Page 2 of King

It’s deserved too, as he’s hands down the best player in the league. The fact I was considered good enough to be on his line—his first line of defense—made the trade all that more surreal.

Now I’m a Pittsburgh resident, making great new friends within the walls of the arena and I even own my first abode. The Porsche was a ridiculous indulgence—I just couldn’t help myself. Besides, it feels like I’ve truly made it in the big leagues now and it came from a lot of hard work and perseverance.

The drive to the arena through North Shore, where a lot of the players live, takes about ten minutes at this midmorning hour. I’m a bit early in the locker room and only a handful of the guys have arrived, so I kill some time shooting the shit.

This team is an interesting mix, a collective pool of second-chance stories built after a plane crash that killed the original Titans players and staff over a year and a half ago. Today’s Titans are men called up from the minors, while others came out of retirement or are guys who were traded by their teams because room had to be made for better players.

The plane crash that devastated the Titans will always be a painful memory, but it also forged an unbreakable bond between those who remained and those who joined in the aftermath. The crash took so much, but it also gave them a new purpose. They’ve rebuilt, stronger and more determined than ever.

Somehow, it has all worked out and just a season and a half in, the Pittsburgh Titans made the playoffs last year. It was my third year with the Jam and while we had the talent to go places, we didn’t make the playoffs. I watched the games and cheered for this ragtag bunch who were starting to make a name for themselves through sheer grit and a desire to prove everyone wrong. I truly felt awful when their run came to an end and just a few months later, I found myself wearing the purple and silver jersey.

I felt like I’d been given a gift with this trade and I don’t intend to waste it.

“Your Highness,” I hear from across the locker room and see Foster walking toward me, his gear bag slung over his shoulders. He’s taken to calling me that rather than King, and I let him have his small amusements.

My eyes roam over him critically, looking for any signs of distress. The man’s been through the ringer the past few months because of his crazy ex-wife, Sandra. He returned from our away game in Toronto to find out she’d tried to kidnap their daughter, Bowie Jane, of whom she’d lost custody over the summer. Foster’s girlfriend, Mazzy, wasn’t having any of that though and although she took a punch to the face from Sandra, she managed to keep Bowie Jane safe.

Since then, he’s been sticking close to home. Other than during last night’s game against the Eagles, I haven’t been able to really talk to him past getting the basic details.

He gives me an easy smile… a promising sign.

“All good?” I ask as he drops his bag onto the bench. His locker is two down from mine.

“Yeah,” he sighs, brushing a hand through his hair. “Bowie Jane is fine, Mazzy is the most perfect woman in the world and Sandra is blowing in the wind.”

“Went back to Singapore?” I guess. She’d moved there with a boyfriend and had made a trip back to try to snag Bowie Jane.

“I’m guessing she’s afraid of the attempted kidnapping charges I want to press against her,” he says with a dry laugh.

My eyebrows rise high. “Are they going to charge her with that?”

Foster’s lips press flat as he shakes his head. “No. It would be a hard case to prove, since she really didn’t get Bowie Jane out of the house.”

“Because Mazzy stopped her,” I point out.

“True, but honestly, I’m okay with the fact she’s gone from the country and we can use this little stunt against her to get full and permanent custody.”

I grin at my buddy, who I’m happy as hell for. “You just saidwe.”

His frown speaks to the level of perplexity. “Huh?”

“You saidwe, as in you and Mazzy can get full custody.”

“Slip of the tongue,” he corrects, but then grins at me. “But yeah… she’s in this with me.”

“I’m glad, man.” I clap a hand on his shoulder. “I know things have been crazy but you got the girl and the cute little kid on top of that.”

“I’m well aware of how blessed I am,” Foster murmurs, a gentle smile on his face as his thoughts are clearly on his two girls.

“What’s up, boneheads?”

Foster and I turn to see Rafferty Abrams approaching us. He’s a defenseman, same as me, and a newcomer to the team, although he plays on the third line. Foster and I have been hanging out a lot with him, as well as Atlas Karolak and North Paquette. I suppose it’s only natural for us to band together since we’re the new guys on the team.

Well, except for Penn. He hasn’t bonded with anyone and that doesn’t appear to be changing anytime soon. Five weeks into the regular season and he’s still as reclusive as ever when he steps foot outside the arena.

And in the arena, he’s focused solely on hockey and doesn’t interact on a personal level with anyone. Want to talk about how to extend play in a tight checking environment, he’ll talk until he’s blue in the face. Ask him to join you for a beer after a game and he shuts down cold. No one can figure the dude out, but I guess it doesn’t really matter. He’s putting up stellar numbers and is so far ahead in the points right now, I doubt anyone will catch him, barring a season-ending injury, if he keeps up at this pace.

I tap my knuckles on the wooden bench so as not to jinx the team.

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