Page 95 of Well Played

The Iceman skates over. “Drop it, boys. Get to the showers and have some breakfast.”

Madman cackles. “Waffles and bacon, Volo?”

“Nah, I asked for herring.”

Ax rests his arm against the rail. “Showing your age today, Sourpuss. You took some pretty hard hits last night.”

I blow it off with a shrug. “That’s the game. I’m an enforcer, so I expect the rough stuff.”

His face twists into a grimace. During his playing days, he’d been on the receiving end of my hits. One of them broke his neck and it ended his career. He disappeared for a while but put hislife back together and came back to hockey. When the team CEO announced Ax was the new coach, I thought about asking for a trade, but so far we rub along okay. At least until this morning.

His face is a mixture of serious and sympathetic. “Look, Frank, stop trying to be the tough guy. Your knee has been a problem all season. You need treatment for all that pain.”

Guess I’m not hiding it as well as I thought. I’m on my feet before I know it, jaw clenched. “Hank has been taking care of me.”

“Hank’s not an orthopedic specialist.” He bites off the words and they crack like peanut brittle.

My thoughts swing wildly and settle firmly on disaster. “Are you pulling me? Putting me on IR?”

“No, I just want you to get checked out, then work with our new PT.” He motions to someone standing in the doorway that leads down to the locker room.

My eyes swivel, then blink. I’m sure the figure is female. In fact, if I was in the market for a date, she might tick all my boxes. Medium tall, athletic body. Curly brown shoulder-length hair, pale finely grained skin. An oval face graced with a long narrow nose, a wide mouth with thinnish natural rose lips, and the hint of straight white teeth.

She holds out a long-fingered hand with unpolished, blunt-cut nails. Her voice is deep and melodic. “Maya Pullman. And I guess you’re Frank Sauer.”

I look her up and down, noting the professional gray pantsuit, cream blouse, and flat black ankle boots, before I briefly touch my fingers to hers. Then I pull back like I’d touched a hot burner. The air smells like fried wires.

Flames roar from the soles of my feet to the top of my head. Mom’s early morning harangue floods back. The effort to keep my mouth shut increases the headache that pings at my temples.No. No way. Not going to happen. Just walk away, little girl. You’re not getting your hands on me.

Ax and Maya stare at me, eyes full of question marks. “Where’s Hank?” I choke out. “He’s always been my guy.”

“Gone,” Ax says, voice terse.

Shock knocks me back onto the bench. Hank is my wizard; the alchemist who gives me the drugs I need to keep going. This Maya woman looks like Princess Slap Your Hand. She won’t give me the treatments to stay on the ice, doing my job.

My mouth opens, closes, opens again. “Better job? More pay? He was a genius. You should have done everything to keep him.”

Now Ax is glaring like a devil has taken up residence in his eyeballs. “Can’t discuss it, but he’s had a change of circumstances.”

“What does that mean? He’s gone back to Wyoming to take care of his elderly parents? A goddamn Hallmark holiday movie?”

The muscles around Ax’s eyes tighten, his lips almost disappear. “Don’t you watch the news?”

The woman’s sharp intake of breath and rapidly blinking eyes mean she’s made a connection. My head shakes back and forth bewildered. Then I remember a news story a few days ago, reporting the arrest of some hockey team’s staffer for drug dealing. I hadn’t paid attention. Nothing to do with us.

Was it Hank? The guy was a goddamn miracle worker—as a drug dealer. And I’m one of his junkies. The bleakness of my future flashes by. First thought, maybe one of the guys has a connection. Then I realize that will totally tank whatever career I have left. #!$*&*#

Like a flash, a smile replaces Ax’s Satan face. “Maya, here, really is brilliant. All the skills, sterling recommendations from her last job. Very familiar with hockey. You’ll be a new man before the end of the season, without drugs.”

The last two words toll like a death knell. “Without drugs.” I see my career spool away like water swirling down a drain. I want to sink to my knees, beat my chest, howl.

Instead, I take a deep breath, get to my feet, and turn away. I push past Ms. Pullman and stalk off to the dressing room. Another nail pounds into my heart when she says, “Well, Ax, I wish you’d warned me he’s an asshole.”

But I deserve it.

2

Hockey players wear numbers because you can’t always identify the body with dental records.

---