Page 42 of The Trade Deadline
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Shit.
“Mormor,” he answered cheerfully. “How are you feeling? I missed seeing you at the game.”
“I’m better,” she said, though her scratchy voice hinted otherwise. “Just because I’m not at your game doesn’t mean I’m not watching. Or that you can be mean to your brother.”
Lars looked around sheepishly, remembered no one on the team was Swedish, and said, “It wasn't so bad. I didn’t even punch him this time. And just one penalty! I thought you’d be proud of how well-behaved I was.”
She clicked her tongue. “I know what you called him. What if the children hear you say such things?”
Lars finched, vividly remembering when he called his brother a cunt. It was a word he’d heard in locker rooms as a young boy, a word treated with harsh reverence among the other boys as they used it to tear each other down. He’d used it as casually as his teammates…until the day his grandparents heard him and made it extremely clear they wouldn’t tolerate their grandson speaking that way.
“But Morfar, everyone says it.”
“You will not,” his grandfather had said sternly. “And if this environment encourages this type of language and behavior, we can remove you from it if you can’t control yourself.”
Every time the memory hit him, he felt the blood drain from his face anew. One cuss word wasn’t worth losing hockey, so he’d obediently refrained, even when his peers made fun of him for it.
…but it had slipped out during the game. He hadn’t meant it to. He literally only said it because he knew it would piss off Anders (and that no one else would even know what he was saying). But there were cameras everywhere, especially on Lars, and he should’ve expected his grandma to be watching.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to.”
“You did. And you’ll apologize to your brother.”
Lars made a face but didn’t argue. He’d add it to their sparsely used text message chain, mostly filled with bare bones updates on upcoming visits and family events. At best, Anders would acknowledge the comment with a ??; more likely he’d leave it on read.
“I will,” he promised. “How was the game? Did I look spectacular and way faster than Anders?”
“You are faster, Lillen. He’s still stronger, though. You played well. That goal after the penalty!” She crooned happily. “Too bad you can’t be on a line with Russell, you two would have all the points.”
“That’s what I told him!” Lars realized how wide he was grinning and how excitedly he was talking, and reined himself in. “What do you think Baltimore’s chances are?” he said more seriously, hoping she’d take the bait.
“Too early to say, but they’re having a better start than last year. As long as you and Russell keep producing?—”
“We will.”
“—and Voronin does his job, you stand a chance. Start by winning your next game." She coughed and then grumbled indistinctly.
“You should be resting,” he chided. “I’ll call you in Calgary, okay?”
They said their goodbyes and Lars texted his brother before he could claim to forget. That left him with…he checked the airport display for their flight info, and saw their flight was delayed another hour. Great.
He wandered from his seat down the empty concourse, searching for a distraction. He wasn’t allowed to go far—they were in a section reserved for private charters—but he needed todosomething, get out of his head. He found a line of TVs, each with a different channel but no sound. Towards the end, several showed sports highlights. After a cursory glance at football, baseball, and basketball, he finally found one with hockey. Nothing from their game yet—it appeared to be league highlights from yesterday—but he stood there watching with a detached sort of interest. They cycled through teams, and soon it was the Prowlers on screen.
Losing. Badly, it seemed. Again and again. Without the commentary, it was hard to know the specifics, but the clips showed sloppy plays and lots of goals against.
“The Prowlers aren’t doing good, huh?”
Lars jumped at the interruption, then shrugged as Ryan settled in next to him, so close their shoulders almost touched. “Guess not.”
“You seem happy about it.”
Lars didn’t even realize he was smiling until Ryan mentioned it. He frowned instead. “I wouldn’t say that.”
He wouldn’t deny it, either.
“Former teams can be…complicated. Like old hookups or exes.” Ryan gave him a sideways glance. Lars said nothing. “Why’d you leave the Prowlers? And don’t give me that bullshit about competition or shaking things up or whatever. You wouldn’t be happy they just got shut out if nothing had happened.”
Lars chewed the inside of his lip. He knew he could double down on the bullshit, he could tell Ryan to mind his own business, he could say just about anything and Ryan wouldn’t hold it against him. He didn’t want to give the real answer, the wound too raw and personal, but he didn’t want to lie and completely dismiss Ryan’s interest.
