CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tanner felt like he was walking on air as he left the ice after his first practice back with the Harriers.
Playing with Team USA had been sick but being back with his boys was the fucking best. Still, Tanner had to make sure his D-partner knew that he was very disappointed in him.
“I still can’t believe you didn’t watch the North Atlantic Tournament,” he complained as they left the ice after practice.
“I fucking did. I just … wasn’t that focused on part of a couple of games,” Crawford said. He sounded grumpy but Tanner wasn’t sure if it was because he’d been bugging Luke about that during practice or because that was just kind of … Luke.
He was a grumpy fucker and there was literally nothing Tanner found more entertaining than annoying him. Well … maybe sex. Or hockey. They were all up there.
Tanner scowled. “I got the game-winning goal in the semifinals, dude! I am the entire fucking reason Team USA even made it to the finals.”
“Fuck you too, dude,” Graham said with a laugh, punching Tanner’s upper arm as he walked past them. “Way to ignore my contributions.”
“I didn’t mean it like that!” Tanner called after him, feeling bad. “You did great, S’mores!”
Crawford rolled his eyes.
He thought nicknames were dumb but Tanner fucking loved them. He’d never really figured out a good one for Luke, unfortunately.
“And I didn’t have to watch every second of every game to see that you were wildly out of position half the damn time,” Crawford pointed out. “You’re better than that.”
Tanner squinted, deeply confused and suspicious. “You never say nice things to me. Were you kidnapped by aliens? Are you dying? This isn’t normal.”
Crawford scowled back at him. “I just told you that you played like shit. How is that being nice?”
“Yeah, but you also said that I’m better than that.” Tanner grinned. That was the biggest compliment Luke had ever given him.
“Well, you could be if you were fucking paying attention to your gap control and positioning,” Crawford argued.
Tanner ignored it. “So if you didn’t watch the games, what did you do over break?”
“I fucking told you I watched them. Mostly I rehabbed though. Did charity shit.”
“That’s it?” Tanner made a face. “Rehab and charity? Boring.”
“I did some work on my house.”
Ah-ha! The truth was coming out now. “So you do live in a house!”
“No, I live with your m—”
“If you say my mom, I will murder you!” Tanner shouted and threw himself at Crawford.
He weighed a good forty pounds less than Luke but the element of surprise helped and Luke bumped into the wall.
He shoved Tanner back and he went flying into the other wall with a loud thud. Thankfully, they both had their gear still on.
“Clayton, what part of non-contact don’t you understand?” Coach Hoyt yelled from behind them. “Crawford’s not cleared yet.”
“We’re not on the ice, coach!” Tanner called back but he couldn’t stop grinning.
“I don’t care where we are! If you put Crawford out of commission again, I will get you sent down to Concord!”
Luke chuckled softly but Tanner gulped. Hoyt probably didn’t mean it. Tanner thought he was playing too well to get sent down, but there was no fucking way he was risking that shit.
Playing pro hockey was the fucking bomb no matter where it was. But if Tanner had to pick? He’d go with the league that had cushy charter flights and five-star hotels instead of bus rides and business-class hotels. He was dumb but he wasn’t that dumb.
“I’ll be good! I swear,” Tanner called out.
“Believe it when I see it,” Hoyt shouted back.
Tanner glanced over in time to see Luke hiding a little grin.
And that was the real reason why Tanner never wanted to go back to Concord unless it was on a conditioning stint after an injury or something. There were great guys on their AHL roster too but he fuckin’ loved these dudes. And whatever bullshit Luke spouted, Tanner knew he loved him too.
“Okay!” Tanner shouted once they were in the locker room. “We’re heading out on the road tomorrow. Who’s up for a movie night with snacks?”
Guys chorused “yes” and even Luke nodded grudgingly.
“The fun committee reserves the right to veto movie and snacks choices but is otherwise on board,” Jesse called out.
Perfect. Tanner grinned. God he’d missed his boys.
He hummed “I’m Shipping Up to Boston” as he stripped off his gear and showered.
“We’re already in Boston now, you know,” Connor said drily from a few stalls over.
Tanner hummed louder and waggled his bare, soapy ass in his captain’s direction.
Crawford threw a bar of soap at his left butt cheek and Tanner yelped in mock-pain.
Yep, it was good to be back.
After practice, Leif bent down to unwrap the tape from around his socks as his stallmate—Drew Palmer—said, “So how was it having your old man coach?”
Leif ripped off a big strip. “He’s always worked with me on my training, so it wasn’t that different, to be honest.”
“I bet he was harder on you than everyone else. At least, that’s what my dad was like.”
Leif shrugged. “He was fair. He called out me out when I fucked up and—”
Palmer scoffed. “Like you ever fuck up.”
“I do!” Leif protested. He sat up, raking his hair off his forehead.
“Yeah, okay, dude.”
Leif rolled his eyes. He definitely did. Even if Drew couldn’t see it.
“Hey, hey, hey!” Mirsad Renner called out. “Look who’s back!”
Leif glanced up to see Nicholas Calhoun standing in the doorway.
Nicky looked good. Better than he had the past few times Leif had seen him.
He had a somewhat narrow, long face with a firm chin and brown hair that was swept back off his forehead and it sometimes gave him an almost melancholy look.
Though, that also could have been the chronic migraines that were causing that.
But the dark circles under his hazel eyes were gone and his smile was bright today.
“Welcome back, Captain!” Andy Busch said loudly. He was a call-up from the Syracuse Missiles and apparently trying to win brownie points or something.
Beside him, defenseman Ian Salter shushed him. “He’s got migraines. Don’t be so loud.”
“Shit, sorry,” Andy whispered.
Nicky laughed softly. “My head’s good today, but thanks for thinking of me, Salty.”
As Nicky walked around the room, talking to guys and giving them hugs or playful shoves, Leif watched him carefully. He moved easily and he was dressed well, even if his tastes were a bit stuffier than Leif’s.
Today, he wore dark jeans, a ribbed charcoal gray shirt, and a black overshirt with the sleeves rolled up. A silver Rolex gleamed on his wrist. He looked every inch the successful captain of a pro hockey team.
Nicholas Calhoun had been racking up scoring points and dazzling the league with his play when Leif joined the New York Rockets.
Leif had gotten a call from Nicky on draft day, met him at rookie training camp in the summer, and hoped to impress him—along with the rest of the big-name players and staff—at training camp that fall.
He’d hoped to impress them enough to stay up at the NHL level for at least a handful of games—hopefully more.
But a flukey hit on the second day of camp and Leif had been out of commission with an upper body injury before the season even started. Frustrated, he’d worked his ass off to rehab his shoulder and was finally back by late November.
After that, he’d played most of the season in Syracuse and been one of their top scorers in their Calder Cup run. The team hadn’t won the Calder—they’d been knocked out in the second round—but it had made Leif desperate to contribute more.
His sophomore season he’d been determined to have a good camp, and he’d finally managed to get a crack at the NHL roster.
He hadn’t stayed up—there had just been too many players who had years more experience and skill than him, but he’d been flattered to be asked to be a Black Ace during their Stanley Cup run.
He’d only played a couple of games, but he’d done well enough that even though the Rockets had been knocked out by the Harriers, Leif had desperately hoped he’d done enough to become a permanent fixture in the lineup.
Following a stellar camp the following season, he’d finally done it. He’d secured himself a spot on the big-boy roster. By that time, Nicky had been out with his concussion thanks to Luke Crawford and his fucking elbows to the head.
So by the time Leif was up and playing regularly, their captain was out with post-concussion syndrome.
Nicky had tried to come back several times in the past few years, but it never lasted more than a few weeks.
The best he’d ever managed was two months before the headaches returned and his doctors told him he couldn’t play.
Nicky had good locker room presence. You could see it in the way guys looked up to him, hanging on his every word. But he’d been gone so much.
With a knee or a shoulder injury, it wasn’t so bad. A guy could still come to the locker room and be around the team on a regular basis. But Nicky … well, his situation had been different.
Leif could only imagine what kind of torture it had been for him, lying in a dark room and desperately trying not to puke. Most of the guys on the roster had dealt with a concussion or two in their careers. A few days was bad enough, a few weeks grim, but years?
Leif couldn’t imagine it.
It was no wonder he couldn’t be a physical presence for the team as often as he’d probably like.
The team had been floundering lately, stuck in the mushy middle of the league.
Good enough to win some games, but never enough to secure a top spot in the division.
Recently, there had been a lot of whispering around the league that Nicky should retire.
That he should step down as captain and let someone else lead.
The noise about it from a prominent New York hockey podcaster had been especially loud.
Nicky didn’t seem inclined to do either and his guys were loyal to him, so nothing ever came of that talk. Leif wasn’t sure what the right call was.
Alternate captains Ian Salter and Mirsad Renner had been doing a good job leading the team while Nicky was out, and Leif had been offered the A while Renner was out with an injury.
But Ian was a fairly quiet guy and Mirsad was …
“Great job at the North Atlantic Tournament,” Nicky said when he finally reached Leif, holding out a hand to him.
Leif straightened and shook. “Thanks. That means a lot, especially coming from you.”
“Hey, it’s no shock that you’re killing it,” Nicky said with a warm smile. “You’ve been doing a great job holding down the first line here.”
“Thanks.” Leif had always wondered if it bothered Nicky that he was in his spot as first line center. Then again, he was captain for a reason. Surely, he wanted what was best for the team.
But what was best? Was it Leif or Nicky anchoring the top line? Would it change when Nicky eventually came back? And when would that be?
They spoke for a few more moments before Nicky moved on to the next guy and Leif continued to strip down.
“Okay, so I have some good news, guys!” Nicky called out over the noise of the room, his teeth gleaming white as he grinned. “I’m coming back! Docs have cleared me to start skating with the team again.”
The cheer that went up made Leif’s ears ring.
Leif felt the oddest wave of dizziness go over him at the news. Relief for his captain. Worry over his own role on the team. Guilt that he felt anything but good things about Nicky coming back.
Did this make him a horrible person?
Why had his first thought been about himself? Well, second, maybe. But still. Shouldn’t he be able to set his own ego aside to be happy for someone else?
What was wrong with him?