Page 24 of The Trade Deadline
Seven years older, Anders was thirty-two and definitely nearing retirement age. His contract went through the rest of this season and then another two, though Lars suspected he wouldn’t look elsewhere if the Otters didn’t re-sign him; the family was too well settled in Ohio. He also agreed with his grandma: what were the Nilsson men without hockey? Their dad had worried about it, he knew; he just hadn’t gotten far enough to need to figure it out.
“Maybe he’ll coach,” Lars said without much interest. He didn’t much care what Anders did, except that he secretly did, if only because he’d miss their rivalry games.
“The children don’t want to play. He doesn’t want to commentate.”
“He’s boring, anyway.”
She heaved a loud, long suffering sigh. “I feel sorry for you, Lasse. When you realize how mean you have been to your poor brother, you’ll feel terrible.”
Like he hadn’t heard that before. He was pretty sure he was immune to feeling bad for Anders and always would be, but he understood why it upset her so he changed topics. “Did you enter any fantasy hockey leagues this season?”
“Yes, with my cousins. They’ve made someterriblepicks,” she said with pure delight, and then explained in detail which of his distant relatives had chosen which of his distant colleagues and how his grandma had contrived to have both Anders and Lars on her team. “AndI got that Russell,” she said conspiratorially. “They won’t see him coming.”
Chapter8
Ryan
The last preseasongame was out of town, though luckily only a bus drive up to Philly. Ryan knew better than to care about the team’s record or even the score of individual preseason games, focusing instead on his own play. He’d shaken off the summer rust and was doing pretty well with his face-off percentages. Granted, he wouldn’t know for sure how he was doing until he was playing against regular rosters.
This last one though…it was rough. Philly was a very big, physical team and they took every opportunity they could to lay into the Crabs. Ryan got boarded twice and narrowly dodged a high stick in the face-off. It didn’t help that he scored in the third, earning him a slash to the back of the leg from the goalie.
“I already scored,” he muttered under his breath as the ref argued with the other team’s captain about who was serving the penalty. “What’s the point?”
Except to be a dick.As usual, he kept that part to himself. He might not like Philly or their goalie, but he couldn’t rule out the possibility of playing there. He liked to stay on friendly terms with everyone he could, just in case.
The goalie heard him and came out of the crease to sneer. “To make sure you think twice next time.”
“Next time’s about to be in about ten seconds,” Lars said as he skated over, fresh from the bench. This was only his second game in a Blue Crabs jersey, and he admittedly looked good with the powder blue shoulders of their away jerseys bringing out his eyes. It also didn’t hurt that he was brimming with confidence. He hadn’t scored yet this game (or at all as a Crab), but he was leading the team in shots and shot attempts.Andhe’d pulled off a between-the-legs move that had made even the Philly fans oooh and aaah before booing.
Undaunted, the goalie rounded on him. “Go back to the west, Nilsson.”
“Why would I want to do that? The goalies here, so much easier to score on. I’ll get the Rocket this year for sure. No wonder I only got it twice before.”
“You— you little— you haven’t even scored?—”
Lars pointed at the scoreboard. “Ten seconds after puck drop. Count it.” Then he winked.
The goalie went red and drifted forward until one of his teammates put himself between the two and started whispering in French to him. Freed from having to deal with a pissed-off goaltender, Ryan started to head off the ice; Lars tapped him with the blade of his stick.
“You okay? Looked like that hurt.”
“Huh?” Oh right, the slash. “It’s fine,” he said dismissively. It wasn’t. The goalie had gotten him right where he didn’t have any pads. He’d have a hell of a bruise tomorrow if he didn’t already, but what was the point of telling Lars that?
Lars looked at him skeptically. Normally Ryan would be gone by now, teammate reassured and job temporarily done, but he lingered, unsure why. They stood there, saying nothing until finally a pair of teenagers with shovels skated by and the ref whistled for everyone to line up. Embarrassed, Ryan rushed back to the bench and accepted congrats for drawing a penalty. No one else asked if he was okay, he noted.
On the resulting Power Play, Lars was both wrong and right. Ryan tried not to count down ten seconds, because no one wasthatgood, but he couldn’t help it.
1 second.
Lars won the puck straight back to Pavel and they set up.
2 seconds.
Back down to Lars who’d moved to the boards.
3 seconds. 4 seconds.
He stickhandled it away from an attacking player and read his options.
