If you do the same, it will up your chances, not just mine.
We’re a team, you know how it is, as defense.
So hate me off the ice, I get it. But on the ice, let’s put it aside and get the job done, eh? ”
He turns back to his skates, but I don’t miss the curt nod.
It’s something. And then we get out there, and we’re the starting defensive pair, and we rock the first period together, stealing pucks, blocking shots, and at one point, I feed Callan a perfect pass on a penalty kill that sets him up for a breakaway.
He doesn’t score, but he definitely swings the momentum in our favor in the scoreless game.
A few minutes later, Landon scores the first goal.
By the third period, my shoulder aches like it’s been hit with an anvil, and my left bicep burns.
My overall stamina is gassed, but I’m still holding my own.
Coach looks pleased, in general, and Callan and I aren’t the defensive pair on the ice for the sole Boston goal, which is great.
We hop the boards for another shift with about four minutes left and head to center ice because Conner just scored for us.
Ryan Darcy, a six-foot-five defensemen for Boston who I’ve never liked, skates by me even though I’m nowhere near where he needs to be.
“You shoot some vodka or whiskey before the game, Richard?”
I ignore him.
“I can’t believe the ‘Tide gave you a shot. They must be fucking desperate,” he chirps. “Do they have more gay players that need outing? Or are you gonna be the next one to announce you suck dick?”
I bristle, and my gloved hands curl into fists, but I skate away, making a big circle to give myself a second to calm down.
Old Theo would have chirped right back, saying something like “if I did suck dick, it wouldn’t be yours.
It would take too long to find it.” Old Theo would have also headed straight for him as soon as the puck dropped and knocked him on his ass.
But new Theo is trying to keep his emotions in check.
New Theo is working on the theory that being out of control on the ice leads to being out of control off the ice, which leads to booze.
The puck drops. For the first time all night, Conner doesn’t win the face-off.
I fix my sights on the puck and skate backward to defend our zone.
Darcy is coming at me, and the puck is too, so I reach with my stick and manage to deflect it.
Landon sees it happening and gets to the puck before anyone else can, then starts down the ice toward Boston’s goal.
The blow to my back is like a lightning bolt in my right, newly fixed shoulder. I lurch forward and land on my knees.
“Get up, asshole! Let’s go.” It’s Darcy. He crosschecked me, and now he wants to fight. “Come on, bitch. Not sober enough?”
I get to my feet. I don’t know where my stick went. He shoves my bad shoulder. “Fuck. Off. Now,” I growl.
He drops his gloves, and I shake my head. A whistle blows. Callan skates toward us, but I wave him off because he’ll get in trouble if he intervenes in a fight not meant for him. Darcy grabs my jersey. “You don’t deserve to be here.”
He shakes me like a rag doll, and I let him. “I’m not fighting.”
“You pussy.”
“Can we stop with the slurs?”
He blinks, looking absolutely dumbfounded. “Would you rather out someone again?”
He raises his fist and uses his other hand, tangled in the front of my jersey, to shake me again. “Enough, Darcy!”
One of the linesmen puts a hand on each of us. Darcy swears. “You should fall off another roof.”
“That’s it!” the ref barks. “Two for the cross check and another two for unsportsmanlike.”
“No. Don’t,” I say to him. “It’s fine.”
The ref glares at me. “When you decide to become a referee, I’ll take your opinion under advisement. Until then, just play hockey and leave the calls to me, Richard.”
“But I don’t give a fuck what he says. Don’t make this a big deal.”
“You want a penalty too?” he counters.
I clench my jaw and force myself to skate away.
Callan skates to me with my stick, and I grab it from him. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t fight all of a sudden?”
“No.”
“But you were so fucking good at it. I used to love watching you chirp guys and drop gloves,” Callan says as we skate toward the bench.
“Sorry,” I mumble and climb the boards.
We win 4-1, and the mood in the locker room is upbeat.
The press comes in, and I listen as I cool down and unlace my skates.
They’re only allowed to talk to signed players—Coach’s rule for his team, which the media hates.
So Callan and I are left in peace, but I overhear someone asking Grady about the almost-fight.
“I was way over on the other side, guys. I’m not sure what happened, but clearly Darcy had his jock in a knot,” he says with an easy smile and a shrug. “Kudos to Richard for keeping his cool.”
“I’m surprised you don’t want to fight Richard after what he did to you last season.”
And there it is. I freeze and force myself to keep my head down, not acknowledging that I heard it.
The reporter wants a reaction, and Grady gives him one.
“Well, that’s a stupid thing to say. Why would I want to punch my cousin who was saying how much he admired me and how happy he was that I was happy?
Which I am still, by the way. Super happy.
I just won a hockey game with two of my cousins and my partner. Great day.”
There’s a murmur amongst the small gaggle of reporters because no one was expecting that response. I steal a glance, and Grady is looking at them with defiance in his expression, like he’s daring them to ask a follow-up question. No one does. They move on to Conner.
“Richard!” Coach Larue calls out. I look up, and he tips his head, indicating I need to follow him. I slip my bare feet into slides and make my way to the door.
I pause and look around the room. The press is being rounded up to be escorted out by Kendra, who is part of the PR staff, and the guys are complaining about Grady’s choice of music again, which is Taylor Swift.
If Coach is pulling me aside to let me go, this may be the last time I experience this, so I burn it into my brain and then walk down the hall.
Coach is a few feet ahead and turns into his office. I follow and start to close the door.
“No need,” he says, and our eyes meet. I can’t breathe until I see his face break into a smile. “You wanna keep doing this? With us?”
“Yes. Very much.”
“Well, good because I sent a contract over to your agent during the second intermission,” he announces, and my whole body floods with a happiness that’s overwhelming. It feels like drowning, and my eyes get watery. I look down and inhale sharply.
“Sorry. Great. Thank you. I’m… It’s great.”
“It is great,” he says, and he must have moved closer because suddenly his hand is on my shoulder. “You’ve earned this second chance, Theo. Be proud of that.”
I nod and lift my head. I push my sweaty hair off my forehead with one hand and shake his hand with the other. “Also, I appreciate the restraint, but feel free to clock a guy when he’s being a bitch. Kind of part of the job.”
“Yeah. But, you know, preseason ain’t worth it,” I mutter because it’s a mostly believable lie. Coach’s face says he’s not exactly buying it, probably because he was a pest and enforcer when he played, and he knows we never skip the chance to throw a haymaker. But he nods. “Welcome to the team.”
“Thank you.” I finally let myself smile. “Also, if I can add, Callan is great with me. Great in general, but we have good chemistry on the ice.”
“Yeah, he’s staying. No need to pitch him,” Coach replies with a smile. “I’m gonna tell him next.”
“Great. Awesome.” I leave his office and start toward the locker room.
Landon is in the hall, in his Under Armor, standing at the entrance to the Friends and Family Lounge. His sister is just inside the door, holding his sleeping baby girl. “You sure you’ll be okay?”
“Yes. I swear.” Lola smiles at him. She’s a gorgeous woman; there’s no ignoring that.
I plan to breeze by and give them privacy, but Landon sees me. “All good with Coach?”
I nod and rub the back of my neck. “Yeah. You’re stuck with me this season.”
Landon grins and pulls me into his chest, clapping my back. “Fucking great, Theo!”
My gaze moves to Lola, who is watching me with an aloof stare, her hand absently playing with the light, fuzzy blonde hair that peppers the baby’s little head.
Lola’s wearing a flowy patchwork dress and a vintage-looking jean jacket.
Her hair is in two very short pigtails just behind her ears, with hoops that look like they’re made of straw. She looks like a hot Mother Earth.
“You might want to stick around a second,” I say to her as I see Coach heading toward the locker room.
“Landon, Theo.” He waves for us to follow.
I glance over my shoulder and motion for Lola to move closer to the locker room door.
She looks at me like I’m insane, because it’s a rule friends and family don’t infiltrate the locker room, but she takes a couple tentative steps to the open door.
Landon and I step inside as Coach stops in the middle of the circular room and claps his hands.
“Listen up! Richard is sticking around for the season.”
There’s a round of applause, which humbles me in a way that makes my eyes want to water again.
Fuck, when did hockey get so fucking emotional?
Is it always this way for sober guys? “And because having two Garrisons and a sort of Garrison isn’t enough, we’ve also decided to double down on Cascos.
Congrats Callan. You’re officially starting your first NHL season. ”
Everyone cheers, and I clap so hard for the kid that my shoulder objects.
Callan’s smile is like pure sunshine as his brother walks over and hugs him, lifting him off the floor, which is no small feat because Callan is six-foot-three and Landon isn’t.
I look into the hall, and Lola is grinning, wiping a tear from her eye.
She pulls a phone out of her pocket and snaps a quick pic of her brothers celebrating, and then she looks at me.
Thank you she mouths, and I nod.
She disappears down the hall, and I walk to my new lineman and give him a hug.