Chapter Nine
Sadie
r/hornyforhockey
ArmchairGM
What the hell did I just witness?
The title says it all, really. I’ve never been more embarrassed to be a Fury apologist than I was watching that game in a public bar. I’m going to drown my jersey in bleach and light it on fire.
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GodsOnIce
It was just an opener bro. And they were against the Brawlers. Give them a minute to find their footing before you waste your valuable bleach.
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ArmchairGM
Care to amend this now that you’ve seen the slaughters of games two and three?
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“Please tell me you didn’t buy that giant floppy hat just for this.”
Leo’s gruff voice comes from behind me, traveling in on the salty afternoon breeze. He’s right on time for our scheduled meetup.
I turn to face him, adjusting the brim of my very stylish hat for a better view.
He sticks his hands in his pockets as he approaches, embracing fall in a very Portland ensemble: a moss green Henley, jeans, and boots.
A tiny hit of nerves tumbles around inside me as his stride swallows the distance between us. We haven’t been alone since casino night.
Hard not to.
A shiver runs down my spine. Those three words have stuck in my brain like glue. But he showed up to work the next day and acted as if nothing weird happened whatsoever. He was all business and played his ass off.
If he’s not thinking about it, neither should I.
I shove my thoughts off a cliff. “You wanted to be undercover for our meetings,” I say, gesturing at my hat. “This is under cover.”
“Yeah, well, we’re also ten miles north of downtown where the guys tend to stay. We should be fine.” He comes to a stop, leaving two feet of space between us. His head is framed by a smattering of cranky clouds in the otherwise gray sky. “No grandma hat needed.”
I extend my arm, offering him the paper cup. “Leave my fashion choices alone and drink the lavender latte I painstakingly ordered for you.”
“Lavender?”
“Is that a problem? You didn’t make me aware of dietary restrictions, so I went with what the barista recommended.”
“It’s fine, Rivers. I just thought blueberries were everything in Maine. Oh, Leo, you must try the blueberry muffins and wash it down with blueberry wine!” he says in a mockingly high tone. “Don’t forget to wipe your hands with a moist blueberry towelette!”
“Is that supposed to be me?”
“If the hat fits.”
“Oh my god, you make me want to wear this even harder. Why do you care?”
“Because I’d rather see your face.”
My thoughts briefly slow.
It’s easier to talk to someone when you can see their face, right? That’s all it is. I’d rather see his, too. For conversational purposes.
A pang of heat shoots through me as I remove the hat, shoving it in my slouchy bag. “How much time do you have? I don’t want to steal too much of your Sunday morning.”
He regards me for a few seconds, absently rubbing his scruffy nine a.m. shadow. “How attached are you to—what did you call this in the email? A leisurely stroll?”
A seagull dive-bombs the sidewalk beside us, plucking an old French fry off the ground.
“I am open to other suggestions. What did you have in mind?”
A muscle in his jaw jumps. “Mind taking a drive with me? I had something…unexpected come up, but I was afraid you’d pop a blood vessel in your eye if I tried to rearrange your meticulously organized calendar—”
“Leo, it’s fine. We can do whatever you want. This is the only thing on my agenda today.”
Admitting that out loud is a humbling delight. But after the shitty start to the season, this conversation—my research—feels extremely necessary.
He nods toward the parallel parking spaces lining the road.
“Let me guess, that one is yours.” I point to a silver Audi that shouts hockey player at a volume the west coast of California could hear.
His brows lift slightly as he proceeds to pass it, moving for a truck two spaces behind—a black GMC Sierra with a glinting AT4X badge. Sporty and huge.
“My second choice,” I mumble.
He unlocks it with the click of a button. He grabs the door for me.
“Thanks, captain.”
Stiffening, he grips the door as he waits for me to climb in. “A captain who missed a crucial interception and partially cost us a game.”
I turn over his words as I hover before him.
I can’t just climb in the truck and pretend he didn’t say that.
He’s not the kind to volunteer that he’s bothered by something, so it must be eating him up inside.
“There were a lot of moments that cumulatively cost us the game. I’m sure you could list plenty of them.
But we are not in the business of letting our losses haunt us, okay?
” I point at his very full coffee cup with mine. “You haven’t even tried it.”
He hesitates before lifting it to his lips, but then proceeds to drain a quarter of it. “There, happy?”
“That depends. Is it good?”
“Tastes like lavender, same as yours.”
“I wouldn’t know. I got the blueberry vanilla iced latte. But I can sense your vendetta against blueberry is gaining strength, so I chose lavender for you.”
He tilts his face skyward and sighs. “You’re ridiculous. Now would you get in, please?”
I beam up at his irritated face. “Only because you asked so nicely.”
As he crosses the front of the truck to get in, my phone vibrates in the pocket of my jeans.
My heart drops when I see the text from an unknown number. It’s the third one in two days, always from someone different.
Resign you worthless piece of shit.
A shudder works through me as I block whoever sent it. I’ve already changed my number once after someone leaked it on Reddit. I really don’t want to have to change it again.
I take a deep breath, but all that does is overwhelm my senses. It smells like clean leather and winter air clinging to a coat. Like Leo.
As soon as he’s in the vehicle, I launch into business, thrilled for something else to focus on. “Okay, what’ve you got for me?”
“I had a conversation with Henri. He was beating himself up pretty bad in the locker room yesterday. He had the flu in early August and he still doesn’t feel like he’s at his best. Did you know about the flu?”
“No. So that’s why he was throwing up the first day of practice,” I say. “His body was not ready for that level of exertion.”
“Yeah. He didn’t go to the gym at all in August and feels like he’s slipped and doesn’t want you to send him packing.
His biggest fear is being released.” He squeezes the wheel tighter as he merges onto a busier road.
“His parents sacrificed a lot for him to play in the States in college, and he doesn’t want to let them down. ”
My heart twinges. “I get that. God, do I get it. When I was growing up…” I shake my head, embarrassed at how quickly I almost made it about me.
“Yeah, I can relate. Henri is one of our best, and you two work well together. I’m not just going to send him to exile.
But I will ask Fallon if it’s possible to do PT with someone in that situation, or if there’s something else we can do.
He’s probably too afraid to be honest about what he needs, but the proof is in the pudding. Do you like sharing the line with him?”
“If that’s what you want from me, then sure.”
A beat of silence follows. The trust he’s offering with those words seeps into my skin, working its way deeper. It feels better than it should. “For now, yes. But I am curious how you’d fare with Callum. How he’d do with you, rather. He could learn a lot from you.”
He lets out a dark laugh. “Andy Callahan would love that.”
Even the mere mention of casino night charges the air.
I clap my hands to shake off the buzz beneath my skin. “All right. That was good. What else did you talk about with the guys?”
“His face twists in disgust. “How many conversations do you expect me to have in a week? Two? More?”
“Good point. I wouldn’t want you to sprain something vocally.”
He scratches his chin, glancing at me askance. “When you said when I was growing up and cut yourself off, where were you going with that?”
This one is observant.
I tuck my hair behind my ear as green pines whip past. “Just that my mother gave up her whole life to shuttle me to kingdom come and back so I could play at the most competitive level. My dad couldn’t control his hours as a dentist and couldn’t really take time off at his own practice, so it all fell on her.
She denies it, but I know she walked away from a career she loved—a career people used to salivate over—just to support me.
Which means the pressure to succeed was astronomical. ”
To this day, knowing I’m able to do what I love because she didn’t kills me. And every time she makes an offhand comment about her former career, it activates my guilt all over again.
“What was her job?”
“A buyer for a fancy-shmancy department store. That was every woman’s dream job for like, two decades, and she got it.” My lips turn down. “I just wish she could’ve kept it.”
“She couldn’t go back to it after you got a little older?”
“Gaps in resumes are a curse.”
“I see.” He adjusts the rearview mirror. “Well, I’m sure she was glad to support you in going after your goals. Moms live to see their kids happy. At least mine does.”
I almost tell him it gets worse. That my parents stayed married for me, too, until I moved out and they could finally divorce like they’d wanted to for years—a piece of crucial, foundation-cracking information I found out after the fact.
They were the embodiment of ‘stay together for the kids’—or kid, since I’m an only child. Their lives were worse for loving me.