Dating Goals (Toronto Titans #4)

1. Griffin

GRIFFIN

N othing says fun quite like worrying if we’ll be out of a job tomorrow, but Coach Knight seems determined to ignore it, just like he ignores the sweat dripping down our backs and the way some of the guys have that freaked-out look in their eyes.

I’m determined not to let the possibility of an NHL lockout distract me, though.

I focus on blocking puck after puck, soaking in the smell of the ice and the sound of it scratching beneath my skates.

Coach Knight is on some sort of cruel marathon kick, dragging out the session until we’re ready to drop.

My teammates are firing shots with extra oomph today, probably channeling their frustration about the looming lockout deadline. I drop into the butterfly position, my pads hitting the ice with a satisfying thunk as Owen’s slap shot whistles past my blocker.

The puck pings off the post. A close call that has me grinning behind my mask.

“Getting slow there, Crash!” Owen taps his stick on the ice, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. Everyone’s wound tight today.

“Coming in hot!” Sawyer barrels down center ice and winds up for a slap shot that could probably punch through concrete. I barely snag it with my glove—the force sending vibrations up my arm.

“Easy on the merchandise!” I flash him a thumbs-up with my blocker hand. “I need these hands to eat my feelings when we’re all unemployed tomorrow.”

The reminder of the Collective Bargaining Agreement deadline hangs over the practice rink like a storm cloud. My teammates’ shots are getting harder, faster, angrier.

Owen lines up for another shot, his face set in stone. “Focus up. If this is our last practice for a while, let’s make it count.”

My pads are too heavy. My eyes sting with sweat. I’ve got to show Coach I can outlast everybody. Just in case I don’t see the guys again until Christmas. Just in case the CBA talks fail and some of my friends head off to Europe.

Hendrix swoops in next, bearing down on me. He fires five quick shots in succession…left pad save, blocker, catch glove, stick save, and…the last one squeaks through my five-hole.

“Finally!” Hendrix raises his arms in triumph. “Thought you were turning into a brick wall there, Griffin.”

Another missile from Owen’s stick comes screaming at my face. I snag it with my glove, but just barely.

“Easy there, Jablonski,” I say. “Take it out on the net, not me.”

I have the feeling that if I move out of the way and put up a picture of the Titans’ owner, Malcolm Chase, the guys would go to town on it.

I try to stay focused on the pucks flying at me, but my mind keeps drifting to the ticking clock.

Midnight.

That’s when everything changes if the league and players can’t agree. The franchise owners are still playing hardball over everything. Salary cap, revenue sharing, free agency age. The whole thing’s a mess.

“McGregor! Eyes up!” Coach Knight’s voice cuts through my thoughts. He’s running drills like it’s any other day, face set in his signature scowl. “I don’t care what’s happening off the ice. Right now, you’re here.”

Another shot from Owen catches the corner of my net. Crap.

“Again!” Coach barks. “Until we get it right.”

The whole thing makes my stomach churn. If they don’t reach a deal by midnight, we’re locked out. No more practices, no access to team facilities, no games. And a whole lot of angry fans.

I shake the sweat from my eyes beneath my mask as the guys line up for another round of rapid-fire shots. One after the other, they come at me. I miss half of them.

“Focus, Griffin!” Coach’s whistle pierces the air. “One more time. Sawyer, Owen, give me that power play setup we worked on.”

I stretch my legs between shots, trying to stay loose.

My agent has been negotiating with a team in the Swiss National League for a few weeks now.

EHC Visp Fohn. The name rolls around in my head during quiet moments.

At least I have a backup plan if this all goes sideways.

Their offer sits in my email inbox, but I haven’t opened it yet.

I don’t want to jinx the CBA. I guess I’m just too superstitious.

After what feels like hours of drilling, Knight finally calls it. Just in time. The players are so ready for practice to be over, I think we might actually drop if we have to skate another minute.

“Hit the showers! And whatever happens tonight, I expect every one of you to stay ready,” Coach says.

Sawyer and Hendrix clatter toward the lockers, where the rest of the team seems to think the showers will be much less torturous.

My legs burn as I skate off the ice.

I manage to unlatch my chest piece and clatter down the hall with it before collapsing on the bench. My gear’s soaked through. My entire upper body aches. My lower body too. Heck, I think my hair aches. Coach really put us through the wringer today.

The locker room carries a heavy silence. Everyone’s lost in thought, probably thinking about what comes next.

“So,” Kevin Tate breaks the silence first, unlacing his skates. “Anyone else got plans if this goes south?”

“DEL reached out,” Owen says, his voice tight. “Emily’s not thrilled about Germany. Think I’ll wait it out, see what happens.”

“You speak German, right?” I say, jutting my chin at Hendrix.

“Yeah. Not great, but yeah.”

Sawyer tosses a towel over his shoulder.

“Maggie’s already told me she’d follow me anywhere, but I don’t know.

With everything going on with my dad right now…

” He runs a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, not finishing his thought.

But we all know. Most of us anyway. If Sawyer can survive the revelation that he’s the son of an Irish mob kingpin, we can get through a lockout. But it’s still going to hurt.

“My agent’s got feelers out in Sweden,” Kevin says, unlacing his skates. “But Leigh’s pregnant, and the kids are in school. I can’t just up and leave them.”

“She’s pregnant again?” Sawyer bellows, slapping Kevin on the back. “Way to go, my man.”

“You animal!” Owen gives him a high-five. “What’s your secret?”

“What can I say?” Kevin flexes dramatically. “The Tate genes are just too powerful to contain.”

The locker room erupts in groans and wadded-up tape balls flying at his head.

Owen’s already typing on his phone. “Hold up, gotta tell Emily. She’s gonna flip.”

“Oh no, don’t give her any ideas,” Sawyer mock-whispers. “Maggie will hear about it and next thing you know, the whole WAG squad will be planning some kind of pregnancy pact.”

Kevin beams. “Leigh’s already in the group chat. Trust me, they know.”

“The real question is,” I say as I lean forward, wiggling my eyebrows, “did you score with a slap shot or power play?”

The guys howl with laughter as Kevin turns bright red. “I’m not discussing my…shooting methods with you clowns.”

“The man, the myth, the baby-making legend,” Hendrix declares in his best announcer voice.

Owen starts a slow clap that quickly turns into the whole locker room chanting “Stud! Stud! Stud!”

Kevin just grins wider, if that’s even possible. “When you’ve got it, you’ve got it.”

When the jeering dies down, Kevin asks me, “So what about you, single guy. Any plans for the lockout?”

“I’ve got a team in Switzerland sending me emails.” I wipe my face with a towel, trying not to think about how empty this locker room might be tomorrow.

“Are you going to go for it?” Sawyer asks.

I shrug. “It’s not like I have anybody to stay here for.”

“So sad for you, bro,” Hendrix grumbles, stuffing equipment in his bag. “Colette and I are already doing medium-long distance. Long-long distance would suck.”

“Could be worse.” I start unbuckling my pads. “You could end up like Beckett over there, who’s dating his PlayStation.”

“Hey!” One of our latest rookies, Dominic Beckett, chucks a rolled-up sock at my head. “At least my PlayStation doesn’t complain when I hang with the guys.”

“Dude, you have no clue about women, do you?” Sawyer teases.

“He’s never been kissed,” says Jonny Tolliver, making obnoxious kissing sounds. Jonny is new this season too. Practically fresh out of high school.

It feels like yesterday and yet a hundred years ago when I was a dork-faced rookie like them.

True to character, Beckett gives Tolliver the bird and says, “At least I don’t spend my Saturday nights knitting sweaters for my cat while watching The Great British Bake Off !”

“Hey!” Jonny’s face turns tomato red. “It was ONE sweater, and my mom’s cat gets cold!”

The guys burst out laughing. Who knew Tolliver was a secret knitter?

“All right, shut up, all of you.” Hendrix’s voice cuts through the laughter. He’s standing by his locker, still half in his gear, looking more serious than I’ve ever seen him. “I’ve got something to say.”

We all quiet down, though Sawyer’s still chuckling under his breath.

“I’m gonna propose to Colette.”

The room goes dead quiet for about two seconds before exploding.

Owen whistles through his teeth, and Sawyer lets out a whoop that probably echoes all the way to the practice rink.

“That’s why I can’t go to Europe,” Hendrix continues, trying to maintain his serious face but failing as a grin breaks through. “Can’t exactly pop the question over FaceTime.”

“Better not,” Kevin laughs. “Leigh would kill you if you did that to Colette.”

“So would Emily,” Owen adds.

“Our little class clown, all grown up!” Sawyer pretends to dab away tears with his jersey.

I lean forward on my bench. “Does she suspect anything?”

“Nah.” Hendrix smirks. “She still thinks I’m the same idiot who put a whoopee cushion on her chair at the teacher’s meeting last month.”

“You ARE the same idiot who put a whoopee cushion on her chair last month,” Owen supplies.

“Seriously,” Kevin says. “I don’t know how she puts up with you.”

“Do you need our help, man?” I say. “I mean with the proposal.”

Hendrix twists his face, as if thinking takes too much effort. “Ummm…I’ll let you know.”

“Well, let’s all hope there’s no lockout,” says Kevin grimly. “For all our sakes.”