Page 7 of My Brother's Enemy
I’d had lunch with the team, followed by a meeting with the coaches. They’d explained I’d be on third line tonight but would be moved to first almost right away. I understood. A morning warmup and lunch didn’t make up for the fact I hadn’t practiced with this team yet.
There had been no announcement of my trade yet, either. It hadn’t slipped to the press. I knew my old team wouldn’t let it out, and I guessed my new team was solid too. I wasn’t worried. All the people I cared about knew what was happening. Everyone else would find out when they made the announcement as I stepped onto the ice for warm-up before the game.
Brian spoke again, moving closer. “I can do something. Claim something. You want out, I got you. I’m just saying. This is a new team. They aren’t… They aren’t what you’re used to, and there are always loopholes.”
Just then one of the Grays’ managers popped his head around the corner and smiled at me, though it was tense. “They’re, uh, they’re ready for you, Mr.—”
I shook my head, stepping past him. “Griff is fine.”
One of the team’s PR people was ahead as I rounded the corner, smiling widely. She took a deep breath. “Ready when you are, Mr.—”
I just growled and cleared the chute. I looked back once, saw her tap something on her phone, and stepped onto the ice as the loudspeaker blared.
I was officially a Gray Wolf now.
5
RAIN
Standing at the arena’s platform, I watched the ice below, feeling rather overwhelmed.
I’d forgotten how much life there was in hockey. It was everywhere. Fans pressed close to the rink, separated only by a partition and some nets. Even now, during warm-ups, kids were down there—holding signs, trying to get the players’ attention to have a puck tossed through the netting to them.
I’d forgotten.
I ached to go on that ice, to feel the smooth slide of it underneath my own skates.
Some of the players were dancing to the music, joking with each other, stretching on the ice. They were playful. Some kids thought it was funny when they wiggled their hips. This game was so fierce. So fast. Possessive. Loyal. Violent. But there were moments of hilarity. It was endearing and addictive.
A deep ache bloomed inside of me as I let myself reminisce about the parts of this world I loved, the parts I missed. I hadn’t let myself feel it in so long. I wiped a tear before it fell.
Enough. I took a deep breath and began compartmentalizing. Everything that had been surfacing went back in its own drawer.
“HOLY SHIT!”
I jumped at the sudden explosion that boomed from the guy next to me. I’d ventured down the steps without realizing it, migrating closer to the ice. A murmur rose through the crowd as he stared down at his phone, his mouth hanging open.
Something had happened. Something big.
The air grew thick with excitement. Some people were cursing.
“What?” A woman gasped near me, breathless. “What’s happening? What’s going on?”
“I—holy fuck. I can’t even—how did this happen?” The guy was stunned. “I—we’re screwed. We’re so totally fucked if this is true.”
“There he is!” someone screamed.
The volume in the stadium cranked up, and the air was throbbing. Heady. I noted that the guy who already sounded defeated was wearing the rival team’s jersey.
This was probably about the new player Benoit had mentioned.
Suddenly there was an opening in the crowd of players, and I saw him.
My head whirled.
Tyler Griffin. Wearing a Minnesota Grays jersey. Their metallic wolf was smack in the middle of his chest.
The fans were right. This was huge.Huge.
