Page 139 of The New Guy
Their favorite hangout is a popular Boulder brew pub with too many carbs on the menu. But otherwise I like the place. It’s famous for its artisan beers on tap, but they stock a light beer in bottles. Every time I order one, my team makes fun of me. They bang an actual gong that’s hanging on the wall of the bar.
I am not deterred. “If you want my ugly face at your party, I can drink what I want,” I tell Stoney.
The clock is ticking down on the Brooklyn trip. I’m trying not to think about it, which is how I end up holding a low carb beer on a Tuesday night while the sound of a gong reverberates in my ears.
“How come you guys give me grief for drinking this, but you don’t give Cockrell grief for being a vegetarian?”
Ivan Cockrell, one of our goalies, looks up from his plate of buffalo-style cauliflower and frowns at me. He’s a stoic guy with a carefully trimmed beard and serious brown eyes. “Nothing wrong with being a vegetarian.”
“No kidding,” I agree. “Just trying to understand the team psychosis.”
He gives me a fleeting grin. “Hey, I got a question for you. How do you like Red Rock Circle? There’s a house for sale on your street.”
“I like it. Great street. Quiet, but not dead, you know? Lots of young professionals. Some families. But you should ask someone who knows more than I do. I’ve only been there a couple months, and real estate isn’t really my thing.”
He carefully wipes buffalo sauce off his fingers. “I think I’ll make an appointment to see it.”
“Wow, home ownership,” Stoney says. “That’s scary stuff. My biggest commitment is a one-year lease, and three fish in a tank. Used to be five, but one of them is a cannibal.” He shrugs.
Someone puts a hand on my shoulder, and it’s DiCosta, another blueliner like me. He’s a big, bearded guy who doesn’t say a whole lot. But tonight he says, “Talk to me about your boys in Brooklyn.”
Oof. My heart drops into my shoes. “What do you want to know?”
“Can we take ’em?”
“It’ll be a fair fight. You got two snipers to watch, though. Drake and Castro are dangerous. Tankiewicz is sneaky. But so am I.”
“Should be a blast!” Kapski says. “Let’s make ’em cry.”
I take a sip of my beer and wish for a moment that I was more of a whiskey drinker.
* * *
The night before we’re set to leave, I can’t sleep.
Gavin had said that he wasn’t sleeping well either. I wonder if that’s still true.
I used to hate that wall dividing us. Now it’s 1800 miles.
Sitting up in bed, I pick up my phone and check the time. 4:14 a.m. Hell. Almost time to get up and head to the airport, anyway.
There’s a text from Bess.
How are you holding up? I’ll be thinking about you tomorrow, and I’ll see you at the stadium. Okay if I show up before the game?
I’m not used to getting supportive messages like that. Warmth wasn’t my dad’s style.
Would love to see you. Kind of a mess here.
It’s not like me to admit it. But hell, it’s true.
Even though it’s the middle of the night, my phone rings a minute later.Bess calling. “Hello? I hope my text didn’t wake you up.”
“Nope. My teething toddler did,” she says. “But what are you doing up at…whatever hour it is in Colorado?”
“Just getting a little extra anxiety in before the road trip,” I joke.
“Are you worried about the game?”
