Page 17 of Power Move
Rhys, however, has texted me multiple times today. Starting with a row of celebration emojis when I told him we were on our way. Then updates on what the team was doing earlier today. And a few minutes ago, letting me know where the conference room is located so I won’t worry about getting lost in the maze of hallways.
As Morgan ends his call, the elevator car arrives. “We have to hurry.”
Tapping my keycard against my thigh, I will the car to rise faster. Finally, we reach our floor. Everything in our room looks plusher than the hotel rooms we’re used to. We'll have it only for this afternoon so we can get in our pre-game nap. The team’s flying out after the game.
I drop my bags by the closest bed. “Okay, let’s go. Rhys said it’s on the second floor, around the corner from the bank of elevators. The hallway’s kind of hidden.”
We race back to the elevator. Thanks to Rhys, we arrive at the conference room within a minute of stepping onto the second floor. My heart pounds as Morgan opens the door. The lights are dimmed for video viewing, but there’s enough light to see over twenty Metros players and staff look our way.
Coach Grant waves us inside. He’s a former player, known more for fighting than scoring, but he’s coached three teams to the Cup finals. “Gentlemen, meet Sage Murray and Morgan Rhodes. They’re putting up great numbers for the Slash, and hopefully can help us win tonight. Fellas, find a seat.”
Remy wildly waves for us to sit by him. We pass Rhys, and he reaches out his hand so our fingers brush together. It’s enough to slow my whirling mind and help me focus. His small gesture means so much to me.
I last saw him a week ago, when he came over, fresh off a road trip, with breakfast for the two of us. We ate French toast in my apartment before I boarded my team bus, bound for two games in Texas. Our schedules aren’t meshing well for seeing each other in person, but we text and video chat all the time.
Settling on the floor in front of Remy, I lean against his legs. He pats me on the head before returning his focus to the coach and the images on the screen. With clips from the Metros game the other night against Winnipeg and of Edmonton’s players to prepare for tonight, the review and breakdown is similar to what we’re used to with the Slash. Coach points out things players have done well and mistakes that were made.
The last video ends, we talk about the penalty kill, and then the image on the screen fades. Coach nods at someone behind us and the room’s lights flare bright. “Since we’re down a few men, we’re shaking up a few of the lines tonight. Jonas, I want you with Sage and Morgan.” Sitting beside Rhys, Jonas gives us a thumbs up. “Nicklas will join Maxim and Quinn. Darius, you’re with Enzo. And Rhys will partner with Remy. That’s all for now, gentlemen. Thank you.”
The room comes alive with staff, coaches, and teammates’ conversations.
Remy’s hands land on my shoulders and he squeezes hard. “I can’t believe you’re here. The three of us playing together tonight is unreal.”
I tilt my face back, grinning at him, then Morgan. “Unreal is right.”
He taps the back of my head. “Rhys is coming over.”
I surge forward, then jump up. Indecision over how to greet him freezes me. Can I hug him? Should I shake his hand? Simply nod?
With a warm smile, he pulls me in for a hug. The light squeeze settles me, so does drawing in his spicy scent. Too soon, he lowers his arms and steps back. “Hey. Doing okay? Excited for tonight?”
“Yeah. I can’t wait.” That’s mostly true. I’m also kind of terrified. What if I mess up? What if I’m out of my depth?
Most of the Metros players come over to say hello. One of the assistant coaches grabs Morgan and me for a quick meeting, and Rhys murmurs in my ear that I should find him once it’s over.
My anxiety climbs throughout the meeting. By the time we meet up with Rhys, Jonas, Maxim, Quinn, and Remy to grab food at a restaurant across from the hotel, concentrating on the conversation is like trying to score a goal blindfolded and skating backward while reciting the names of every Cup winner in order of their birthdates. I get through most of my sandwich, but it sits in my stomach like a boulder. Rhys’s leg keeps bumping mine under the table. I try to smile, but know I’m not fooling him.
As we leave the restaurant, he slips his hand around my elbow, holding me back. “You seem tense. Talk to me. Let me help.”
Scrubbing my free hand over my face, I lean into his side. With my mind racing and the noise from the street traffic blaring, curling up in a dark room sounds good. “It feels likeeverything is riding on tonight. What if I screw up? Or cost us the game? What if I’m not good enough?”
His thumb caresses the inside of my biceps. “Come up to my room. We’ll talk.”
I fall into step beside him and remember the world doesn’t revolve around me. “Do you know if your sick teammates feel better? How areyou?”
“The guys are hanging in there. Everyone keeps checking on them in our group chat.” Our footsteps echo across the lobby. He hits the button for the elevator and it opens right up. “As for how I’m doing, I’m happy you’re here.”
We’re alone in the car. Twining his fingers with mine, he taps the button for his floor. The same one as mine.
The car opens and we step out. I see Maxim disappear into a room, and Jonas into another. “Is everyone on this floor?”
“Seems like it.” We walk down the hall and he slows to a stop several doors down from mine. “Here we are.”
He opens his door. His subtle spice hangs in the room’s air. Still holding my hand, he tugs me toward the huge window. The room looks out at skyscrapers, and all the cars and people on the ground look so small. “Making mistakes in games happens. All of us have done that. But I’ll tell you right now, you’re better than some of the guys who’ve been playing with us for years. Making a mistake won’t change that. You deserve this chance. Hell, with the way you’ve played, you’ve earned it.”
Hearing that helps. I hope I won’t let him down. “Can you hug me?”
“Of course.” He wraps his arms around me. “How’s that?”
