Page 4 of Sure Shot
“Thank you,” I say as we walk around to the side of Nate and Becca’s mansion. They’re the only people I know in New York who can throw a big backyard party. Because they’re the only ones with a big backyard. “Thank you for letting me have all that time off.”
“It’s not a big deal,” he says. “People take vacations all the time. Get used to it.”
I wonder if I ever will. My childhood was perilous. Dave and I were too busy avoiding my father’s fists to notice that nobody ever took us to Disneyland. Or camping. Or any of the things that families do. Summer break had only meant too much time with our angry father.
College was better. But I’d been too busy working my butt off to relax. And after graduation, my dream job kept me busy. And it still does.
“What else?” I demand of Eric. “What other weird calls did you get?”
“There’s that rookie who just showed up for training camp in Ottawa. Rollins?”
“Yeah?” My blood pressure jumps. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” Eric says quickly. “But he panicked his first night there. He locked himself out of his new apartment, and he didn’t know what to do.”
“Aw.” Rollins is only nineteen. He comes from a town in Canada with more cows than people. “Did you help him find a locksmith?”
“Of course I did. I was home with the baby that night, just flipping channels before he called. So I put my earpods in and sat down in the rocking chair with the baby. And I talked to the rookie for ninety minutes while he waited for the locksmith. The kid just needed someone to tell him that it was all going to be okay.”
“Wow. Thank you. Bonus points for sure.”
“It was great, Bess. It made me understand what this job is for, you know? Negotiating contracts is only half the story. He’s just a kid in a strange city. I’d forgotten what that part was like. The only two things he knows how to cook are fried eggs and spaghetti.”
“Jeez. Next time I see him, I’ll make sure he eats a salad. Anything else? Any gossip? If not, I think I hear a glass of sangria calling my name.” Rebecca Rowley-Kattenberger—the new owner of the Brooklyn Bruisers—makes a great pitcher of sangria.
“Oh, there’s gossip.” Eric chuckles as he finally hands me my phone.
“What kind?” I ask, fondling the phone like a lost lover.
“I think I’ll let you see for yourself.” He opens Nate and Rebecca’s garden gate and then gestures for me to go in first.
Two
In the Backyard of a Billionaire
The Puckrakers Blog: Preseason Trade Update
“What Brooklyn Needs is a Surly Dallas Player—Said No One Ever”
Bruisers fans are scratchingtheir heads this week at the news that Mark “Tank” Tankiewicz was traded from Dallas to DUMBO. While the team could use some more experience on the blue line, Tankiewicz is an expensive choice.
There’s some wisdom in poaching a guy who helped cut off Brooklyn’s championship dreams a year ago. (And we’re told that he brings out the female ticketholders. Tankiewicz is famous for modeling the Jockers line of men’s briefs.)
But does Tank have the right temperament for the job? Last season he blew his stack so often on the ice that Dallas fans had a name for his frequent outbursts, dubbing each incident a “Tank Spank.”
And if the rumors are true, Tank spanked his own captain late in the season. A scuffle between Tankiewicz and Bart Palacio may have been the impetus for Tank’s sudden trade across country.
Time will tell whether this risky trade pays off for Brooklyn. But either way, it’s going to be interesting.
* * *
Tank
“Welcome to Brooklyn.” The team’s yoga instructor reaches out a hand for me to shake.
“Thank you so much. It’s a pleasure to be here.” I’ve said that ten times in the last ten minutes.
Ariana’s grin says she knows I’m a liar. “I’m sure you remember me from this morning’s class.”
