Chapter 5
DECLAN
Leaning back in the Adirondack chair, I take in the expanse of the dark sky.
Looking up, the only thing visible is the smoke curling up from the fire pit.
A wispy trail against the backdrop of faded stars and shadowy tree-tops.
The air is crisp and clean, the scent of woodfire and steak filling the air.
“I think you’re the only one in the entire NHL who barbeques on a woodfire,” I say, sitting up and watching as Lucas adds more glowing coals from the pit to the grill that looks self-made.
I’m half convinced he made that on the farm in Georgetown before lugging it to the city on the back of his truck.
He’s the only one of us who bought himself a house in Westchester.
He used to room with me and Lindgren for a while, but then decided he’d be better off living alone.
He’s always been a bit more…domestic than the rest of us.
Might be his Southern roots that drove him to look for a home with a yard and a driveway.
And then shortly after he found himself a wife to boot.
“Aren’t you supposed to use gas?” I ask, tipping the bottle of water to my mouth, the taste almost therapeutic as it washes away the remnants of last night’s bourbon.
“This is the only way to do it, Dec,” he says with a smile. “And you know it tastes better.”
“It’s the only way to do it,” Nikolai adds, the light from the fire showing the amused glint in his eyes. He’s leaning forward, his dark hair short from the buzz cut he gets at the start of every season. He won’t cut his hair until after the playoffs are over. It’s his tradition.
“It definitely tastes better,” I murmur quietly, thinking about how I’ve never had steak as good as from Lucas’s grill. “I can’t argue with that.”
Niko’s gaze is focused on the dancing flames in the pit. It’s clear he’s in his own world, remembering or reliving something we weren’t a part of.
“My grandfather used to say it’s all you need to survive the winter,” he says, his Russian accent deeper now. “Meat and fire.”
I lean back, a smile tugging at my mouth. I’ve never been to Russia, but I can imagine Nikolai sitting around a fire with a giant parka over his shoulders, cooking something like a rabbit or a deer that he hunted himself.
My own father wasn’t one to show me any of these things. We never barbequed. Not once. I can’t say that he’s taken the time to teach me anything. There are no memories in my childhood of built fires or father-son bonding time.
No. Just the sound of empty vodka bottles and the smell of cigarette burnt carpets.
“This is a far-cry from winter in Russia, Niko,” I mutter.
“True,” he says, slowly nodding before taking a sip of his beer. “But winter can be more than just cold weather.”
My gaze meets his and there’s a sense of understanding slipping between us. We’re all carrying something with us. A past, secrets, something that broke long ago. We just don’t talk about it too much. We bury it beneath quips and hockey practice.
A sharp slap lands on my shoulder.
“What’s up?” EJ says, taking a seat across from me. “You guys started without me?”
“Easy to do when you take forever to get here,” Niko says.
“It’s Avah,” EJ says, his gaze flicking toward the house. “She took her sweet time to get ready and then insulted my car.”
“What’s wrong with your car?” Lucas asks with a laugh, flipping the steaks, the sizzling sound like music to my ears.
“Or was it your music?” I ask, looking over my shoulder toward the house. Lindgren is coming out with a few drinks in his hand. Avah is visible behind him, hugging Hannah with a smile on her face.
A smile that looks a bit strained. Even from here.
“Both,” EJ says, shaking his head. “And there’s nothing wrong with my music.”
Looking back, I find EJ’s watching me a little too closely. Like he’s trying to figure something out, or he’s unsure how far to push.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Good,” I say, taking another sip of my water for good measure. “Better.”
He nods but I can tell he doesn’t quite believe me. “That’s good.”
“He’s ready for the game tomorrow,” Lindgren says, setting down a few bottles of juice, water, and a beer for Nikolai. “The Wild won’t know what hit them.”
“I’m pretty sure they’ll revoke your passport to Minnesota if they hear you right now,” I tell Lindgren, wondering how they ever passed up on picking this big lug for their team.
“Serves them right,” he mutters. Lindgren grabs a bottle of water, before sitting next to EJ. “I’m home with the Rangers. I hope I never get traded.”
Nikolai lets out a mirthless laugh. “If you stay with the Rangers from now until you retire, you’ll be one of the lucky few.”
EJ nods. “Especially with how things work these days. It’s all politics and salary caps.”
“Not to mention if you have a bad post season. Then anyone and everyone’s job is on the line,” Lucas says. “You saw what happened after we won the Cup last year. The Canucks fired their head coach and two of their centers got traded.”
Lindgren’s brows knit together as he looks at each of us in turn. “That sucks.”
We can’t help but chuckle. Everyone knows how it works.
You know, because you watch every move the teams in the NHL make like a hawk while growing up.
But it’s different once you’re in it. Once you have your team, a spot that you can call home, you start to hope that you’ll never have to leave, that all those things won’t apply to you.
Coach’s warning rings through my mind once again.
If I don’t get my act together, I’ll have to face Harry Matlock.
In all the years I’ve played for the Rangers, it’s the first time he’s ever said something like that to me.
Which means something to me. He won’t say it lightly unless it’s a real possibility.
EJ eyes me carefully. “How did the talk with Coach go this morning?”
I sigh, leaning back in the chair and finishing the rest of my water before crushing the bottle in my hands.
“As good as can be expected,” I say, giving him a smile.
The guys share a look of concern before Lindgren clears his throat. “Just tell us, what did he say?”
“I don’t really want to talk about it. I thought we’re here for steaks,” I say, getting up and grabbing another bottle of water from the table.
“Did he talk to you about the penalties?” Lindgren asks, pressing anyway. “I mean, you’ve always played a heavy game. That’s not news.”
“Exactly.” I open the bottle of water, a sense of relief filling me knowing that my teammates might actually be on my side with this. “He’s clearly overreacting, right?” I ask, looking at each of them in turn.
“I don’t know, Dec,” Lucas says, running his hand through his dark hair. “That game had at least two unnecessary penalties.”
“Come on—”
“He’s right,” Nikolai says, his eyes sharp. “You getting in the ref's face didn’t help matters along.”
I look down at my water, suddenly wishing it was something stronger.
“They were working on my nerves.” I stare at my teammates, slack-jawed. “Aren’t they supposed to have their eyes tested before they can be a linesman? I mean it was obvious Marachino was in my face.”
“That’s what Marachino does,” Lucas says, flipping the steaks. “I’m pretty sure that’s why he’s on the team.”
“That and his short-handed goals,” Nikolai says.
EJ is sitting across from me, his eyes not leaving me for a second. After seeing me talking to Avah last night, there’s an edge to his gaze. It might just be my imagination, or he could be angry about me causing the team to lose the game last night…maybe it’s all of those things.
“We all know you can rack up a few penalties,” he says with a shrug, before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What I want to know is why you were so hungover that you tossed most of your insides onto the bench this morning.”
I pointedly take a sip of my water. My very non-alcoholic water.
“It was nothing, a bug,” I say, my voice sounding unconvincing even to my own two ears.
“Cut the bull,” Nikolai says with a gruff voice. “Was he drinking last night?” he asks Lindgren, turning to the rookie who shares a house with me.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. When we got in, I went to bed. It was three a.m., I was sawing rafters, not watching my housemate.”
“He doesn’t need to watch me, I’m a grown man,” I say defensively. If they’re going to start having Lindgren babysit me, then I’ll have to kick him out of the house.
EJ scoffs before leaning back in his chair.
“Listen Dec,” Lucas says, taking off two steaks before tending to the others. “We’re just concerned here, that’s all. You know we’re a team. If one of us is on the outs, it influences all of us.”
“As if you haven’t cost us a game because your head was in the clouds,” I toss back. “And that wasn’t even a start of the season game, it was a final series game.”
“Exactly,” he says without pause. “Which makes me an expert, don’t you think?”
I sigh. Leaning back in my chair and looking up at the way the smoke from the grill is twirling into the dark night.
It’s quiet out here, much more than in the city.
I like the city more…the noise on the outside sometimes does a good job of drowning out the noise on the inside.
Out here, there’s nothing to do but listen to the war inside of you.
“I had a couple of drinks when I got home last night,” I said. “Must’ve been the flight, or the game, or just being tired, that it got to me the way it did.”
“Or the fact that you thought it a good idea to drink when you have practice a few hours later. It wasn’t just two or three,” EJ says. I look up at him, his blue eyes pinning me to my chair.
“Let’s not pretend like you care about my drinking, Johansson,” I say, crossing my arms. “The only reason you’re ripping me a new one is because I dared to talk to your sister after the game.”
EJ’s jaw hardens.
“Come on, that’s not cool,” Lindgren says, slapping me on the shoulder. “We all know there’s no going for someone’s sister, or their girl.”