Page 111 of I'm Your Guy
We all stare.
He glowers back at us. “Well? I’m here already. Where do you want me?”
Coach glances around the room until his eye lands on Cockrell’s half-empty stall. “Banks!” he shouts.
Our equipment guy comes scurrying in from the skate room. “Coach?”
“Set up Mr. Hale in Cockrell’s old spot, please.”
“Will do, sir.” The young man heads over and begins grabbing the practice garb he’d probably laid out for our goalie an hour ago.
We’re still quiet, all of us waiting for Coach to give some kind of welcoming speech. But that’s not what happens. Coach Powers turns and exits the room without another word.
Okay. That’s weird.
There’s an awkward beat of silence, and then Kapski shakes off his surprise and approaches Hale with an outstretched hand. “Hi. Welcome to the team. I’m sure you’re as surprised to be here as we are to see you. But it’s an honor, man.”
Hale shakes his hand, but he doesn’t look all that honored. “Thanks,” he says gruffly. “Merry Christmas to me.”
“This really fucks up the Secret Santa chain,” Stoney mutters.
Kapski gives him an elbow to the ribs. “Dude, seriously?”
“I love my rituals,” Stoney says sourly. “But I’ll prolly love not having to shoot past Hale next time we play Detroit. So welcome, man.”
“Thanks,” Hale says stiffly.
“Where are you staying?” Kapski asks. “The holidays are a rough time for a trade.”
“You’re telling me,” he says, rubbing his temples. “My family is taking it hard. I’m in a hotel in Denver for a few nights. The team found us a condo. It’s empty, though. I gotta get some beds and stuff before my dad brings my kid out to Colorado.”
I rise and cross the room. “Hey, I got a furniture guy for you. He did my whole place in a few weeks. Looks great, too. You want the name?”
“Absofuckinglutely,” Hale says. “Give me all the names. Or—better yet—wake me up from this nightmare.”
Kapski and I exchange glances. Stoney rolls his eyes. Trades are hard, but our new goalie is bringing the drama.
“You know you’ve got to suit up, right?” Kapski says. “They didn’t call up a third stringer to back up Volkov tonight.”
“Yeah. Sure. I’ll get on that. Right after my breakdown.”
My teammates look uneasy, but for once, the drama doesn’t have a thing to do with me.
So I consciously relax my shoulders and turn my attention to tonight’s game.
THIRTY-NINE
Tommaso
With Volkov in the net, and a glowering Hale on the bench, we defeat Calgary 3-2.
Afterward, my mother and my sister both send me congratulatory texts. From Carter I hear nothing.
“We’re taking Hale out to get ’im drunk,” Stoney says in the locker room. “Who’s with me?”
I give a noncommittal answer and drive home. When I turn into Red Rock Circle, I instinctively look for the light of the Christmas tree in my front windows.
Tonight, the house is dark. My stomach sinks with the sudden certainty that Carter isn’t there.
