7. Griffin
GRIFFIN
T he adrenaline from tonight’s win against HC Basel has mostly faded, replaced by a weird cocktail of confusion and annoyance.
I’m cruising down the road back to Gr?chen, one hand on the wheel, the other massaging my shoulder that’s still throbbing a bit from where that maniac grabbed me.
I’d have thought it would be great to come across a Titans fan here in Switzerland.
But that guy? Somebody should have denied him a passport.
“You’ll pay for this!” The man’s words echo in my head. His face had been red with rage, spittle flying as he screamed about his life savings and the Titans stock. None of it made sense. Sure, stocks have ups and downs, but his reaction seemed extreme.
I flex my jaw, still feeling the sting where his fist grazed me before Peter and Tyler yanked him back. Christoph had positioned himself between us, speaking like a horse whisperer to calm the situation.
“Should’ve gone with the side exit,” I mutter to myself, taking the turn toward home maybe slightly faster than necessary. The secret, non-crazy person exit.
“Your owner’s a crook!” The man’s words echo in my head. “I can’t get my money out! What are you people doing with our investments?”
“Hey, man, I just play hockey,” I’d told him, hands raised. “I don’t know anything about the stock stuff.”
But his eyes had been wild. Desperate. “You’re lying! Three months I’ve been trying to get my investment back! They keep saying the Titans stock is frozen!”
My phone buzzes on the passenger seat. Probably Tyler checking if I’m okay. He’d offered to go get a drink with me, but I’d waved him off. I just need some quiet to process what happened.
The thing is, that fan’s accusations nag at me. I invested in Titans stock too, straight from my paycheck like Hendrix suggested. Malcolm Chase had made it sound like such a sure thing, a way to be part of the team’s success. But that guy tonight…there was real fear beneath his anger.
The headlights catch the reflective markers along the curves. Usually, this drive helps clear my head after a game, but tonight, my mind keeps replaying how my teammates had to drag that guy off me.
“Where’s my money, McGregor?” He’d grabbed my coat, knuckles white. “Chase promised…”
The win against HC Basel should have me floating on cloud nine. That glove save in the third period was highlight-reel material. Instead, my gut churns with unease.
A car coming the other way flashes their high beams, snapping me back to the present. I ease off the gas, realizing I’ve been speeding. The last thing I need is to wrap my rental around a guardrail because some unhinged fan got in my head.
Still, something feels off about the whole thing. Malcolm Chase’s name keeps popping up lately, and not in a good way. First the CBA negotiations, now this? The fan’s accusations swim through my thoughts: “They’re stealing from us…your team owner…It’s all a lie.”
I’m about two minutes from home when I make a snap decision. I can’t face an empty cabin with nothing but that crazed fan’s words bouncing around in my head. Without really thinking it through, I signal and veer away from the turn that would take me up to my place.
“Screw it,” I mutter, heading toward the village center instead. Maybe some human interaction will drown out the noise in my skull.
I find a spot to park at the edge of Gr?chen’s pedestrian zone, turning off the engine and sitting in silence for a moment.
My shoulder throbs dully as I reach for my phone.
Sure enough, there’s a text from Tyler making sure I got home okay.
It’s nice of him to check up on me. Us expats need to look out for each other.
I send a quick reply that I’m good, then shut off my phone.
The streets of Gr?chen are quiet this time of night, but I can see the warm glow from the pub windows up ahead. A few locals nod at me as I walk past. I’ve been here long enough that I’m no longer a complete novelty, though I still catch the occasional double-take.
When I push open the heavy wooden door of the pub, the scent of beer and wood polish greets me.
The place isn’t packed, but there’s a comfortable buzz of conversation.
My eyes immediately land on Lars, Colin, and Evan huddled around their usual table, cards in hand.
They’re deep in another round of Jass, focused expressions on their faces.
The guys haven’t noticed me yet, so I stand there for a moment, watching their intense concentration.
Lars has his “poker face” on, which isn’t much of a face at all, just a stoic expression.
Colin keeps bouncing his leg under the table while Evan absently rubs his beard. He’s probably got a good hand.
“Room for one more?” I ask, pulling out the empty chair.
Their heads snap up in unison, expressions shifting from surprise to welcome.
Lars arches an eyebrow. “You sure about that, Canadian? Last time didn’t go so well.”
“I’m a slow learner, not a quitter,” I shoot back with more confidence than I feel. Truth is, this Swiss card game still confuses the hell out of me, but tonight I need the distraction. “I’ve been practicing.”
They all laugh at the obvious lie.
“Yeah, with who?” Lars snorts. “The mountain goats?”
I sit down, trying not to make it obvious I’m looking around for Anika.
“Maybe I’ve been watching YouTube tutorials,” I say, which only makes them laugh harder.
Evan starts dealing the cards. “All right, Griffin, if you’re serious about learning, we’ll go slow.”
The cards hit the table with a soft snap as he deals. I pick up my hand, studying the unfamiliar suits of bells, shields, acorns, and roses. Just as I’m trying to remember if the Under trumps the Ober, Anika appears beside our table.
“Oh no.” She crosses her arms, fixing me with a stern stare. “Don’t come crying to me when they clean you out. I won’t bail you out this time.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” I say dryly.
Lars chuckles. “She’s right. We’re not taking it easy on you, hockey star or not.”
“Wouldn’t expect you to.” I organize my cards, still not entirely sure what makes a good hand. “And to prove it, the next round is on me.”
Colin raises an eyebrow. “Feeling generous after winning against Basel, or softening us up before we take your money?”
“A little of both,” I admit, earning chuckles from around the table.
I reach for my wallet, pulling out my credit card to give to Anika. She looks at the card like it’s made of Anthrax. “Cash only.”
I pull out my wallet and hand Anika a hundred franc note. Her eyes narrow.
“What? Too much?” I flash her my most winning smile.
“I don’t have change for this.” She taps the bill against her palm.
“Keep the change then.”
“I don’t want your pity money.” She slaps the bill back on the table.
I fish out a few smaller notes. “Better?”
She snatches them with an eye roll that somehow makes me grin wider.
Colin drums his fingers on the table. “Twenty francs to play, hotshot.”
Right. I’d forgotten about the buy-in. I place another twenty on the table, trying to remember the rules Lars explained last time. Something about trump suits and not being allowed to play lower trumps unless…My head hurts already.
I arrange my cards carefully, pretending I know what I’m doing. The game moves faster than I can follow, cards flying onto the table in some pattern that makes sense to everyone but me. I’m pretty sure I’ve broken at least three rules.
Anika returns with our beers, and I catch myself watching her walk away instead of paying attention to my cards. Lars clears his throat meaningfully.
“Your play,” he says, and I realize everyone’s waiting on me.
I stare at my hand. Bells? Roses? What beats what again?
“Today, McGregor.” Evan taps his cards impatiently.
I slap down what I think is a high card. The king of roses.
Colin snorts. “Trumps are acorns this round.”
“Right. I knew that.” I didn’t know that. I’m almost positive they’re making stuff up at this point.
My head spins a little. This is perfect. Exactly the distraction I needed. I catch Anika watching from behind the bar, watching me crash and burn. I’m okay with that. When our eyes meet, she quickly looks away, but I swear I see the ghost of a smile.
Colin grins, gathering the cards for a new deal.
“Okay we’ll try again, ja ?” Colin begins to explain, lining up his own cards. “Swiss Jass. Four suits, nine cards each. The Jack is the highest card. We call it the Bauer. Then the nine, the Nell, then King, Ober, ten, and so on.”
Seriously, they might as well be speaking Martian.
As I study my cards, the guys fall into their usual banter. It’s comfortable. Normal.
“So I announce my trump suit?” I clarify, trying to keep up.
“Exactly.” Lars nods. “Choose wisely. We’re playing for pride here.”
I look at my jumble of unfamiliar cards and take a shot in the dark, throwing down a random card.
The guys exchange looks.
“What? What did I do?”
“You just played your trump,” Colin says slowly.
“Is that…bad?”
“You just won the hand,” Evan says, shaking his head. “With possibly the worst strategy I’ve ever seen.”
I stare at the pile of cards. “Really?”
“Pure luck,” Colin mutters, pushing some coins my way.
“Oh!” I allow myself to gloat a little, giving a side glance toward Anika. “Cool.”
The game goes on for the next hour to a soundtrack of 80s eurorock, but my dumb luck wore out after that first win. Oh well. I knew it couldn’t last. Now I’m down about sixty francs, but I don’t care, because I’m too busy watching Anika work.
I’m only half focused on my cards. My eyes keep drifting to her, mesmerized by how she moves behind the bar, singing along to The Clash and Erasure.
When she catches me looking, she gives me this half-glare that should probably terrify me but instead makes my pulse skip. The beer is hitting just right, making everything feel warm and pleasant. I signal for another round.
“Your funeral tomorrow,” Lars says, but doesn’t stop me from ordering.