Page 42 of Powder
“We’ve just given up two future first-round draft picks for Jari Lankinen out in Detroit.” His lips were so flat it was a wonder he could force words through them.
“Oh shit,” I whispered, dropping into a chair in front of his desk, sweat running down my spine to give me a chill. “That’s not going to play well in the locker room. Gunny was already edgy just from the rumors. Why the hell would they bring in someone with such a terrible history with the team?”
“The owner insists that the son should not suffer for the sins of the father,” he said as he sat down with a huff. That was true but still… “He’s got talent, but he’s having trouble settling on any team he’s played on, and to be honest, we need his speed on the second line. We’ll be moving guys around to accommodate him. He’ll be here tonight and will play tomorrow against Carolina. Tell the team. Inform them that we donotwant any bullshit over this. What happened to Rowe in the past is just that. In the past. This is now and we need his talent. The first time I hear any shit from anyone, and that includes Noah, I will bench their asses. We are not going to allow this to derail us.”
Super. This should be a fun talk. “Okay, Coach, I’ll pass that along.” I rose, nodded, and exited his office with the weight of a boulder on my shoulders. Pulling up short outside the locker room, I took a hefty breath, walked in, and felt twenty-four sets of eyes on me. “Guys, settle down. I’ve got some news to pass along.”
It was not a fun talk. The mood of the room shifted from upbeat to barely suppressed anger in the space of two minutes after I made the announcement. Ten Rowe and his husband were beloved and admired alumni of this team, so I got the mutters of disapproval from the men. Not only did they have to look at the offspring of someone who had nearly ended a brilliant career, they had to accept line changes because of him. Gunny, amazingly enough, was quiet even when the others werebitching. I’d pull him aside later. For now, I let the initial bad feelings flow before I held up my hands.
“Okay, hey, okay, I get it. That name leaves a bad taste on a lot of tongues in this town. I know Tennant and Jared. I like them both. I like their kids and their charities. I get it. Aarni was a cheap shot artist. Lots of old-time players were. Shit, some today are still that way, but as Coach said that was then and this is now. Jari is not his father. He’s got talent and he’s our new teammate. If you don’t like it then talk to the owner, your union rep, or the GM. Coach and me are just the messengers so while we get it and will gladly listen to your complaints, we can’t do jack shit about it. So, hit the showers, go home, and bring your game faces to the ice tomorrow morning for skate.”
I turned and made for my locker, eager to shower, go home, and work out exactly what the hell I was going to say to Lankinen when he showed his face at the barn tomorrow morning. It was going to be interesting to say the least.
Fiddlingaround in the shower was a great way to avoid the team and the press. The media had leaped onto the Lankinen story like hungry hyenas finding a wounded gazelle. Also, I needed time to think about what to say to Gunny to ease his upset. I knew that his dads, especially Stan, were incredibly close to the Rowe-Madsens. Stan and Ten were like brothers. I also knew that to this day Tennant still suffered headaches from the brain injury brought about by Aarni. This whole situation sucked. What the GM was thinking escaped me.
I lathered my beard as I tried to think of what could have possessed our general manager to make such a trade. Surely the guy had to know this was going to upset the apple cart. Itpissed me off a little because our locker room had been a place of camaraderie and high spirits. Now we’d have to tiptoe around Jari Lankinen and Gunny as they worked that shit out, as well as spend valuable time soothing hurt feelings about line changes. And I got it. I really did. Switching players on lines that were gelling like our four was wrong. Especially mid-season when we were rolling along like the steam locomotives on our sweaters. I sucked in a breath and then stuck my face under the hot water. I disliked talking bad about management, but whoever had thought this move up needed their fucking heads examined.
Looking down at my wrinkled hands I knew I had to exit the showers with a towel round my waist and my little shower bag of soap, shampoo, and beard wash. Slippery wet feet squeaks from my Crocs filled the locker room which was now empty. Or mostly so. Gunny was waiting for me, his curls still damp from his shower, his eyes sharp as a hawk. Great.
“You said it was clickbait,” he opened with before I even made it to my locker.
“I thought it might be. Hoped it might be,” I admitted, opening my locker to expose my street clothes hanging inside. I looked over my shoulder at him sitting in front of his locker, dressed and ready to roll yet still here. With a sigh I turned to face him, water dripping from my beard to trickle down the thick hair on my chest. “Gunny, I am sorry. I assumed no one in their right minds would bring that kid here. He’s going to have one hell of a hard time and that sucks for him. You guys being upset sucks for you. This is out of my hands. I wish I could ease the stink of this decision but I’m just a grunt who hits people for a living.”
Whatever the future held for us, and my team, it would work out because I had Tian in my life. A man could face any storm with the person he loved beside him.
Epilogue
TIAN
Two months later
Airports usedto feel like stopgaps, as if I was always halfway between where I’d been and where I was going. But walking through arrivals in Harrisburg and spotting Jack leaning against the wall in his Railers cap, I didn’t feel halfway anymore. I felt like I’d come home.
He caught my eye instantly, as he always did, and that grin—God, that grin—cut through the crowd. He pushed away from the wall, weaving through families and suits and a kid dragging a stuffed penguin by its flipper, until he was right in front of me. He cut through the crowd as if I was the only person in the terminal. Which, to me, he was. I was surprised he wasn’t surrounded by fans and photographers, given how the Railers were the favorites for the Stanley Cup this year. The season may well have ended, but the playoffs started in two days, and despite some issues since the Olympics, it was the Railers everyone looked to.
“Welcome home,” he murmured, pulling me into his chest.
I laughed into the hug, the scent of cedar detergent and something uniquely Jack hitting me full force. “Thought I was just visiting.”
“You’re wearing my hoodie. That makes you an official Harrisburg fan.”
I glanced down at the worn Railers sweatshirt I’d stolen from his room on my last visit. I hadn’t even realized I’d worn it for the flight. Typical.
“Guess I am then.”
“Welcome back,” he said, pulling me into another hug so solid I nearly forgot the suitcase banging against my shin.
“My Jack,” I mumbled into his chest. “Missed you.”
“Missed you more.” He kissed me right there, in front of families, businessmen, the bored TSA officer pretending not to watch. I kissed him back, because why the hell wouldn’t I?
We drove straight to his place, the familiar sprawl of Pennsylvania rolling by the windows. Harrisburg wasn’t Colorado. It wasn’t the Alps or the X Games or the Olympic Village. It was brick houses and leafy streets, and a hockey arena that still lit up like a beacon on game nights. And it was where Jack lived. That was enough.
Inside his condo—our condo—everything was the same, and the second Jack dropped my bag and tugged me into the living room, it felt warm. Home.
Us.
“Your mom and dad are in the hotel already. I booked us into the same one.”
