Page 83 of Offside Attraction

He laughed and set his phone back in the cupholder. By the time they left the city limits, the van interior transformed into a makeshift convenience store, the guys breaking out snacks like they'd been starved for Red #7. Bags of gummy bears, chips, and cans of soda were passed around. Steele, true to form, had a protein shake and a bag of almonds. He made sure to hand out judgemental looks like religious pamphlets.

Someone connected their phone to the Bluetooth, and soon enough, the van was pulsing with an early 2000s playlist. He didn’t know he needed every lyric to “Work It” by Missy Elliott dragged from his brain, but there it was.

They pulled into the hotel parking lot, and the team unloaded, eager to check in and rest up for a few hours before round one in the tourney. Jordan grabbed his bag from the luggage compartment and followed the line of guys through the sliding doors and up to the front desk.

Steele checked in for them, then turned and handed Jordan his key. “I feel honoured.”

Jordan took the card. “I need your ugly mug to keep me on the straight and narrow."

Steele snorted. "I don't need to be in the room to know what you're up to, bud."

They left the others and headed to the fifth floor. Jordan tossed his bag in front of the bed and used the washroom, then dropped onto the mattress and stretched out.

“Thanks for driving.” Steele plugged in his phone charger.

“No worries, bud.” He stacked another pillow behind his back. “Hey, you doing okay?”

Steele nodded. “I’m heading out to Toronto for Christmas. It’ll be good to see the fam.”

Jordan gave him a look. “You’re not missing Christmas dinner, though.”

He laughed. “Nope. I leave on the twenty-first.”

“Good. Glad I don’t have to cut your ass.” Steele had a bit of a community at the shop where he worked, but Jordan wasn’t sure he’d really put down roots. He’d come to Calgary with a girl he’d been dating, and when that hadn’t worked out, he’d been waiting for the day Steele told him he was heading back east. He didn’t want to lose him. He was a good guy and an even better winger.

They relaxed in silence until four o’clock. Steele looked up from the floor where he’d been arranging his gear. "I'm gonna grab something to eat. You coming?"

Jordan glanced up from his phone and spotted two socks draped over the chair, one purple and one green. “Do they always have to be those colours?”

Steele shook his head. “Nope. Just mismatched.”

Jordan sat and threw his legs off the bed. “Ever missed a game?”

“Yep. And regretted it.”

Jordan grabbed his wallet, and they headed down to the lobby. He didn’t have an obvious superstition like many of the other guys, but he did have a pregame ritual. He put his skates on first because when he was first going pro, he’d accidentally created a Pavlovian response. Skates equaled pre-game dump. It was annoying to take off his gear. Skates, toilet, then gear. Worked every time.

They found a restaurant nearby and ordered spaghetti. They didn't have a lot of time and easy carbs were the best thing before a game. By the time they got back to the lobby, Nate and Mike were already sitting on the couch.

Nate held up a hand. “You two need to hurry the hell up.”

Steele flipped him off on the way to the elevator.

They didn't have far to drive to get to the rink, and by the time they pulled into the parking lot, the chatter had started to die down. Jordan grabbed his gear from the back and followed the rest of the team inside the building.

In the locker room, their laughter and easy conversation gave way to the sounds of bags being unzipped and sticks clattering against the benches. Everyone had an earbud in, listening to whatever got their blood flowing.

Jordan followed his ritual to a T, and just as he pulled on his jersey over his pads, Mike clapped his hands together.

"Alright, boys, let's focus up." He stepped into the centre of the room. Jordan loved when he came along to games if only so he didn’t have to do the pep talk.

When they were mostly circled up, Mike continued, "We've got Puck Me from Stirling, and while I’ve heard they’ve had some struggles with flow this season, don’t for a second underestimate their centre . . .”

Mike dove into specific strategies and pulled out a whiteboard. Jordan looked around the room. His time in the NHL might have been cut short, but he wouldn’t trade playing Elite League for anything. How lucky was he that in his thirties he could still get out on the ice and compete? It wasn’t a million dollar paycheck, but that couple thousand bucks at the end of the season felt just as good as a contract celly.

Mike continued, outlining their strategy for the first period. Jordan tried to focus on his words, but his thoughts kept drifting. The words “Rhonda’s coming” played on ticker tape on repeat in his head, and his skin buzzed like he’d just chugged Pre-Workout.

They huddled and cheered, then walked out to the bench. Jordan took a few laps around their side of the ice, but that was it. He didn’t like doing an extensive warm up before the whistle blew.

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