Page 22 of From Ice to Grace
“Good,” I say, taking another sip of my water for good measure. “Better.”
He nods but I can tell he doesn’t quite believe me. “That’s good.”
“He’s ready for the game tomorrow,” Lindgren says, setting down a few bottles of juice, water, and a beer for Nikolai. “The Wild won’t know what hit them.”
“I’m pretty sure they’ll revoke your passport to Minnesota if they hear you right now,” I tell Lindgren, wondering how they ever passed up on picking this big lug for their team.
“Serves them right,” he mutters. Lindgren grabs a bottle of water, before sitting next to EJ. “I’m home with the Rangers. I hope I never get traded.”
Nikolai lets out a mirthless laugh. “If you stay with the Rangers from now until you retire, you’ll be one of the lucky few.”
EJ nods. “Especially with how things work these days. It’s all politics and salary caps.”
“Not to mention if you have a bad post season. Then anyone and everyone’s job is on the line,” Lucas says. “You saw what happened after we won the Cup last year. The Canucks fired their head coach and two of their centers got traded.”
Lindgren’s brows knit together as he looks at each of us in turn. “That sucks.”
We can’t help but chuckle. Everyone knows how it works. You know, because you watch every move the teams in the NHL make like a hawk while growing up. But it’s different once you’re in it. Once you have your team, a spot that you can call home, you start to hope that you’ll never have to leave, that all those things won’t apply to you.
Coach’s warning rings through my mind once again. If I don’t get my act together, I’ll have to face Harry Matlock. In all the years I’ve played for the Rangers, it’s the first time he’s ever said something like that to me. Which means something to me. He won’t say it lightly unless it’s a real possibility.
EJ eyes me carefully. “How did the talk with Coach go this morning?”
I sigh, leaning back in the chair and finishing the rest of my water before crushing the bottle in my hands.
“As good as can be expected,” I say, giving him a smile.
The guys share a look of concern before Lindgren clears his throat. “Just tell us, what did he say?”
“I don’t really want to talk about it. I thought we’re here for steaks,” I say, getting up and grabbing another bottle of water from the table.
“Did he talk to you about the penalties?” Lindgren asks, pressing anyway. “I mean, you’ve always played a heavy game. That’s not news.”
“Exactly.” I open the bottle of water, a sense of relief filling me knowing that my teammates might actually be on my side with this. “He’s clearly overreacting, right?” I ask, looking at each of them in turn.
“I don’t know, Dec,” Lucas says, running his hand through his dark hair. “That game had at least two unnecessary penalties.”
“Come on?—”
“He’s right,” Nikolai says, his eyes sharp. “You getting in the ref's face didn’t help matters along.”
I look down at my water, suddenly wishing it was something stronger.
“They were working on my nerves.” I stare at my teammates, slack-jawed. “Aren’t they supposed to have their eyes tested before they can be a linesman? I mean it was obvious Marachino was in my face.”
“That’s what Marachino does,” Lucas says, flipping the steaks. “I’m pretty sure that’s why he’s on the team.”
“That and his short-handed goals,” Nikolai says.
EJ is sitting across from me, his eyes not leaving me for a second. After seeing me talking to Avah last night, there’s an edge to his gaze. It might just be my imagination, or he could be angry about me causing the team to lose the game last night…maybe it’s all of those things.
“We all know you can rack up a few penalties,” he says with a shrug, before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What I want to know is why you were so hungover that you tossed most of your insides onto the bench this morning.”
I pointedly take a sip of my water. My very non-alcoholic water.
“It was nothing, a bug,” I say, my voice sounding unconvincing even to my own two ears.
“Cut the bull,” Nikolai says with a gruff voice. “Was he drinking last night?” he asks Lindgren, turning to the rookie who shares a house with me.
