Page 118 of The Trade Deadline
“I’m not Ryan right now,” he said to Lars sternly. “I’m RJ. We’re former teammates and we’re not going to take it easy on each other. You want Ryan, you’re going to have to wait a few hours. Got it?”
Lars scowled. He missed being able to switch off seeing the other players as obstacles and not people. It would probably never work on Ryan ever again. Like Anders, Ryan had made it to the level of “this is a person I feel a lot of things about and have to play against them like a professional even though it’s not possible for me to do that with them.”
“And don’t try anything funny with my defensemen,” Ryan warned, as if reading his mind. “Let’s just play hockey, okay?”
Lars didn’t meet his gaze. Instead he dropped into position for the face-off. “Then shut up and play.”
He lost the face-off.
Playing the Otters was never easy. They were a good team and they didn’t like him. He hadn’t ever given them a reason not to hate him, but still. It was like the Prowlers game all over again, though admittedly the hits were clean. They targeted him and gave him zero room, and he was always,alwaysmatched up against Ryan and Anders. He was faster than them, but the combo proved tricky. They both knew him too well, and often they cut him off from the move he wanted to make before he knew that was the move he wanted. Again and again, they stripped him of the puck and kept his line hemmed in their defensive zone. It was exhausting.
Then the real problems started.
First it was Anders making a hit on him and Ryan swooping in to grab the loose puck.
Then it was Ryan and Lars going at it along the boards in the Crabs’ zone, close enough he could smell Ryan’s aftershave, and it was maybe that revelation that distracted him. He lost control of the puck, and Ryan kicked it up to the point so Anders could take a shot.
It wasn’t a pattern until Anders blocked Lars’s shot during a power play and Ryan scooped it up to clear it.
Anders and Ryan were a really good team.
Anders and Ryangotto be a team. They could be on the ice together and assist on each other’s goals and talk on the bench and go to the playoffs together and hang out on the plane.
By the time the third period rolled around, Lars was frustrated and lonely. Sure, there were nineteen other guys on the bench. Lars had spent the better part of a season with them, and the usual brothers-in-arms mentality had taken root. It was in no way the same.
It was a 1-1 game near the end of the regular season. Of course it got scrappy in the third. Everyone was desperately trying to get the two points, and no one wanted to make it easy for the other team. Lars got manhandled more than usual, and of course it was usually Anders dishing it out. And he tried to ignore the fact that it was Anders, he really did. He tried to play the way Ryan had wanted him to, but after they spent a solid minute in the crease with Anders pushing and shoving and slashing, after the whistle, Lars felt he needed to say something.
“Fucking quit it,” he said in Swedish and got in his brother’s face.
Aaand then Ryan was there between them, a gentle but firm hand pushing Lars back. Pushinghim, likehewas the aggressor.
“Stop,” he said and jerked away from Ryan. “I’m allowed to tell him to fuck off.”
“He’s just protecting the goalie,” Ryan said evenly. “Let’s calm it down.”
“Calm it down?” He was struggling to keep his voice even. “I think I’ve done a pretty good job of being calm.” Given the circumstances and his record vs Anders, he honestly thought he should be considered for sainthood.
“So let’s keep it clean for another seven minutes, yeah?” Ryan said.
“You don’t have to be so fucking patronizing, you know that?” Lars snapped. He was pissed and looking to wound. “Mind your business.”
“Lillen—” The second a heavy hand came into his shoulder, he snapped. It was the last straw.
Lars swung around and threw a punch. He lost his glove as he came back on for another. The crunch of Anders’s nose under his knuckles was sickeningly satisfying.
“Mom and Dad leave me,” he yelled in Swedish, swinging wildly. “You leave! Morfar leaves! You take Mormor! You take my boyfriend, too! Enough!”
Anders stumbled back and held a hand to his face and kept one outstretched to fend Lars off. Hands closed around Lars’s arm to stop the next blow. He instinctively pulled himself free, punched Anders again and after he went down on the ice, Lars wheeled around to go after whoever had tried to interfere.
It was Ryan. Of course it was.
Lars deflected his hand so it ended up grazing Ryan’s chest, right across the stupid otter logo.
“Ryan, I’m sorry?—”
“You done?” Ryan snapped.
“Get the trainer!”
