Page 5 of No Rhyme or Roughing
“I’m not trying to be cruel, but the Golden Gate Guardians are filled to the brim with guys clinging to the last ice shavings their bodies can handle. Just like them, you have a bigger question in front of you than who’s going to win tonight.”
Coach had a habit of speaking in riddles and calling them lessons.
He patted the side of my helmet. “What do you want these fans to remember you for, Ryder? It isn’t for success in the big leagues, so what is it?”
My eyes drifted to the arena, where the ripped seats were sparsely populated with a smattering of bored hockey fans.
“Don’t worry about how many there are.” Coach called my attention back to him. “If only one person sat along the boards, if it was just a crowd of your damn girlfriends, they matter. Don’t be late again.” He shoved my shoulder, signaling our talk was done. And just like that, he was Coach again, stern and commanding.
I skated back to where Teddy was challenging Rowan Gonzales, our young goalie. Shouldering Teddy off the puck, I skated in on net and fired it top shelf. Rowan gloved it easily.
“Nice try, asshole,” he called.
“Language, Gonzo.” I tapped his pads with my stick. “Or I’ll have to call your mother.”
Since returning to the Bay Area two years ago, I’d lived with Teddy and Rowan in a beautiful three-bedroom house in Alameda. No way Rowan or I could afford it on AHL salaries, but Teddy came from money. His dad owned a venture capitalist firm outside the city.
A few other guys skated in on Rowan, but it wasn’t long before the horn sounded, and we had to head back to the locker room to await the start of the game.
“Hey, Cassidy,” Antoine Huet called. “Can’t get out of bed on time without your gal pal there to wake you?”
Teddy draped an arm over my shoulder as he sat beside me in front of my locker. “We prefer the term girlfriends.”
I shoved him off and caught a few Russian words to my left, grinning as I recognized “Frantsuzskiy ublyudok.” French bastard. I’d learned quickly in my time here that it was a term of endearment from Vasiliev, one of three Russians on the team. He called everyone some variation of it.
Coach walked into the room with his two assistants behind him. He took one look at us joking around and shook his head before heading to his office. Frankie and Remy, our preferred coaches, followed him.
Only one coach remained behind. Sullivan.
He and Teddy were the only reasons I’d taken this contract, probably the worst of my career. Still, I knew my brother would give anything to be where I was. He’d never made it to the pros as a player, but as a goalie coach, he hadn’t done too badly.
“What’s up, bro?” I looked up into identical hazel eyes. Sullivan’s dark hair was shorter than mine, and the scar from when we’d crashed into each other as kids on the ice was on the opposite side of his face. Other than that, he was me. I was him.
“You’re supposed to be the leader.” One eyebrow lifted.
Okay, we were different. Sullie was so… not serious. Hockey was supposed to be fun, sure, but it was also work. Maybe that was why I’d never lasted more than a few games in the NHL. I wasn’t sure I loved it the way some of these guys did. I don’t know what made me say it. “I met a girl tonight.”
“A girl.” He smirked. Not all of us could steal their brother’s long-term girlfriend and propose to her a year later.
“Crashed into her.” I laughed, despite the damage to my car. “Literally.”
“Do tell.” Teddy slid over, knocking into me. He’d always been more like me than my own brother.
“Car accident.”
“Kismet.” Teddy looked so serious when he said it that I couldn’t help agreeing.
Sullie… well, he didn’t. A laughing curse ripped out of him. “Just be ready to play, bro.” He walked away, slapping a hand against Rowan’s head to stop his snickering on the way.
Kismet. Fate.
It was all bullshit, of course.
CHAPTER THREE
SYDNEY
Shaken didn’t begin to explain how I felt when I finally arrived at the arena for the second period. Who crashes their car and just runs?
