Page 10 of The Trade Deadline
Instead of explaining any of this to Tanner, he just nodded.
“So you shouldn’t even have to hockey at the same time very much. See! Easy peasy. Worrying for nothing.”
He echoed Ryan’s earlier pep talk, which did help settle his nerves. He didn’t necessarily buy that it would be “easy peasy,” but he had been talked down from doomsday scenarios.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Anytime, bro.” Tanner handed him a controller. “Wanna play?”
Ryan powered it on, ready to let his worries disappear under hours of mind-numbing first-person shooters. “Sure.”
Chapter3
Lars
Lars didn’t knowshit about the Baltimore Blue Crabs.
Yes, he’d played them twice a year every year, but he hadn’t actually paid any attention to them. Most of his time was spent focusing on Western Conference teams he saw all the timeandhad to compete with for playoff positions. By February, he couldn’t give a shit about the East, not until the Stanley Cup Finals.
Which was an excuse that was fine when he’d been in Portland. It was a shitty excuse now that he’d officially signed off on the trade and was on a flight to Baltimore.
When he’d first been drafted by the Prowlers, he’d spent hours going through the team history and learning the roster so he’d know his teammates before actually meeting them. He’d been a little overzealous about it, but he’d been young and determined to make his mark, to prove he deserved being a first round pick.
To prove to Anders that you could be good and still care about your family.
Now he was simply too mentally worn out to make the effort. He’d flipped through posts on the team’s social media accounts, getting more of a vibe for the club and fanbase than learning anything substantial. He wasn’t ready to put 100% of himself into another team after the way he’d been treated by Mackey. What was the point of all that extra, non-hockey effort when he could be pushed out like he didn’t matter? They wanted him to play hockey and win games, which he was confident he could do without memorizing stats on his future teammates.
Current teammates? Whatever.
When he arrived, he wanted nothing more than to sleep for the next week, but there was a driver waiting out front for him, ready to take him to the team’s facility. Like an idiot, he’d agreed to the suggestion when he’d spoken briefly to Coach Thompkins, and he wasn’t enough of a dick to change his mind now.
He allowed himself a whole thirty seconds of hiding behind a pillar, mentally preparing himself for what he hoped wasn’t a total shitshow, before plastering on his best smile and walking confidently toward the car.
* * *
The Blue Crabs’s facilities were…fine. Not nearly as nice as what he’d had in Portland, but they were clean and well kept even if there weren’t any of the extra bells and whistles he’d kind of assumed were part of any team’s space. He didn’t look around too much, afraid to let even a trace of disappointment curdle in his gut.
A chatty assistant babbled about the upcoming training schedule as she walked him past the rink, the locker rooms, the gym, up some stairs, and through a corridor of offices at the very far end of the building. The walls were lined with photographs, some new and flashy while others had an old, grainy quality that depicted players long gone. The few that pictured the Stanley Cup were among the more weathered photos; Lars tried not to think about that.
“Here we are!” She stopped abruptly at a large oak door with the nameplateCharlie Monroe. She knocked and opened the door without waiting for a response. “Mr. Monroe, Mr. Nilsson’s here.” And then she disappeared before Lars had even gotten a chance to step into the room properly.
“Good to meet you!” Charlie Monroe stood from his desk, grinning widely as he pushed his glasses back up his nose. They shook hands and Lars uncomfortably took a seat across from him. “How are you enjoying Baltimore so far?”
Lars shrugged. He hadn’t seen much on the drive from the airport. “Baltimore” was still an unknown quantity, something he could only vaguely remember from previous visits.
“It’s fine,” he said, then offered an almost charming smile. If he weren’t so tired, he might’ve been able to put in a bit more effort; as it was, he was happy just to keep his eyes open.
Monroe nodded, thankfully unoffended by his new center’s apparent apathy. “Always an adjustment. We’ve got some people who can help you get settled in, if you need help finding a place or?—”
“I have a place,” he said. He’d never stepped into the apartment he’d found online and had all his stuff shipped to. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if his stuff had arrived; like any road trip, all he had was his gear and whatever he could fit in a suitcase. But the place existed and there was hopefully at least his couch there, waiting to give him a place to crash.
“Good,” Monroe said, and then, sensing Lars wasn’t interested in small talk, changed tacks. “We’re still in optional preseason training. Only a few guys here, mostly the North American players.”
If Lars remembered the roster correctly, that was more than half of the Baltimore Blue Crabs. They didn’t have many European-born players, at least not ones they chose to feature on social media posts, and he wondered if that was by design or accident. There certainly weren’t any other Swedes, which only served to make him feel even more isolated. “When am I officially expected to start?”
“Week and a half. I’ll get you the schedule. If you’re up for it, we could get you some interviews with our media team ahead of that.”
He left the offer hanging, and Lars was glad it sounded like an actual offer instead of an order framed like a request.
