Page 7 of Love of the Game
“Other way around, actually. He came in looking for a drink and a…” I waved my hand. “Ride.”
Mac squeezed his eyes shut and pinched his nose. “Jonny, you’re supposed to be theresponsibleone of you nutballs.”
“I didn’t do anything! We talked. Played pool. He went back to… well, his hotel, I suppose.”
“And? Because there’s a point to this long story of yours. There always is.”
It wasn’t that long of a story, I didn’t think, but I held up my hands to placate Mac. “Okay, okay. Point is, he didn’t know who I was. Still doesn’t know.”
“Oh,” Mac said, then paused, probably because the whole issue behind my words sank in. “Oh. Huh.”
“I know I’m asking a lot in this situation and maybe my way isn’t the most orthodox for integrating a player, but do you trust me?”
He paced a small circle in the locker room and rubbed his chin. “I have no idea how your brain works, Jonny. Kid’s going to be super pissed at you. But I’ll let you handle it.” He stopped, then pinned me with a stare. “For now.”
“Two games,” I said. “Give me two games to get him into the team.”
He held up two fingers. “Better work, Jonny boy.”
I nodded and kept my mouth closed.
Mac waved me away. “Go do your thing.”
I spun and quickly made for one of the bikes in the fitness room. Helped get my legs going. I’d turn thirty on January 5—not old yet, but age was starting to catch up with me. By the time I finished and returned to the locker room, the other guys were filtering in. Clancy, our goalie, was in his quiet zone, earbuds in as he got his mountain of gear on. Hardy and Lou, though, were their normal gregarious selves. “So we’re getting Drake Williams, huh? Not had a great year so far.”
“Happens sometimes,” I said. “It’ll be fine. He’s got good wheels and hands, just has had some bad luck. We can get him back on his feet. We’re here to help the big club, you know?”
There was a cough at the doorway, and there stood Drake in his base layer, with Hank White, our equipment manager. “Guys, this is Drake Williams. Drake, your stall is over there, next to the captain, Jonny Eriksson.”
Drake’s eyes narrowed when that fiery gaze met mine,and his jaw tensed, but that was the only tell that he was fuming at me. “Great,” he said.
Hank set down Drake’s hockey bag on the floor next to me. “The Lions sent down the specs on your gear, so I got a bunch of things ready for you, but holler if you need anything in particular.”
His shoulders relaxed a bit. “Thanks—Hank, right?”
Hank nodded, patted Drake on the back, and left him to us.
Drake sat down with a huff onto the bench next to me. His eyes cut my way, still full of fire. “Jonny, huh? So you’re the captain?”
“I am.” I beamed at him. “Welcome to the Greensburg Otters.”
He unzipped his duffle and started pulling out his protective gear. “Not just a bar owner then.”
Hardy whistled at that just as Lou said, “Uh oh.”
Me? I laughed. Couldn’t help it. Then I smiled at Drake. “Oh, I’m that, too.” Then I added, “I think we’re going to call you Dragon. You’rereallynot a Duck. No idea what those guys were thinking when they named you that.” I shook my head. “Not a good nickname.”
Drake paused, jock in hand, and stared at me.
“You don’t mind Dragon, do you?”
His brow was full of creases. Some from frustration, but the confusion there had taken the edge off that. “No.”
“Oh good, that’s settled then!” I strapped my shin and knee guards on. Followed those with my socks, standing to clip those into the garters.
“It’s two syllables,” Hardy said.
“So’s your mom,” Lou replied, and Hardy smacked him.
