Page 26 of Playoff
I’d fought for my place in hockey in spite of my family and my name, and I wasn’t giving it up.
JJ nodded, like he’d worked something out. “It’s a me problem, not you. I’ll handle it. I handled it when I played against you before, so I’ll work something out now that you’re around all the time.” He wasn’t happy about that either.
I cocked my head. “But we’ll never be besties.”
His expression lightened. “I’m not the besties type. But it’s better if we’re not too close.”
Like anyone was close to me. Those were the people who could screw you over more than anyone else.
A nice guy would probably have asked about his family, if they'd recovered, something like that. But I'd learned the hard way. You asked those questions, and then people wanted you to help them. I'd been inundated with requests and sob stories. I still was, occasionally.
So we turned back to our bikes and started them up again, riding side by side in silence till other guys started to show up and JJ finished his workout and left. I nodded to the new faces and moved on to some weights.
I'd gone through fitting in with new teams before—first when I'd been traded from Florida to Texas, then Nevada, and finally LA. It took a while to learn new systems and new teammates. I wasn't going to have a great game my first one with the Blaze, but I hoped it wouldn't be a fuckup.
Morning skate was better than practice yesterday, but I still had new plays to learn. I’d been put on the second line with Fitch and Gerbs this time. I hadn't been on the ice very often with Fitch in LA, but I was more familiar with his style of play than any of my other new teammates.
At the team lunch after the skate, Fitch invited me to join him. My guess was that Cooper had gotten to him. “Were you sent to be nice to the new guy?”
He smiled. “I drew the short straw. Cooper said you might be interested in rooming with me.”
“He did, did he?”
Fitch shrugged. “Your choice. I know what it’s like after a trade, not being sure if you want to commit to buying something. But hotels suck, and short-term rentals aren’t much better.”
I picked up a forkful of chicken. “You’re really selling it.”
“I stayed with Ducky the first few months I was here. We carpooled, he took me out a few times—it was a nice way to settle in. I’m not offering lifetime, but if you want the spare bedroom while you figure out what you’re doing, you’re welcome.”
I’d been thinking about this since Cooper mentioned it yesterday. The hotel did suck. Assuming I wasn’t traded again, I had potentially five months here, or most of three at a minimum. Finding a rental and moving elsewhere again after the season ended was going to be a pain. And it had been a long time since someone had offered company like this.
“Sure. We can give it a try.”
Fitch smiled. “Glad to see the enthusiasm. Not a good idea to move before the game, but tomorrow?”
We exchanged numbers, and after my meal I went back to the hotel. There was another message waiting for me at the front desk from one of my parents’ victims. Word was getting out. I was happy I’d be leaving soon.
We played New Jersey that night. I hadn’t seen them yet this season. The three of us on our line, Fitch and Gerbs and I, were still learning how we played, so we didn't make much of an impression in the first period. Our top line, Oppy, Deek and Barnes, scored, as well as our third line, the shut down players.
Jersey got a goal in, but not while I was on the ice, fortunately.
"Let's get one too," I said to my linemates as we went over the boards for our first shift in the second period. I’d been brought here to score goals, and I wanted to prove my worth.
We almost did that shift. Crash, one of the D-men, cleared a pass to Gerbs and we had a good rush down the ice to our opponent’s zone. Gerbs passed to Fitch, who passed to me, and I carried it to the goal. The shot just missed, and they took it back to our end.
When we were called in for the next line change, Coach pinned me with a glare. "What the hell was that?"
I frowned, breathing hard and spitting out my mouth guard. "I had a shot."
He pointed at the scoreboard. "No, you fucking didn't or we'd have a goal up there. Fitch had the shot. Pay attention and pass the fucking puck."
My cheeks burned, but I held back the angry words. Was he serious? I'd seen a chance and I'd taken it. Had Fitch been in a better position? Maybe, but I thought I could do it.
I was pissed, but my chance came in the third. I stripped the puck from one of their forwards and got a breakaway. I went in, determined that this goal was happening. I came in on the left, the goalie matching me, and moved my feet and hips as if I was about to change direction. As soon as he committed, I straightened and shot the puck between him and the post, into the net.
Yes. This was what I did. How I played and what they traded to get. I scored. My new teammates patted my helmet, and at the end of the game, my goal was the game winner.
Coach could kiss my ass.
