Page 3 of Shift Change

Holky centered the second line, so we didn’t play together, but I caught him watching. He even shot me a sharp-edged grin, almost like he’d decided I wasn’t the worst thing to happen in his life.

When the scrimmage was over, Criswell barked out a perfunctory, “Well done, men,” and dismissed us.

Buzzing with excitement, I fell into line, heading for the locker room. Before I made it more than a few strides, Criswell called out again. “Madison, Harpy, Richie—a word, please.”

My pulse kicked as I turned toward him. I didn’t know what to make of his style yet, but the man had a long, legendary career. He made his name as a hard-nosed defenseman for the New York Condors, then coached Detroit for five years before taking over in Buffalo. That had to be at least fifteen years ago because he’d been with the Warriors as long as I could remember. He’d steered them through the leanest seasons of their history and then, last spring, to a Stanley Cup victory.

Harpy clapped me on the back. “Incredible, Mad Dog. You crushed it out there.”

“Fucking right,” Richie said with a grin. “You can play with me anytime.”

Criswell’s narrowed gaze shut us up. “What’s the verdict, boys? How’d it go?”

“Like you don’t know,” Harpy said, laughing. “It felt like we’ve been playing together for years. You were a genius bringing Mad Dog in.”

“Mad Dog?” Criswell repeated, his lips twisting like they wanted to form an actual smile. “Is that what we’re supposed to call you?”

The stress got to me, and I laughed—then coughed, trying to rein it in. “Most people do, Coach.”

Criswell glanced at Richie. “What do you think?”

“Mad Dog’s an awesome name.”

Criswell finally let a speck of amusement slip into his voice. “About thescrimmage, Richie.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, Coach.” Richie seemed totally unbothered. “That was the most fun I’ve had since Carson left. Mad Dog’s got the gift, if you ask me.”

Criswell let that settle for a beat before looking at me. “Mad Dog?” His lips almost—almost—tipped into a genuine smile. “Anything to say for yourself?”

I shrugged, still buzzing. “Did my best, Coach. Playing with these guys was kickass.”

Criswell eyed each of us, then nodded. “I concur. I’m leaving you on the first line for Saturday night’s game, Mad Dog.”

First line? Saturday? A game?

“Against Chicago?” I asked, swallowing hard.

“It’s the only game we’re playing this weekend, son.” Criswell raised a single brow. “You looked good out there. Don’t make me regret this.”

I snapped to attention. “Yes, Coach. I’ll give it everything I’ve got.”

Richie whooped, Harpy beamed, and Criswell—against all odds—broke into a full-fledged, one-hundred-percent genuine smile. As the three of us turned to go, he called my name. Harpy and Richie left me with him.

“We’ve got somewhere for you to stay until you find your own place,” Criswell said. “Have you met Holcomb?”

“Yes, but the team already has me in a hotel.”

He waved me off. “Hotels are for shit. We stay in enough of those on the road, and you’ll do better with someone to show you around town. Anyway, Holky’s playing host. See him before you leave and work out the details.”

Fuck me. Does Holky know about this?My stomach clenched as I headed for the locker room. I hoped this wasn’t about to turn into a tricky day.

2

holky

“Can you believe that guy?I didn’t even see his shot coming until it was already in the net.” Gabe Donovan was talking about Mad Dog.

“I see how he got the nickname.” Packy, already down to his compression shorts, peeled them off and tossed them onto the growing pile of sweaty gear. “Scrappy as hell and doesn’t quit.”

---