9. Griffin
GRIFFIN
T here are roughly two thousand eight hundred and thirty-eight bones in the human body. Okay, I lied. It’s just two hundred and six. But the way my head is spinning, rattling around with every shot, it feels like so much more.
It’s when the puck hits my helmet with a clanging thud that I realize Sawyer’s really glad to see me. Or maybe he’s trying to take my head off. Either way, that’s a real nice howdy-do from the guy who’s normally on my side of the ice.
We’re at an away game tonight, squaring off against Zürich and it’s a madhouse on the rink.
Fans pack the arena like sardines, buzzing with hockey madness, and I’m seeing a whole lot of blue jerseys charging my way.
Sawyer came over from Toronto to play for Zürich during the lockout, and this is the first time I’ve been on the receiving end of his missile-grade slap shots.
If I didn’t like him so much, I’d hate him.
He gives me a wink. This is all very fun for him, isn’t it?
“Thought we were friends, O’Malley!” I yell across the ice, rubbing my helmet for dramatic effect. He just laughs, that devil-may-care grin plastered across his face as he circles back, taking a lazy loop around the center ice.
To be honest, it’s pretty amusing, if not a little unsettling.
The rink buzzes, and Zürich ’s fans stomp their feet, chanting Sawyer’s name like a bunch of Swiss hooligans.
EHC Visp has its diehards who travel for games, but they’re hopelessly outnumbered here.
I feel like the last man standing in a sea of navy and gold.
And maybe that’s the appeal for Sawyer. This isn’t Toronto.
It’s a whole new world of ice, and I have to admit he’s making it his own.
He sweeps through the defense, the puck glued to his stick like it’s got a crush on him.
I brace myself for the onslaught, focusing on his movements.
He shoots. I stretch to block it with my glove.
“Legend!” Sawyer shouts. He’s enjoying this a little too much.
“Stop hitting on me!” I yell back, flicking the puck toward the boards. “Or at least buy me dinner first.”
We have possession of the puck now. The Visp crowd roars as we race it up ice.
Christoph charges through the opposition, with Peter on his flank.
Tyler crashes into the mix, setting the tone.
But Zürich ’s relentless. Their defenders converge, pinning us back.
The tension is a living thing, hovering over the ice like a bad smell.
Peter makes a hard pass to Christoph, who rockets it straight at Zürich ’s goalie. The rebound is brutal, and a Zürich player with red hair and a scrappy attitude jumps in. They’ve got my number and aren’t afraid to dial it.
“We’ll take it from here, McGregor!” Christoph calls, his accent thick with Swiss determination.
I chuckle. “Sure, just let me know when it’s safe to open my eyes!”
The crowd’s a monster, swallowing every play, and before I know it, a streak of blue has broken through our line. My stomach drops. It’s Sawyer. The man with a shot straight from hell.
He fires. I brace. The puck screams toward me. It slams into my pads with a resounding thump, and my heart is in my throat. This guy really doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘friendly’.
Zürich ’s got some real firepower. A guy with a shaggy mustache takes a crack at me. The puck skitters past my foot. A close call. I dive, arms outstretched, catching it with my glove. Saved!
This game is personal, and Sawyer’s out to prove he’s the new Swiss hotshot.
“You always this quiet?” Sawyer hollers from his spot on the ice, baiting me with his famous smile.
“Just thinking about how that blue jersey matches your pretty eyes,” I fire back, flicking the puck over to Tyler. It sails across the rink like a gift, and Sawyer’s all over it.
But then a Zürich defenseman mishandles the puck near center ice. Christoph swoops in, passes to Tyler. Tyler fakes a shot and gives it to Peter, who’s found some magic, putting it past the Zürich goalie. Goal! The Visp fans lose their minds, and for a brief, glorious moment, I think we’re in this.
The next few minutes are chaos. Bodies fly, blades slice, and I’m bombarded by blue jerseys and even bluer language amidst the friendly red of Visp’s jerseys. My brain’s whirling. Zürich ties it with seconds to spare, sending us to sudden death overtime.
It’s three on three, and Sawyer’s still in play. An assist here, a play there. Before I can blink, Zürich steals it with a deflected goal off Sawyer’s assist.
The buzzer sounds, and it’s bedlam. Fans cheering, players congratulating each other.
First game against Sawyer, and now I know what he’s made of.
It’s strange being on this side of his madness.
He flashes those pearly whites at me and salutes mockingly.
If this were a Titans game, we’d be celebrating this win together. Now, I’ll never hear the end of it.
“Good job!” Sawyer says as I slump over to center ice for the post-game rituals. He beams and slaps me on the back, nearly sending me sprawling.
“Yeah, yeah.” I feign a grimace, pulling him into a quick headlock before pushing him off. He looks like a rock star, waving at his wife Maggie in the stands, pumping fists with every member of the Zürich team.
Maggie is jumping up and down like a maniac, bellowing and contorting her face like she’s at a WWE match instead of a hockey game. It’s good to see her in the crowd.
After the game, we hit a café, the three of us cozied around a little table with tiny mugs. Maggie is chatting like she hasn’t seen anyone in years.
“You played great, Griffin!” she says, slugging my arm condescendingly. “That helmet trick was my favorite.”
I roll my eyes. “I aim to dazzle.”
Sawyer smirks, nudging Maggie. “I think we scrambled him good.”
Maggie leans in, all animated and full of stories. “Isn’t it amazing here? I talked Sawyer into signing with Zürich the minute I heard we could live in Switzerland. Best decision ever.”
“We are loving it,” Sawyer says, wrapping an arm around her. “Even brought Otto with us.”
I chuckle. “Crazy parrot. Please tell me he’s speaking German curse words now.”
Maggie gives a satisfied little nod. “He speaks more German than Sawyer.”
“Whatever.” Sawyer shrugs, playing it off. “I’m loving Switzerland. Maybe I’ll just stay.”
“Please,” Maggie sighs dramatically, draping herself over his shoulder. “Say yes. I need at least two months to buy all the cheese. And chocolate! Oh. My Gosh. The chocolate.”
“The stuff back home doesn’t even compare,” Sawyer says.
“Um, hello!” I counter. “Remember the fudge in Brookking Sound? And the hot chocolate at Tuckers? Life changing.”
“You and your sweet tooth,” says Sawyer, kicking me under the table.
“So, you got to admit,” Maggie says, jabbing at me with her hot pink fingernail. “You love Zürich .”
“Beats getting pucks to the head.” I shrug. “But it’s a little loud, you know? And I’m used to small village charm these days.”
“Oh, you mean your little alpine fairy tale?” Maggie teases.
“Gr?chen.” I let my voice go all dreamy. “Fresh mountain air. Stone cabins. Tiny goats.”
She tilts her head, studying me. “And beautiful women?”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “Where?”
“Everywhere you look!” Sawyer says, raising his mug in a toast.
Maggie gives him a hard stare, and Sawyer timidly sets his mug back down. “Everywhere I look because I’m only looking at MY WIFE! Ha ha!”
Maggie rolls her eyes dramatically, then leans on her elbows to ask me, “Do the locals know you’re a hockey player or think you’re just an enormous tourist?”
“Har har. I’ve actually made a few friends at the local bar, so there.”
Maggie leans closer, perching her chin on her palms. “Oh, do tell.”
“Just some guys that play Jass. It’s a card game. They take all my money, and I get to learn some Swiss German. Which is apparently just German, but a lot more confusing.”
“So they’re giving you lessons or what?”
“Well, I mean, not exactly. The bartender said she’d teach me.”
The minute it slips out, Maggie pounces. “She? Griffin McGregor, ooh la la!”
I groan, knowing where this is headed. “It’s not like that,” I insist. “She’s got a guy she wants to date, and I’m going to help her in exchange for language lessons.”
They both share a look that screams disbelief, then burst into laughter.
“What kind of language exactly?” Maggie blurts out. “Body language?”
“And you’re going to teach her…tonsil hockey?” Sawyer gaffaws.
“Are you two in middle school?” I put my hands up, knowing I’m outnumbered. “Look, she wants to learn how to impress this guy. I’m her dating coach. That’s it.”
If I didn’t love these guys, I’d be terrified. It’s like a two-against-one cage match with an enthusiastic wife and her tenacious husband.
“The best-laid plans, Griff,” Sawyer says, shaking his head. “That’s all I gotta say. Best-laid plans.”
I give him a sarcastic smile. “I can be an adult about this. Try not to faint.”
Sawyer leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. He ticks his chin at me. “What’s her name then?”
The corner of my mouth twitches as I say, “Anika.”
It couldn’t be helped.
Maggie gasps and slams her hand on the table. “You’re crazy about her!” She practically sings the accusation.
“No.”
“Oh yes you are!” She claps her hands and squeals. “You’re grinning ear to ear!”
“I think you’re exaggerating, Maggie.”
“Ha ha!” She dances in her seat, twisting back and forth, pumping her arms, and tapping her feet on the floor.
I’d say she needs to get out more, but I fear the opposite is true when it comes to Maggie. Maybe she just misses the girl talk she’d normally get with Emily and the other Titans WAGS.
“Have you heard news about the lockout?” I say, totally trying to turn the conversation around. “Any developments?”
“Nice segue, man,” Sawyer says. “Just seamless.”
I grin. “As Heraclitus once said, ‘The only constant in life is change.’”
Maggie snorts.