Page 12 of The Trade Deadline

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“Morning, boys!” Monroe said happily. “News hasn’t officially hit yet, but welcome your new teammate. Lars, meet Jonathan, Peter, Morgan, Ryan, and Connor.”

And then they were shaking hands while Lars tried desperately to remember names and faces. Johnny. Pete. Morgan. Brian. Connor. Maybe this was a bad idea—he was too fucking tired for this interpersonal stuff. He needed to make an escape before the treadmill guys realized what was going on and he had more names to deal with.

“Nice to meet you,” he said with a crooked grin that probably went nowhere near his eyes. “Can’t wait to play with you guys this season.”

They shook hands, four of them looking at him in wide-eyed awe. Less so Brian, who looked bored. Lars was used to a lot of different reactions when meeting other players, and honestly the star-struck ones made him the most wary. They didn’t quite view him as a person, with expectations that could only be shattered. It usually didn’t last long if they actually played with Lars, and the hero worship became something more…normal. Easier for Lars to navigate, anyway. He was also used to compliments, used to people seeing him as a challenge, and used to pretty much everything except boredom.

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“I’m sure you wanna talk his ear off,” Monroe said as he put a hand on Lars’s shoulder and started steering him back the way they’d come, “but I’m going to need to steal Lars away. There’ll be plenty of time to get to know him when training officially starts.”

The disappointment Lars saw on their faces was in direct contrast to the relief he felt as he was guided out the door. Before he left, he turned back. He didn’t know why, couldn’t explain where the impulse came from, but without meaning to, he stole a glance over his shoulder. Four of them were still looking his way, talking excitedly, and the guys on the treadmill were starting to realize something had happened.

Brian had his back to the door, carefully loading the squat bar and getting ready for a set. It was like he’d forgotten Lars had even been there. Or more likely, didn’t care.

Huh.

Again, a new feeling took root in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know what it was yet, but Monroe was talking and the air was getting colder as they neared the rink. Later, after a nap and a shower and at least two thousand calories of food, he could figure it out.

* * *

The apartment wasn’t bad. The main plus was that his stuff had arrived, the moving company having left most of it in boxes but getting the bigger pieces like his bed and couch in the correct room, if not the best spot. In a few weeks, maybe it’d start to feel like home.

The apartment itself was much like the pictures he’d seen online: a large, open concept living space with the original brickwork visible on one half while sleek, modern lines filled in the rest. Large windows looked over rooftops to give a hint of the bay, but mostly just other expensive apartments and high-end shops. He’d get blackout curtains eventually, but for now it was a good reminder that he wasn’t in Portland.

The kitchen was updated—which Lars appreciated, even if he didn’t plan to use much more than the microwave and fridge until he’d settled in more—and the high ceilings made it feel bigger than it was.

Bigger than his old place, that was for sure.

The lone bedroom was huge, with a massive closet that might actually fit all his awards and mementos, and a seriously nice bathroom that lookedincrediblyinviting. If he weren’t afraid he’d fall asleep on the wooden bench, he’d take a hot shower and ease some of the tension out of his shoulders. But his bed was calling his name, even if he couldn’t find his sheets and had to settle for wrapping himself in his big down comforter.

When he next opened his eyes, the dwindling afternoon light was gone, replaced with darkness and the glow of streetlights floors below. He pulled the blanket tighter around him and tried to go back to sleep, but the strangeness of the new space wouldn’t let him. With a sigh, he reached blindly for his phone where he’d dumped it on the floor and hoped he could settle himself with some mindless scrolling.

It didn’t work. He ended up on Instagram where the Blue Crabs had posted a vague hint that something big was coming, and he winced. Lars knew better than to read the comments, just like he knew better than to check the Prowlers’ page to see if they’d mentioned his leaving. Instead, he clicked on the Blue Crabs’s page and started looking through it with renewed interest. He had a few names now, and he saw a few of them in the posts from last season. Connor and Morgan were defenseman, it seemed, and Johnny and Pete were young forwards with a few posts about milestones they’d achieved like “first career multi-goal game” and “first overtime goal.”

Brian, though? There were atonof posts about him. He seemed to be a fan favorite, and Lars could see why. He was definitely attractive, the captions filled with heart eyes and fire emojis that were more than earned. Short brown hair framing coal-dark eyes, a chiseled jaw, kissable lips, and a smile that would make anyone melt. The few videos of him showed he was a decent player (not up to Lars’s caliber, he noted, then rolled his eyes at how snobby that sounded), the type of grinder who could win you those hard fought games you maybe had no business winning. They referred to him as RJ, which okay, weird, but Lars knew plenty of players acquired weird nicknames that they didn’t really have any control over. Some things just stuck.

As Lars stared at the pictures (and there were alot, more than any other player except the goalie), he couldn’t help but wonder why this guy gave exactly zero shits about Lars joining the team.

Lars’s finger hung over the tag to Brian’s (RJ’s?) personal account, but he drew the line at clicking it. He was already obsessing a dangerous amount, especially when he had zero interest in checking out his other teammates. Hadn’t he just gotten himself unceremoniously kicked off a team for not being able to control himself? No, he’d leave Brian alone and focus on hockey. Shouldn’t be too hard, since it seemed like the guy wanted to do the same.