Page 23 of The New Guy
It’s a long three days in Minnesota and Chicago. In the cab on the way home from LaGuardia, my hip stiffens into something resembling a rusty chunk of iron.
But I did it. I made it through, and I didn’t let it affect my play. Coach is pleased with me. O’Doul complimented my game, and we picked up some league points on the road.
And I didn’t spend the whole time thinking about Gavin.
Not often, anyway.
“You guys coming to the game tonight?” my teammate Anton asks as our cab approaches Brooklyn.
The Brooklyn Bombshells—the women’s team—are playing a home game tonight against Albany. Anton is dating one of the goalies. And my teammate Drake is married to one of their star players.
“I’ll go,” I offer, in spite of my exhaustion. The truth is that I have made very little effort to socialize with the team. In January, I invited them all to a party that my father had heard about. And I was super relieved when they all turned me down.
Since then, I’ve ducked out of most everything. I don’t hang out at the bar on the road, because I’m not really a drinker and I need my rest. I don’t play cards on the jet.
But I know I should make an effort. And since the Bombshells game is played on the same ice where we practice, it’s an easy jaunt in my own neighborhood.
After agreeing to meet my teammates at the rink, I get out of the taxi. When I reach my front door, and fumble for the key, I feel eyes on me. I look up, but I’m alone in the second floor hallway, except for the peephole in my neighbors’ door.
I remember Jordyn hanging out there, trying to catch me. So I wave at the door, and I hear a sharp intake of breath.
Hilarious. “I can hear you breathing in there!” I call, and she giggles.
Smiling, I let myself into my stale apartment. Other players make arrangements for cleaning services and grocery delivery. But I haven’t gotten around to it yet. So my fridge is empty, which is kind of depressing. But then I remember I’m going to the Bombshells game in a couple of hours, and I can eat stadium chow.
The life of a single guy, ladies and gentlemen. It has its moments.
* * *
A few hours later I’m standing in the lobby area of the team’s headquarters with a dozen or so of my teammates, while Trevi’s wife, Georgia, the publicist, is doling out signs for us to wave.Go Bombshells, andBrooklyn Strongare splashed across their shiny faces.
I didn’t realize we were going to be part of a PR pony show, but I don't really mind. The new guy has to do his part.Go Bombshells.
Then Georgia comes down the line a second time with a lavender Bombshells jersey for each of us. I shed my jacket and pull the jersey over my head. Then I hear a little gasp.
When my head clears the neck of the jersey I spot Jordyn waving at me. She’s standing beside Gavin, who’s holding his phone to his ear.
“There he is!” the little girl says, shaking her father’s free hand. “If I talk to him here, I’m not bugging him at home, right? Right.” Without waiting for an answer, she leaves her father and gallops toward me. “Hi! Wow! Omigod. It’sallof you!” She looks down the row of my teammates, wearing a starstruck expression.
Here’s my chance to settle a score with a small hockey fan. “Hey, Georgia? You got an extra jersey? My friend here needs one.”
Georgia looks from the little girl to me. Then she smiles. “Sure. Here.” She tosses the jersey at me. And—even better—she tosses me a Sharpie, too.
“Here, buddy.” I uncap the Sharpie and scribble my name on the arm of the jersey.
That’s when Gavin ends his call and hurries over. “Jordyn, what are you—”
“Hey—don’t drag her away just yet, okay? This is for her.” I hand the jersey and the marker to Jordyn. “Quick, kid. Get the rest of these guys before we get herded to our seats.”
Jordyn lets out a shriek as high-pitched as a dog whistle. “Thank you!” she and Gavin say at exactly the same moment.
With a reddening face, he watches her lunge at Leo Trevi for an autograph. “That was kind of you,” he says.
“No problem.” I clear my throat. “Everything all right? You look stressed.”
He blows out a breath. “My job is only supposed to be daytime hours. That’s my arrangement with management. But the Bombshells trainer is sick, and they called me. Didn’t feel like I could say no. And now I can’t reach my sister.” He looks at his phone. “And I'm supposed to be in the locker room already.”
Now I understand the problem. Jordyn can’t stand behind the players’ bench with him, no matter how much she’d like to.
