Page 32 of Playing for Keeps

CHAPTER 21

GUNNAR

After breakfast,I drop Emerson back at the apartment, where she says she’s going to work out her frustrations on a minor fugue. Whatever that means. I secretly wish I could leave a recording device open or a webcam or something so I can listen in between sessions today at the rink. Her music is incredible on a good day, and I’m dying to hear what she cranks out when she’s deep in her feels.

But recording my wife without her knowledge sounds like something her parents would do, and that’s gross. Anyway, I have meetings today with Brian.

I park and flash my badge at the building entrance, slapping a high five to the door guy and whistling as I head to the locker room, where Grentley growls at me, and my brothers are busy swapping socks.

Alder pokes his head out of his cubby and snaps his fingers at me. “Hey.”

I raise one brow at him. “Hey?”

“You seeing Brian today? He wants to know if Tucker and I will do a gum commercial.” He reaches into his sleeve to apply deodorant and then takes off his shirt. His warm-up rituals areseriously odd, and I’m saying that as someone who just asked his wife for a hat to sniff.

“You and Tuck will be amazing in a gum commercial, bro. Why wouldn’t you say yes?” I start arranging my things so I can put them on, setting my gloves and mask to one side and hanging up my chest protector. Grentley continues to give me the stink eye as if he’s not doing the same shit.

Alder groans. “It just feels like one more thing. I don’t know.”

I check my pants, neck guard, and knee pads, and set them to the other side. Alder is already halfway dressed while I’m still pulling shit from the bag that the equipment manager wheeled in front of my locker. My brother watches as I step into my goalie jock. He points at it. “Speaking of blocking cock…” I glare at him, and he laughs. “You’re bringing Emerson to Stagsgiving, right?”

I yank on my knee pads. “Of course I’m bringing my wife to our Thanksgiving.”I need to ask my wife about Thanksgiving…I step into my pants, and Alder starts lacing his Bauers.

He scratches his neck as I start strapping on the leg pads. He scrunches up his face and says, “I want to see if Adam will come. With me. To thanksgiving.”

I pause midway through pulling on my right leg pad. “You’re getting serious with that guy from the bar? That’s cool. I still need to meet him.”

Alder shrugs. “Yeah. Thanksgiving might be like trial by fire.”

Coach hollers that we have two minutes to get on the ice. I hurry up tying my chest pads to my pants. Alder hesitates, clearly wanting to get out to practice but also not finished discussing it. “Hey,” I tell him. “We could go out—just me, Em, and you two—ease into it?”

He taps his fingers on his helmet and nods before jamming it on his head. “Yeah. Thanks, man.” And he’s gone, leaving me wrestling with my jersey on my own.

Morning practice is pretty great apart from Grentley snorting and stomping around. I appreciate that my brother felt he could share with me about his relationship. I like that I was able to comfort Emerson when she was upset last night. Although she grew up in the limelight, she’s clearly new to this kind of press and people getting up in her business in an invasive way. I sometimes forget how much those articles can sting. Frankly, I think there’s more truth to that article than not. I wonder if Emerson has someone to talk to about the shit her parents put her through.

As I hurry back out of my gear to meet Brian, I try to remind myself to check on that later.

Brian is seated in the cafeteria, where all the guys are being served their specific post-ice time and pre-cardio nutrition. Mine is a protein shake that won’t make me poop. My pants are literally laced to my chest pads. I can’t risk that sort of digestion.

Brian smiles, sipping his own shake. “G Stag! Baby! Come sit.”

I do, taking a swig of my gloopy drink.

Brian slides a folder over to me. “Look at these images of you with the kids, G Stag. Golden. Perfection. I love it. The milk people love it. The mommy bloggers love it.”

“Thanks?”

He nods. “We need to get you out there a bit more, though. You doing the fan fest in New York? Don’t bother answering. You’re doing it. I’m thinking it’s crucial to have your lady there with you, too. The PAWs can get matching shirts, right? Who would order them shirts?” Brian scribbles something on the folder as I keep sipping my drink. A lot of the time, it feels like I don’t really need to be present for these agent meetings.

But I also feel a creeping sense of unease as Brian rattles on and on about how much the press is going to love seeing Emerson beside me at the fan event and how she will look in aStag jersey. It feels manipulative, as if I’m some other dude like her father, just wanting her to play a part. I don’t want her to play a part with me…I want her to enjoy being with me. That realization makes me really happy…not at all what I expected. “What if she doesn’t want to come to New York?” I fiddle with my empty glass. “Things aren’t good between her and her family.”

Brian nods. “I saw the article. However, we need her to be there. We can arrange for her to stay in the hotel where the team is staying in…try to avoid mentioning her family. Has she received any media coaching? Let me send someone to your place.”

I wince at the thought of that. “I need to ask her before you send someone, Bri. Come on.”

He sighs audibly and finishes his drink, crumpling the paper cup. “Fine. Talk to her. Text me. Get your brothers to say yes to the gum thing! They’re being weird, G Stag. Why are your brothers being weird?”

I laugh. “I don’t know, man. Don’t I have enough going on without bringing them into it? Maybe they’re just weird.”

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