Page 35 of Playing for Keeps

CHAPTER 23

GUNNAR

Coach is focusingextra attention on the goalies during practice this week as we prepare to hit the road to New York. I played pretty well in our home games, but Grentley is back to 100% and I can tell he’s pushing to reclaim his starting spot back.

The pressure to get out there and stay out there is worse than actually playing in the game. Once I’m on the ice, I’m focused and confident about what I can do. This horse shit with him shoulder-checking me in the locker room and glaring all the time? It drives me bananas.

Emerson actually gave me a hat to put in my locker that she wore for hours, so I give that a big huff before I get dressed.

Across the bench, Grentley stares at me creepily while lacing his pants to his chest protector. I’m partly impressed that he can tie all that without looking and partly pissed off that he’s pulling these kinds of juvenile intimidation tactics on his teammate. I think about Emerson, growing up in a house with a bully of a father, and how she pulled up the courage to hop on a train and escape. Grentley and his bad attitude are nothing compared to that.

I sniff the hat again, and with her scent fresh in my mind, I wink at my crazy counterpart and head out to practice. Anton is out there flipping pucks into the air on the blade of his stick, and he winks at me, signaling that I should hit my ready stance as soon as I get into the net.

I stand with my knees bent and gloves up, and in my periphery, I see Grentley making his way toward me. However, I keep my eyes locked on the puck that Anton flips around. I feel the tension build in my body, ready to go into a butterfly when Anton lets the puck loose. He skates around the net, and I track his movements. I’m taller than Grentley by a few inches, so I know I take up a lot of space even in a ready stance. It’s basically instinct for me to flip my glove toward the top corner when Anton shoots, and I close my glove around the puck with a laugh.

I’ve got this.

After practice, Coach asks Grentley and me to meet him in his office, so I hurry through a shower and drop off my gear with the equipment manager. I give Emerson’s hat one last sniff for good luck but realize Grentley isn’t in the room. I hustle to Coach’s office, but Grentley isn’t there either.

“Come on in, Gun.” Coach rubs at his temples. “Grentley’s agent threw a fit, and I met with him separately. This doesn’t need to be a big deal.”

“Huh. Okay.” I take a seat across the desk. I hadn’t thought about calling Brian about any of this. Should I be talking to my agent before I discuss lineups with Coach? “What’s up, Coach?”

He taps the desk and smiles. “You’re doing great out there, Gun. More and more teams are using goalie tandems nowadays.”

I nod. “Sure. It’s a long season.” I try to remain neutral about this. I know the other guys on the team place a lot ofweight into making that first line rotation. For keepers, it’s more about building stamina for a whole game and keeping your head focused for all three periods.

Coach leans back, relaxing a bit. “The Fury wants to move to that flexible model, son. We believe both of you bring something special to the pipes. We’re going to alternate you on this away series.”

A weight melts off my shoulders as I realize I’ve earned a place out there. I think about the Boston goalies who embrace each other after every game, regardless of which one played on the ice. Somehow, I doubt Grentley and I are headed in that direction. “What did he have to say about that idea, sir?”

Coach hesitates and purses his lips. “Focus on your game, Gunnar.”

He turns in his chair and starts clacking away at his computer, signaling to me that we are done with this conversation. I back out of the office, unsure of what it all means but eager to get home and tell Emerson what happened.

How great is that, though? I have someone at home I’m excited to talk to about work, and I’ll get to hear about her experiences with the music kids, too. Things with Emerson are beginning to feel less like a cover-up ruse and more... real.

I swing by the grocery store since I know she’ll be volunteering later than I'll be at the arena. She made me promise not to pick her up, like an overexcited mom at an elementary school, which is a comparison that made me laugh. I still think I should take care of her more, at least arrange for a driver or something until she learns to do it herself. But she seemed really excited about taking the bus, and who am I to deny her an adventure?

I think about the peace of mind I’ll have knowing there’s a planned rotation for me and Grentley in the upcoming games while I dice ginger and smash garlic to sauté with chicken and veggies for dinner. I even grabbed some salted chocolate truffles for my Salty since I know she likes that stuff. Eventually, the door opens, and she bursts in with a huge smile on her face, arms full of folders. “Oh my gosh, it smells amazing in here.”

She sets the papers on the counter and peels off her coat, hanging it beside mine on a peg like even our jackets were meant to be together. And then she throws her arms around me and kisses me on the cheek. “How was your day?” Her eyes twinkle, and I can’t help but laugh, feeling so damn happy and content.

“It was great. Give me a minute to dish this up, and I’ll tell you about it.”

She nods. “I’ll run and change into my comfy pants. I want to tell you about my day, too.”

She emerges a moment later in leggings and a baggy T-shirt that I think might be mine. I’m really fucking distracted by the swell of her ass in those pants. The hem of the shirt stops mid-cheek, and it’s difficult for me to contain my urge to lift it and just squeeze all that beautiful butt. I clear my throat and grab our plates, bringing them around the counter and setting them out by our stools.

Emerson takes a big mouthful, groaning in delight before she swallows and tells me, “Lucia and Omar were more than happy to have me take over some of the registration paperwork.” She points at the pile of folders. “A lot of kids register using paper forms, and I’m going to enter all of it into the database. I know that probably sounds boring and really basic.”

I shake my head. “If it interests you, it’s not boring, right?”

She beams. “I just love feeling like a part of this. These kids…if they do have a music teacher at school, it’s only half an hour a week. What can they achieve with just half an hour? I’m so thrilled they can take these lessons. Some of them are doing vocals and instruments, and I love that Scale Up doesn’t require them to specialize…Gunnar, it’s all about the love of music and what that does to enrich their lives. Not, like, the stuffy performance culture I grew up with.” She sighs and takes another bite. “I’m rambling. What made your day so good?”

I squeeze her thigh. “If that was rambling, I like it. But I’m feeling the joy in hockey right now, too.” I tell her about nailing my stance and transitions today and how coach plans to rotate Grentley and me. “I’m really feeling more and more like I’ve earned my place out there,” I admit, smiling timidly at her. “But I guess this is a trial for the away series, and I’ll have to keep worrying once we’re back.”

The smile she reflects back at me, bright and earnest, her brown eyes shining … it makes me see why my dad and all my uncles are always talking about how amazing it is to be married.

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