Page 119 of The Trade Deadline
Both their heads snapped around as a ref leaned over Anders and a lineman called to the bench. There was a lot of blood on the ice and Anders was cradling his nose.
“Storebror,” Lars choked out. He felt like he was five, crying in Anders’s room the night he heard about the plane crash. “Jag är ledsen.Det var en olycka.”
Big brother. I’m sorry. It was an accident.
He tried to move forward to check on Anders, but a ref swooped in and dragged him away.
“You’re done, Nilsson,” he said. “Five minute major and a misconduct for sure. C’mon, get to the bench.”
Lars drifted backwards under the ref’s guidance, watching as a trainer coaxed Anders to let go of his face to assess the damage. He did, and more blood trickled to the ice. Fuck.
When he got to the bench, he didn’t bother waiting for the penalty call. He muttered what maybe amounted to an apology and stormed down the tunnel to the locker room. What the fuck was he doing?
The trainers avoided him like they could see his bad mood, and he was left alone in the back to stew in his misery. The TV broadcast the game, and he was able to watch helplessly as they announced Anders likely had a broken nose and wouldn’t return for the rest of the game. Lars would likely have a call from Player Safety. Neither the Crabs nor the Otters scored in the dying minutes of regulation.
Weird to watch an Otters/Crabs game go to Overtime with no Nilssons there to decide the outcome.
Whose fault is that?
He watched silently from his locker stall, his hand throbbing and his pride wounded. He deserved it, watching the game play out back here instead of being out there on the ice.
When Ryan won the face-off, he felt a swell of pride. Belatedly, he remembered that he didn’twantthat to happen, and he hated the conflicting loyalties.
One of the defenseman picked up the puck and immediately launched it to Ryan. He had a step on Pavel, maybe two, and as he sprinted into the offensive zone, Ryan would have the added confidence of knowing with absolute certainty that he was faster than Pavel. It was effectively him and Voronin, like in a million practices and drills before.
The Crabs needed this game more than the Otters, and Lars worried Ryan was thinking about that. That he’d shank the shot or not go full speed or something. That some sort of misguided loyalty might make him take pity on the Crabs. Unlike Lars, Ryan was sometimes too nice for his own good.
Ryan swept in at full speed, drawing Voronin to one side of the net. He had no support, no pass and no time to do anything but shoot.
“Russell’s in all alone,” the commentator said. Lars couldn’t tell if it was the TV feed or the in-house radio announcer. “Voronin squares up. Russell comes in hard on the right, fakes a shot, toe drag across the crease—RUSSELL POKES IT IN THE FIVE HOLE! GOAL! RJ Russell wins it in overtime for the Otters about twenty seconds in. I bet the Crabs are missing their former center right now, watching Russell get congratulated by his bench. What a fantastic game for him on his return. The fans don’t know whether to cheer or boo after that impressive display…”
There was a fair amount of both that Lars could hear from above as the sound leaked through the seats into the locker room. Lars watched the Otters swarm him on the ice and caught a few glimpses of his wide grin.
“Good job,sötnos,” he said and clapped in the empty room.
Chapter36
Ryan
Ryan was smilingfrom the win, but inside he felt sick.
There was a lot of commotion in the locker room by the time he got back from his post-game interview. The team had to get to the airport, but everyone was too worked up from the game, and there was no way to calm them down without word on how Anders was doing.
When he appeared with his nose looking absolutely awful and his face all the wrong sorts of colors, they cheered for him.
“He’s out at least a week,” a trainer scoffed. “I wouldn’t cheer too hard.”
“Your brother is such an asshole,” one of the younger players said, and though Ryan bristled, he was inclined to agree at the moment.
Anders glared at the poor kid, who wilted under the intensity of Anders’s scorn. He said nothing, but the message was clear: don’t talk about my brother like that, even when he is an asshole.
The talk quickly turned from Lars to their schedule, and if they could hold onto first in the Metro division without Anders.
Later, when he was near Ryan and only they could hear him, Anders said, “I might have deserved it.” His voice was more nasal than usual, his accent thicker and the words harsher. “Don’t be too hard on him.”
There wasn’t a chance to press for more, to ask what exactly Lars had been yelling while he beat the shit out of Anders, who’d taken a broken nose and not once attempted to retaliate. Not for the first time, Ryan wished he’d put some effort into learning some Swedish. All he’d understood from Lars’s outburst was that he’d mentioned their parents and grandma.
“Why do you let him get away with so much?” Ryan asked, because he was running out of patience with Lars and half of it wasn’t even about their relationship.
