Page 7 of Two for Holding
“You saying I don’t get a lot of points?”
“You don’t need me to stroke your ego.You know how good you are.”
A man could always stand to hear more about how good he was, but this conversation was weird enough already.“Fine.Well, Howie—that’s Kilian Howard, in case you missed another nickname—he’s struggling ’cause he hasn’t scored a goal yet.”
Ignoring Jax’s potshot, Crowler frowned.“It’s not even November.He has all the time in the world, and four assists.”
“That’s whatIsaid, but what do I know.I’m just anA.”
Crowler sighed, exasperated.“I get it, okay?I’m a shit captain.Let it go.”
Jax hadn’t meant to imply anything of the sort.He’d meant to make Crowler feel shitty about his treatment toward him, not about Crowler’s own performance.“I don’t think you’re a shit captain.”
“You think I hate you, I’m a homophobe, and I don’t talk to rookies.Clearly, I am a shit captain.”
“Idon’tthink you’re a ship captain—shit captain— Can we stop saying that?”
Crowler gave him another one of those coolly assessing once-overs.“All right.Whatdoyou think?”
“I think,” Jax began, and then paused to actually think about it.“I think you’re good at talking to the refs.”
“What?”
“Yeah, when there’s a bullshit penalty call, you’re really good at keeping your temper and calling it into question.You always stand up for our guys.”
“My job is to—”
“Yeah, yeah, but some captains get all angry about it.And you’re great at the whole leading-by-example deal.You know, first on the ice, last off it, sticking to the meal plan, all the stuff everyone knows they should do but no one manages.Half the reason Howie’s so worried is because he doesn’t want to disappoint you.”
Crowler’s demeanor softened.The change to his face alarmed Jax in its intensity.His dark, wavy hair and blue-gray eyes, along with his long, straight nose and heavy eyebrows, could make him appear so severe and untouchable.But when he let himself smile, he became unfairly handsome.Hockey players weren’t supposed to be handsome, Jax excepted.
“I’ll talk to him,” Crowler said.“So what about, uh, Mooney?”
By the time Jax had finished discussing Mooney’s homesickness for Southern California—a little ridiculous if you asked Jax, he lived in the same damn state—they’d gotten cold standing on the ice, gabbing, and had to start running laps, which turned into racing.Going against the Crow proved a challenge, but one Jax welcomed.He loved the burn in his thighs and the pounding of his pulse more than anything.If he didn’t, he’d never have been stupid enough to pursue this career path.
The rest of the team trickled in slowly.Mooney joined them for a while, but he struggled to keep up.The solid third-line winger had been promoted to second line a bit too early in Jax’s opinion.He had to slow down when he centered Mooney, and it was messing with his game.He held out hope Coach Morris would see it and promote Jax to first line before he had to say something himself.
Practice went well, at least for the forwards.The offensive coach, Edwards, was pretty laid back as far as Jax could tell.Maybe he benefited from comparison; Jax’s offensive coach in Philly had been a fucking psychopath who yelled “BAG SKATE” if you so much as breathed wrong.Edwards liked to do finicky passing drills and give speeches about teamwork.They only really started to sweat when Morris rotated through their section of the ice, asking for sprints and footwork drills, seemingly at random.
Even better than a solid morning on the ice, Crowler kept his word.In the locker room afterward, he sought out Howie and spoke to him, ending with a clap on the shoulder.Jax watched the interaction like a hawk, including the way Howie’s eyes lit up afterward and how he held his shoulders a little straighter on the way to his stall.
But Crowler wasn’t finished yet.Next, he got up on his bench and whistled for attention.
“Team barbecue,” he announced.“Phil’s place, Saturday before the next roadie.Bring a side.I’ll get the drinks.”
Breezy whistled and clapped because Breezy was a bro at heart and bros loved nothing more than a barbecue in fucking November.At least a California November was significantly more livable than a Philadelphia winter.
Jax grinned wide, thrilled at the invitation.Not because it sounded fun—it sounded excruciatingly awkward—but because he would be granted another opportunity to understand Crowler’s deal.After showering and changing, he returned to the sad, pathetic hotel room the team arranged for him while he slowly considered getting his ass in gear to sell his place in Philly and buy an actual apartment.
He tossed his bag into a corner and his phone onto the scratchy, olive-green bedspread, where his lock screen (his baby sisters pulling identical faces) blinked up at him.Jax expected Breezy to make good on his threat to invite him over for video games or maybe his agent sending some new interview to make Jax seem like a totally respectable, upstanding citizen.Instead, he found the Sea Lions leadership group chat packed with messages.It had been dead silent since he’d joined the team.
East: I did not ask to host a barbecue.
The Crow: I don’t have the space
East: So move out of your bachelor pad, that place is depressing anyway
The Crow: Not by Saturday
