Page 108 of The New Guy
“Also what?” he presses.
Sharing is so foreign to me that I am suddenly self-conscious. “Well, It’s exhausting to always be the new guy. I probably stopped trying to make friends like two teams ago. I figure as long as I shoot the puck straight, that’s all you guys really want from me.”
“Huh.” Castro scratches at his playoff beard. “Not criticizing, here, but that sounds like a hard way to live. We spend so much time together at the rink, on this damn bus. Hockey is the best, but it’s a grind. So I figure I gotta make all the minutes count.”
“I’m not so good at that,” I admit. “Something to aim for, right?”
He shrugs. “I’ve got it easy, I guess. My wife works for the team. Hope your girl is a hockey fan at least.”
I picture Gavin’s face and smile. “Yeah, no problem there.”
Except it’s a lie. Gavin and I still have plenty of hurdles. When it’s my turn to explain to the team who I’m dating, that conversation is going to hit different.
Still gives me the cold sweats just thinking about that conversation, and the whispers and sideways glances that will happen afterward.
But I’m going to do it anyway. I promised.
“Who do you think is going to win the Western Conference?” Castro asks, changing the subject.
“Colorado,” I say without hesitation. “I need it to be them.”
“Your dad got a ring there. And then they drafted you, yeah?” Castro asks. “You want to play them in the finals?”
“I want toburythem in the finals. First team to trade me.”
He barks out a laugh. “Still bitter? Just against them, or all the teams who traded you?”
“Just them.” I clear my throat. “My first bad breakup, so to speak. You wouldn’t understand.”
“I guess I wouldn’t,” he says easily. “Hope I never do.”
“Amen. Let’s grow old together.”
He hoots, and smacks my thigh. “Yo! New Guy just made a joke! Someone call ESPN.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
The bus pulls up in front of the stadium, and I prepare to do battle.
Before we get off, I sneak one more look at my phone.
Play hard! We’ll be watching.
I intend to.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Gavin
I love sports—that’swhy I became an athletic trainer instead of an accountant.
Okay—maybe accounting was never in the cards. But I digress.
Sports is agony and ecstasy. It’s hope and disappointment, often during the same game. The highs are really high, but the lows are really low.
So I’m basically losing my mind in front of game seven against Tampa. It’s the third period. Brooklyn is down by one goal.
It’s way past Jordyn’s bedtime, but I can’t send her to bed before the final result. I’m not an ogre. We’re both strung out, bouncing off the couch every time someone makes a great play.
