Chapter Nine
“The Sea Lions defense is starting to shape up! After a rough start, rookie call-up Luca Mazetti is more than proving his worth in the first D-pair. He’s racked up four apples and a goal in his first six games—almost a point per game if he keeps the pace up.
But where does that leave the Sea Lions’ more established players?
Well, Jimmy Hayes has been demoted to the second D-pair and kicked off the first power play unit, and here’s a few pictures of him pouting on the bench while play continues without him.
Then there’s veteran player Phil Easton, who’s looking at LTIR status in a contract year.
It seems clear the best bet for the Sea Lions will be to dump the cap hit his six-million-dollar contract causes and invest in cheap, young talent. ”
Top comments:
phileastfanclub: Crossing fingers for Easton to heal up fast and prove y’all wrong.
In the end, the D-man dinner became a D-man brunch before the team flew out on their SoCal roadie.
Finding a restaurant they could all agree on took a solid day.
And then Phil got too busy with Ben and Charlie, and the team had games and practices scheduled around the clock.
That was what it was like in the NHL, Phil thought with a pang.
Between October and April, life was composed of practices, games, endless travel, and protein shakes.
He’d only been out for a few weeks, but already, the structures and routines of his life were different.
He couldn’t imagine never going back to the only job he’d ever known.
He also couldn’t imagine having to hop on a plane right after brunch today, leaving Charlie to fend for himself.
The upcoming flight stopped everyone from ordering the bottomless mimosa option, which was probably good given the tension. The team had three D-pairs: Breezy and Luca, Hayes and Kaarlo Nieminen, and Oliver Gustafsson and Mats Rütli.
Immediately after taking his place in the restaurant, Phil could tell where the problems lay.
Luca sat at the end of the table with Breezy on one side and Mats across from him.
They chatted in easy, fluent Italian. Hayes was all the way at the other end, monopolizing Ollie, who looked less than thrilled, while Kaarlo stayed largely silent between the two groups.
“Hey, Mats,” Phil called. “Since when do you speak Italian?”
“I’m Swiss,” Mats told him.
“So?”
“Switzerland has four languages,” Kaarlo explained. “They have to learn them all.”
“You speak four languages?” Phil asked. Mats was an all right D-man, not solid enough for the penalty kill but enough to pad out the third D-pair. Phil had no idea what other talents he might possess.
“Well, yes,” Mats said. “But English is one. Almost no one speaks Romansch.”
“Now I feel bad,” Phil said. “I barely speak English.”
“If it helps, Breezy’s Italian is very bad.” Luca ducked away from Breezy swatting at him.
“Better than your French,” Breezy muttered.
Right. Sometimes Phil forgot that being from Montreal meant Breezy was capable of being Breezy multilingually.
“So,” Phil said. “Since we’re on the subject of cultural sensitivity.”
Ollie groaned. “Why am I here? I had nothing to do with this.”
Mats and Kaarlo raised their coffee cups in agreement.
“Are you saying none of you were even a tiny bit annoyed that the new guy got promoted above you?” Phil raised his eyebrows. “Sorry, Luca.”
Luca shrugged. “I would be very annoyed. I did not make the decision.”
“But you are not mad about it either.” Mats laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Look, I know what kind of hockey player I am. I don’t have the edgework Luca brings to the table, and I’m nowhere near as fast.”
Hayes snorted, sinking lower in his seat.
Phil looked to him.
“What about your legacy, man?” Hayes asked. “The average NHL player stays in the show for five years. Gotta make ‘em count.”
“My legacy is the vacation house in the Alps I will buy for my wife and children,” Mats said peaceably. “Maybe I find a nice little kids’ team in Locarno somewhere to coach if I get bored. It’s a good life.”
“You’ve been in the NHL for ten years and counting,” Breezy pointed out to Hayes. “Plenty of time to make a legacy.”
“Yeah, well, guess I’m greedy.”
It went without saying that Hayes wouldn’t make the Hall of Fame. He was a good defenseman, but he wasn’t the kind who won trophies.
Phil had one, a Norris from his third year in the NHL, the first time the Sea Lions made the playoffs.
They got trounced in the second round by Seattle, which had been mortifying at the time, but Phil’s seventy-three-point season and decent PK stats during playoffs had netted him the trophy.
Of course, half of hockey media called him overrated and lucky.
He liked to think he’d proven them wrong.
He’d had a few fifty-point seasons since, and the year he blew his knee the first time, he’d made it past sixty.
If the Sea Lions won a cup, he might have a slim chance at the Hall of Fame.
Hayesie was shit out of luck.
“We’re all here to make the most of it,” Breezy said. “No one becomes a professional athlete to get out of the limelight or earn less money. But I draw the line at being racist and homophobic about teammates.”
Hayes leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on the table. “I said I was sorry.”
“Did you?”
Shit. Phil would have to remember not to piss Breezy off.
“Yeah, not to you bozos.”
“Mooney never said—”
“Well, maybe he doesn’t tell you everything. And anyway, I didn’t say anything homophobic. That was Howie.”
“Howie apologized to me,” Luca said. “And to everyone who would listen. And he was first in line to donate to Breezy’s shelter scheme.”
“Look,” Phil said. “None of you have to agree on politics.”
“Thank God,” Ollie interjected. “America is insane, and I can’t even vote here.”
“Amen,” Kaarlo agreed.
“But you do all have to play together,” Phil continued, ignoring them. “And if you’re working against each other and can’t celebrate each other’s successes, why the fuck are you in a team sport?”
Hayes softened. “I really am sorry. I just…I guess I lost sight of the team.”
“For what it’s worth, I didn’t intend or expect to steal the limelight.” Luca drained his tiny espresso cup. “Tom and Jax suggested it, and I went along.”
“Talk about an unlikely friendship,” Hayes said. “I don’t think anyone saw that coming.”
Their food arrived and conversation segued into a “best of Tom Crowler social awkwardness” compilation.
Phil felt a little bad for gossiping about his friend.
But he was also too practical to ignore the best option for team bonding he’d found so far.
There were so many good stories—from the season when Tom thought Kaarlo didn’t speak English because neither of them was any good at starting a conversation, to the time Mats brought Swiss chocolate for everyone in the locker room and Tom agonized for a solid five minutes over whether he could accept something so obviously off the meal plan.
Breezy stayed notably silent.
As the rest trickled out on their way to the airport, Phil caught up to him. “No Tom-Crowler-is-a-weird-guy stories from you?”
“Nah.” Breezy smiled slightly. “He’s been stepping up. You know he talked to Howie? A bunch of times? Howie didn’t say what about exactly, but it helped him a lot. And the way he reacted when Hayes and Howie said what they said… I didn’t expect him to take a stand. I really respect for him for it.”
Pride for his friend swelled in Phil’s chest. “I’m glad to hear that. You don’t seem ready to forgive Hayes yet though.”
“I’m working on it. How are you, Phil?”
The question shocked Phil. He’d organized this event to keep the team working together, and he never thought to bring himself into it.
Honestly, brunch had been a nice reprieve from the questions he was facing.
“Not great,” he admitted.
Breezy gave him an open, hopeful look as if expecting Phil to spill his guts, when Phil knew Breezy had about three minutes before someone came back to look for him.
Three minutes was not enough time to cover Phil’s concerns about his career, the slimy dread he felt at the thought of contract negotiations, the traumatized child living in his house, and the man Phil knew was lying to him about some very important things but he might have sex with all the same.
He couldn’t explain one of those in three minutes, let alone all four.
“Have you talked to Michelle yet?” Breezy asked when Phil didn’t confide in him.
Phil hadn’t taken her up on her offer for a chat.
He’d walked past her office a bunch of times, and he’d thought about it, but he’d never envisioned himself as someone who needed therapy.
He supported having a sports therapist for the team, particularly for the rookies who needed help adapting to the NHL, or maybe for Tom.
He’d never considered that he might profit from a talk with her until people started suggesting it.
“You talk to her?” he asked.
“Yeah, since I started here.”
Phil blinked. Had he missed something about Breezy? He always seemed so steady and centered. Happy-go-lucky. “Are you…okay?”
Breezy smiled, big and blinding. “Of course! We do training for our bodies all the time, but sports are at least half brain. Gotta keep your mind trained up, too, you know?”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Phil said weakly. “Now go. You’ve got a plane to catch.”
Ben had already left for the same flight by the time Phil got home, which was a blessing and a curse.
A curse because Phil wanted to kiss him again, wanted to feel Ben’s firm grip around his waist and how he just took what he wanted from the kiss, and a blessing because Phil had not one fucking clue how to feel about wanting that.
Fortunately, with Ben gone, Phil was responsible for Charlie all by himself, which meant he could do what he’d been itching to do since Charlie got there.
He could take Charlie to the mall.