Page 8 of Game Winner
I don’t know what this is or what it means, but I know I want more.
CHAPTER THREE
TYLER
Glittering red and green balls hang from the palm trees outside the arena, and garland drapes the windows. Christmas is two weeks away, but my scoring slump is still in effect, so I’m not feeling very merry. Even so, the weather in Palm Springs, where we’ve been for the last two days for games against Coachella Valley, is warm and sunny, the opposite of the cold, dreary weather we left in Calgary. The sun feels good on my skin, and I’m glad for the break from the snow.
As my teammates and I exit the locker room, the guys chat about using the hotel pool after practice, and someone’s arranging a round of golf later this afternoon.
“The pool sounds good to me.” My linemate, Sid, nudges my arm. “You in?”
Of all my teammates, he’s the easiest to talk to. “Yeah, I have some rehab exercises to do first, but I’ll be there after.”
Coach Laurent lumbers down the hallway, his features a mask of annoyance and resignation. We won last night, and no one screwed up too bad, so I wonder what put our typically jovial coach in this particular mood. “Tyler, come. Walk with me.”
“Uh oh,” Sid mutters under his breath. He pats my arm before getting out of Coach’s way.
“Sure, Coach.” I fall in step beside him. We stride down the corridor, and he slows to a stop in front of a large window decorated with pictures of the Coachella Valley players dressed as Christmas elves.
With a sigh, he drags his hand through his hair. “I’ve never found an easy way to have this conversation, so I’ll just say it. The Stallions made a trade with the Slash. You, in exchange for Klaus Schneider and Adam Jacoby.”
“Traded?” My legs feel like they've taken a hockey stick to the kneecaps, but fortunately I stay standing as my mind races for the reason this is happening. Again. Is it my scoring slump? My injuries?
I close my eyes in a long, slow blink. Getting traded is part of the business. It just sucks when it keeps happening over and over andoveragain.
Coach claps me on the shoulder. “I’m sorry to see you go. You’re a good teammate and a good player. You keep your head down and work hard.”
I nod, a dull thumping pulsing behind my eye. I’ve heard the same version of this too many times to count. The thought of starting again, in another new city, with another new team, getting acclimated all over again, is daunting. The weight of doing it all over settles over me, and exhaustion seeps into my bones. I would give anything to curl up for a nap right now.
“After I talked to our guys, I spoke with Nils Lindstrom.” His comment pulls me from thoughts of down comforters and plush pillows.
“The Metros assistant coach.” And Soren’s uncle.
“Right. We go way back, were roommates on road trips for years. The Metros think you’ll be able to help them. It’s a two-way contract. You’ll start off with the Slash, but from what I was told, the goal is to get you up with the big club. I think they’re hoping to work on your skating speed first.”
Playing for the Metros would be awesome, but I tamp down any excitement. If a career plagued with injuries has taught me anything, it’s that you can’t count on staying healthy in this game. “I’ve been slower coming off the broken foot.”
“So, get that remedied, then show the Metros what you can do.” He fixes his gaze on me through the reflection in the glass. “This is a good opportunity for you, Ty. I hate to lose you, but I’m glad you’ll be in an organization where you can thrive. The Metros and Slash take care of their players.”
He would know. He started with the Slash before spending the first part of his playing career with the Metros. I extend my hand and he takes it. “I’ve liked playing for you, Coach. Thanks for looking out for me. I wish things had gone better here.”
“You’re a special player. The injuries and time missed don’t change that.”
“No, they just keep me off the ice.” My laugh is rusty and sticks in my throat. Injuries have plagued me every season for a decade. I’m thirty. Wear and tear on the body, old scars and lingering pain from injuries make each comeback tougher and each setback take longer. There’s a sinking feeling in my gut that this chance with the Metros and Slash will be my last.
Coach clamps his hand on my shoulder and squeezes this time. “I know the feeling of things not working out the way you wanted. We roll with what life deals us, and handle it as best we can.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to stave off the prickling sensation in the back of my eyes. “I try.”
He gives me a pat, then releases me and looks at his phone. “There’s a car waiting out front to take you to the hotel so you can collect your things. You’ll be on a plane heading for Minneapolis this afternoon. A member of the Metros will contact you with the flight details.”
I’ll be arriving in cold, snowy Minnesota with only the lightweight clothes I packed for the warm weather of Palm Springs. I can’t help laughing at that. “Awesome.”
After shaking Coach’s hand one last time, I hustle down the hallway to the empty locker room. Some of my teammates will be happy to see me go. I’ve heard the chatter and jokes about how I can’t stay healthy. Sid will probably be thrilled to get either Klaus or Adam as a linemate. I send him a quick text to say goodbye, then go outside to the car waiting to take me to the hotel.
My phone pulses with new texts. The first is from a member of the player services team with my flight and hotel information, and the second is from my favorite Swede.
Soren: Heard you’re coming to us!
