Chapter 14
Magnus
I’ve had it with this road trip. The flu is still running through the team; we’ve had crazy time-zone changes, and our gear is still sweaty from the humidity in Tampa, where we played last night.
Nashville is the last stop on this trip. I never thought I’d be eager to get back to the Grand Madison, but even my new room there is better than trying to sleep on airplanes or crawling into a hotel bed in the middle of the night.
My mom’s been keeping me updated on Elin. She’s not any worse, but she’s not any better, either. It’s hard being powerless to help her.
I’m an even-keeled person; I don’t lose my temper much. But I’m tired and my gloves smell like a decomposing raccoon. What’s even worse is that Cole Thompson, a twenty-year-old true rookie, is sitting next to me in the locker room.
My teammates called me a rookie when I joined the team, but they dropped it pretty quickly.
I was new to the team, but at thirty-one, I’m a veteran of the game.
Thompson did a little time in the minors, but this is his first season in the big leagues.
He’s been on a hot streak, and he refuses to let anyone wash any of his clothes.
The smell of old sweat on old sweat has his clothes smelling so bad it turns my stomach sometimes. And he’s just laughing it up while I’m about to start my extensive pregame warm-ups and massage with Melina.
“If you’re gonna wear those clothes, sit somewhere else,” I say.
He scoffs. “These are my lucky clothes.”
“I don’t give a shit. They reek, so get away from me.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize I’m in your private locker room.”
“Listen, Cole. I’m not in a great mood, so if you could just sit somewhere else? Thanks.”
“I keep telling you, it’s Cat.”
He’s so fucking glib and clueless and young. He can go out, drink heavily, and still play well the next night. I resent that, and I’m never calling him by the nickname he gave himself. It’s his initials—Cole Anthony Thompson. He says it represents his catlike reflexes.
“You don’t get to decide what your nickname is,” I snap. “Your teammates pick it, and you get no say.”
“Yours should be Gramps since you knit and use a fucking flip phone. Why don’t you go knit something to relax? Maybe a heating pad cover for your old, broken back?”
Across from us, Isaac elbows Leo and grins, telling him things are about to get ugly here. And they are.
“Maybe my back’s so broken because I’m not afraid of a fight, Cat. You like to start shit and then let the real men finish it.”
“Preach, Lundgren,” someone says from the other side of the locker room.
Cole scowls, looking over to see who it was.
“It’s not any one person,” I say. “It’s all of us.
Yeah, you’re a hotshot and you can score.
But if a two-hundred-twenty-pound bruiser was coming straight for your own grandma, you’d skate away and let her get boarded.
And you shouldn’t keep people up on the plane in the middle of the night playing your dumbass video games.
You haven’t earned a nickname yet, kid, but if you had, it would be ‘Outhouse’ because you’re full of shit, you stink like hell, and I can’t wait to get away from you. ”
“Outhouse it is,” someone says with a snicker.
“Fuck you,” Cole says. “You’re just bitter because you haven’t gotten an offer, but that’s on you, old man.”
I stand up and face him, my frustration boiling over into fury. “Come on, then. Let’s—”
“Nope.” Carter puts a hand on my chest and pushes me back. “We don’t fight each other on this team. Not when we’re in last place, not when we’re in first.”
“Oh, I’m supposed to let him call me ‘Outhouse’?” Cole gripes.
This time, more than one person snickers.
“Thompson, everything he said about you is true. Wash your fucking clothes, man. And show respect to the veterans, or you’re gonna get real uncomfortable around here.”
Carter puts an arm around my shoulders and says, “Let’s take a walk.”
I go with him, realizing what a massive mistake I just made. I let the pressure and my fatigue get to me, and I made myself look like a loose cannon in front of my whole team.
“We’re all tired,” Carter says as we walk through Nashville’s visiting-team weight room.
Some guys are warming up on exercise bikes and treadmills. Others are stretching. I should be doing my pregame shoulder routine, but instead I’m getting a talking-to from my captain. I’ve never, ever been this guy.
We go out a door on the room’s other side, which leads to a hallway. Carter knocks on a door and when no one answers, he opens the door to a small, empty room and leads the way inside.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have lost my cool. I appreciate you standing up for me back there and calling me out in private.”
He pinches his brows together, confused. “I’m not calling you out. Thompson’s a cocky little shit and you said what the rest of us are thinking. I brought you in here because I’m worried about you.”
I rock back on my heels, surprised. “Worried? About my shoulder?”
He shakes his head and points at my chest. “You. Not how much you’re scoring, or your old injury. I’m worried about my friend and teammate.”
I look away, his words making me emotional.
“I know the contract thing has to be eating you up inside,” he says. “It’s fucking hard to keep playing your best on these killer road trips when you feel like every game has to be your best one ever.”
I nod, look at the floor, and then back up at him. “Yeah. All that. I’m tired, sore, and pissed off at myself for not scoring last night. My family is counting on me and I have a family member who’s going through some health issues.”
“I’m sorry, man.”
I inhale deeply and let the breath out, making myself relax. “I shouldn’t have lost my shit back there.”
He shrugs. “Happens to all of us. Bash and Leo have punched each other in our locker room, more than once.”
“I missed two full seasons rehabbing. I’ve wanted another contract for so long. I need one. I’ve given up ...” I shake my head. “Honestly, everything. Everything I have goes into helping my family and working toward this contract.”
He puts a hand on my shoulder. “You need more than that.”
“I can’t.” I rake a hand through my hair, my laugh edged with bitterness. “If I’m giving it my all and I still don’t have an offer, the last thing I can do is back off and try less.”
“You’ll get a contract. I wouldn’t say that unless I was positive. Have you talked to your agent about it?”
“Yeah, we have interest.”
“Magnus.” He puts his other hand on my other shoulder, his gaze locked onto mine.
“I don’t have talks like this with all my teammates.
Just the ones who are also friends. Ones I hope to have as long-term teammates.
Don’t self-destruct. Don’t deny yourself everything that fills the well back up or you’ll run dry. You got me?”
I nod, his words landing hard because he’s right. I’m so fucking close to empty right now. I’m tired of never feeling like I’m good enough.
And the hell of it is, the only one who’s made me feel that way is me.
“I hear you. I’ll work on it.” I clear the gravel from my throat. “Thanks, Carter.”
He claps me on the back and heads for the door, turning the handle and looking back at me.
“Save the rage for the game. Should be a good one, because now Outhouse has to take a few hits just to prove you wrong.”
That makes me smile. “Yeah. And I’ll still be right, but he’ll be sore, too. For once.”
“See, I associated the ‘Cat’ nickname with him being a pussy.”
I laugh. “Maybe that is the one.”
He shakes his head. “Nope. No one chooses their nickname.”
I think it’s fate.
Before the start of the Nashville game, I reframed things for myself. I told myself that tonight, I’m a member of a team in the highest-caliber league in the world. I earned my way here. I’m not just a number on the spreadsheets of team GMs.
I released the choke hold I’ve had over my own enjoyment of the game. I didn’t beat myself up over every little mistake. I celebrated my teammates’ wins—even Cole’s assist. I stopped seeing my teammates as competition.
And not only did I have more fun than I’ve had playing hockey in years, I scored a goal. When my teammates gathered around me to celebrate, I wondered if Blair and the boys were watching back home. I thought about calling her after the game, but I talked myself out of it, deciding it was too late.
But there’s Jules, sitting alone in a seat in the back of the bus that will take us to the airport. She has her laptop out and her headphones in.
When I approach, she smiles and takes her headphones off. “Hey, great game tonight.”
“Thanks.” I look from side to side, keeping my voice low. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Sure, how can I help?”
“Will you tell Blair you’re taking her out for dinner on Wednesday and make sure she sets up a sitter? And then bring her to meet me?”
She gives me an excited smile. “Sweet! The three of us hanging out for a whole evening!”
I open my mouth to speak, then close it again. She bursts out laughing.
“I’m fucking with you. Of course I’ll leave. The childcare will be Aunt Jules, so she doesn’t have to worry about what time she gets home. I kind of live there.”
She winks and puts her headphones back on. I find a seat on the bus, finally thinking about something other than my sore shoulder, my sister’s uncertain situation, or my lack of a contract offer.
I’m thinking about something good. Or rather, someone. I’m ready to have a long-overdue conversation with her.