Page 83 of Scoring Position

Don’t forget tomorrow is garbage day.

He’d found his message from Nico.

Garbage day. Dragging the bins down to the curb had been Nico’s job. Ryan’s had been to empty the various house bins into those in the garage—he’d been more than happy to let Nico continue lugging them down the driveway. A happy compromise. Nico hated having to do the transfer—had practically gagged the one time he caught Ryan reaching into a bin to grab a stray Kleenex.

But this time Ryan would have to carry the bins down because Nico wouldn’t be here to do it for him, and Nico didn’t want him to forget.

Because Nico was in Vancouver, and would be in Vancouver for the foreseeable future.

Ryan’s phone buzzed. He startled and then dug frantically in his pocket. If it was Nico, he didn’t want to miss it, even if he didn’t know what he’d say.

It was from Jordan Lagace, one of the core players for the Orcas, who trained with Ryan in the off-season.What’s the deal with this Kirschbaum kid?

Knowing Jordan, it was a legitimate question, deliberately vague. He wanted to know if Nico had problems in the locker room, with the coach, with authority in general—basically, why a team would trade a talented RFA who’d easily be a league scoring leader on any other team.

He was probably also curious about personal details, since it wasn’t a secret they were roommates and the rumor mill hadn’t been subtle, but Ryan wasn’t exactly itching to fill in those blanks. Not least because they made him feel like an asshole.

Ryan could still answer with everything Jordan really needed to know.

Good hockey player, better roommate. Strengths: faceoffs, wrist shots, half clappers, laundry, vehicular maintenance. Weaknesses: gets in his head sometimes, can’t cook for shit.

10-4. Take care of those D-men for me, I got your boy.

He wasn’t Ryan’s boy anymore, but it wasn’t like Ryan could sayoh yeah, and I think I broke his heart. So he just said,Will do. Thanks.

After that, as a distraction, he sat down and went through the emails he’d been ignoring the past few days.

He had another message from the Fuel’s beat reporter at the Athletic—Nina something—wanting to know if Ryan had time to schedule a phone interview. Ryan deleted it.

There was one from Diane, an endorsement opportunity she thought might be interesting from an Indianapolis retailer that wanted to do a commercial with him and Nico featuring striped sweaters, playing on the Bert-and-Ernie thing. She’d sent a second message a few hours after the first, saying never mind, Nico’s agent had nixed it.

Ryan deleted that thread too. Was this what Nico’s dad had wanted all along?

He hoped the guy wasn’t blaming Nico for the trade.

Tara had sent him a frowny face and a one-line entreaty that she was there if he wanted to talk. He didn’t.

He was about to open the final email, from a sender whose name was vaguely familiar but didn’t ring any immediate bells, when Felicia called.

“Ryan!” she said with the kind of abrasive faux good cheer that gave PR a bad name. “Glad I caught you.”

Caught him before what? Ryan wondered crankily. “Hi, Felicia.”

“I wanted to give you the heads-up that you’ve got media availability after the game tomorrow.”

Of course he did. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why. “Fine.” He couldn’t very well say no.

God, he wanted to say no.

“Great!” Felicia said. That tone of voice was really starting to eat away at Ryan’s patience. “Management wants me to make it clear that if you’re asked, they expect you to dispel any rumors of a romantic connection between you and Nico Kirschbaum.”

So it was fine for them to use them for cute publicity stunts, but the second they traded Nico, they expected Ryan to walk all of that back so they didn’t look like assholes.

Felicia cleared her throat, sounding substantially less cheerful. “Ryan?”

He gritted his teeth. “Whatever,” he snapped. “Bye, Felicia.”

As if this whole clusterfuck could get any worse.

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