Page 6 of The Trade Deadline
“So you’ll play your brother more.” Her tone was harder now, more parent than grandparent. “I don’t like it when you play him. Too rough. Too much fighting. It upsets the children.”
“The children” were Anders’s kids, who most definitely weren’t upset by it. They loved seeing their dad and uncle go at it and would happily text him with clips afterward. What she meant was “it upsets me,” and he felt a pang of guilt over it.
Not enough to be nice to his brother, but, well, no one was perfect.
“I’ll be nice,” he lied. “I’m always the nice one, anyway. You should tell Anders to lay off me. He’s bigger, he could really hurt me. He’s old and should retire soon. I’m young and need to stay healthy.”
“Lars,” she warned. His actual name. Yikes, he hadn’t heard that one since he gave his brother a black eye a few years ago in a pre-season game. He better stop teasing.
“Sorry, Mormor,” he said. Hewassorry for upsetting her, at least.
She grunted in a way that saidyou better be, then asked, “Do we dislike the Prowlers now? Should I burn my jerseys?”
“They’re signed! You could at least sell them. One of them is game-worn, you could make a lot of money off of it.”
Especially if you did it now, before the news hits that I’ve left. I don’t think Portland fans will be very happy with me…
“You didn’t answer my question,” she said. “Are we happy about this or not?”
“Yes,” he said immediately, not giving a chance for hesitation to give away his decidedly mixed feelings. “We’re happy about it.”
A considering pause before she said, “Good. I will be happy to have you visit more. Your visit last month was too short. All you did was go on runs and play video games.”
“That’s not true. I read that book to you and helped you make dinner. I was a very good grandson, you said so yourself.”
She mumbled something unintelligible, which he took to mean she’d conceded. “You will visit for Christmas, then. You’ll be closer, so no excuses.”
He made a face. There was no way out now. “Fine, I’ll come for Christmas. ButnotThanksgiving.” He’d already have to deal with playing Anders more often during the season; he didn’t want to see him more during his free time.
“Pssh,” she said dismissively. As a Swede, she’d never been big on Thanksgiving. Sometimes she’d used it as an excuse to get Lars to visit, but since the holiday meant little to her, she never pushed too hard. “Am I allowed to tell your brother yet?”
“No, I want it to be a surprise,” he said with a huge grin. In his head he was laughing like a cartoon villain as he imagined his brother’s reaction to the news. That was a definite silver lining in all this: getting to score on Anders more than twice a season. Even at the expense of pissing himself off, he’d take that trade-off.
“Lillen,” his grandma said with a long suffering sigh, “what will I do with you?”
“Wear my new jersey when I come to town?” Not once had she worn either his or Anders’s jerseys when they played each other, always opting for a nameless Team Sweden that helped him pick her out in the crowd.
“You are a troublemaker.”
“I try.” His coffee maker beeped at him. Time to start the day. “I have to go work out. Take care of yourself, Mormor. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too. Good luck this year. Will you win the Rocket Richard again?” The Maurice “Rocket” Richard Trophy was awarded at the end of each season to the NHL player who’d scored the most goals. Lars had won it twice and been a contender for it every year, sometimes only losing by a single goal.
“Depends on the team, probably. I’ll call when I know more, okay?”
She hummed her approval. “Hejdå, Lasse. Be good.”
“Hejdå, Mormor.”
Chapter2
Ryan
“RJ?”
Ryan looked up. He’d been in the middle of getting the barbell ready for some deadlifts when Coach Thompkins had interrupted. That usually wasn’t the best sign, getting singled out to talk to the coach. Especially not during optional pre-season training and conditioning.
“What’s up?” he asked as casually as he could.
