Page 48 of The Trade Deadline
At practice, Lars was there, kindly handing over his turn on the team playlist to Ryan and always making sure he had two protein-enriched snacks so he could share one. And apparently Coach Thompkins had liked what he’d seen lately, because he used Ryan and Lars interchangeably in most drills, like he couldn’t decide which center was his top line and which was second. Ryan admittedly liked the trust that was implied from the coaching staff, how they now valued his efforts and contributions, but it was low-key putting him into panic mode with the pressure to perform. He’d been on the first line before for other teams, and inevitably he hadn’t been able to maintain that standard for long enough to matter.
(Admittedly, he also enjoyed that it brought Lars shoulder-to-shoulder with him on the bench or while taking a knee, listening to Thompkins or one of the assistant coaches. And it gave him the perfect excuse to watch Lars, toreallywatch him because duh, they were expected to do the same things, right? There weren’t anyfeelingsinvolved.)
Outside of practice, when he should’ve been free to clear his head and go through some much-needed Lars detox, he found himself more and more in Lars’s orbit. There was another youth practice and it was just easier to invite Lars, who’d genuinely enjoyed it, than to try and bribe another teammate. Though Lars insisted on taking Ryan out for dinner this time (sans beer, thankfully; they both would’ve been in trouble), and that led to texting once they got home to their respective apartments, which in turn led to inside jokes and a plan to watch Swedish movies on their next flight so Lars got the chance to feel culturally and linguistically superior for once.
And while Ryan was glad their teammates hadn’t seemed to notice them hanging out together (or didn’t care), Tanner did.
“He always gets onto the bench next to you,” Tanner pointed out during a replay. He pointed to the screen as Lars specifically avoided the empty door and climbed over the bench to sit next to Ryan. There wasn’t even space: he’d had to force Jake to move over, then had stolen Ryan’s water bottle before talking to him about his last shift. Not that Tanner could know either of those last parts.
“It’s strategy,” Ryan said lamely then offered Tanner the bag of chips in his hand to distract him.
The offering succeeded: Tanner immediately grabbed a handful and stuffed his face, giving Ryan a pleased and crumby smile. It only bought Ryan a few minutes though, because as soon as the bag of chips was gone, he turned to Ryan with a serious look.
“So you guys are friends now?”
“I guess.” His phone burned in his pocket. It had vibrated a few times while they were watching game highlights, and while that didn’t guarantee there were messages from Lars waiting for him, Ryan’s fingers itched to find out. “We’re teammates who hang out.”
Tanner nodded approvingly. “Seems a good fit. You sound way less stressed this season. Unless you’ve been eating my brownies?” He paused and looked at Ryan hopefully, then pouted when Ryan shook his head. “Well,” he huffed, “those would probably work better, but this is almost as good. And he’s going to need your help staying mellow when you guys go to Portland next week.”
Their West Coast road trip came right before their short Thanksgiving break. It was always a tiring trip because of the jet lag, but there’d been whispers that Portland had it out for them this year. Or at least had it out for one of them. Whatever his reasons for leaving the Prowlers, Lars’s former team didn’t seem happy about it. And if the game versus Anders and the Otters was anything to go by, Lars met aggression with aggression.
Not that Tanner would know any of that.
“How do you know anything about Portland or my schedule?” he asked suspiciously.
Tanner grinned proudly. “I’ve been watching the games,” he said. “Not just the highlights. Did you know they’ve really been singing your praises lately? That McHockey guy thinks you’re playing your best hockey. And when I do miss a game and watch the highlights, they show you way more often. Congrats, bro, you’re doing awesome this year. I bet they’ll give you that new contract, no problem.”
Ryan’s stomach twisted. He had been playing good hockey, and he was happy his coaches agreed, but if he thought too much about the contract or even really stopped to enjoy being on the top line when his future was so unresolved, he worried the whole thing would unravel and he’d be exposed: a bottom-six forward without a team. He couldn’t afford to get stuck on the high moments if it meant leaving him unprepared for the low ones.
“Why does it take an old one-night stand joining my team for you to pay attention to hockey?” he joked.
“Dude, that’s peak drama. Of course I’m going to watch your telenovela of a life. Like that thing where your boy hates his brother?” He did a chef's kiss. “They showed you and your fam in Montana, too. The Crabs are really about giving the people what they want, and what we want is drama to make it through the confusing hockey parts.”
It did seem like Tanner was acquainted with the storylines, player names, and their schedule more than he seemed to get the hockey. He continued to ask Ryan the same questions over and over that he’d been asking the past two years, like what icing and offside were and why they sometimes didn’t have a goalie in net. Ryan didn’t mind, always amused by Tanner’s nod of understanding even when it was clear there was absolutely zero understanding going on.
“I’d rather just do the hockey parts.” The drama and politics had never been part of the appeal for him; unfortunately the two went hand in hand with sports.
Tanner stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry. “You’re no fun.”
“So I’ve been told. Often. By you.”
“Bet Lars never complains you’re boring.”
“Tanner, stop pretending you’re my mom and setting me up on play dates. I made a friend, happy?”
“Very. Just make sure you’re being the type of friend who’s got his back while he’s squaring off against his old team.”
“You make it sound like it’s a shootout from an old Western.”
Tanner’s eyes lit up. “Itislike that!”
They ended up watching Tombstone and then old Clint Eastwood movies, with Tanner forgetting about hockey all together while Ryan wondered if Lars had ever seen a Western and if he might like to watch one on the flight.
* * *
Whatever mixed feelings Lars held for his former team, it wasn’t the same as when they’d played the Otters. There was a sharpness to him, edges that were prickly, but unlike in Ohio, he seemed just as likely to hurt himself as someone else. Before, his nerves had honed his focus into a self-assurance that made it inconceivable for him to do poorly; when the team went out for dinner the night before the Prowlers game, Lars looked so nervous he might be sick.
“You look awful,” Tomas said unhelpfully.
