Page 91 of Waiting Game

Me: See you at 12:30. I GTG

KillerCatQueen7: :)

Once I switch screens, I can’t help but feel a little empty inside.

As much of an improvement as this is, the situation still sucks.

And it’s only exacerbated when Gracie tells me to come up to their apartment later to collect the pierogi she made and put in the freezer for me last night.

Fuck.

KERRIGAN: WORTHY OF THE NEW YORK STARS?

BY MACK FINNEGAN

With Korhonen fitting in so perfectly in the New York Stars’ first line, how long should Gracie Bukowski be patient with Ruben Kerrigan and his hefty salary?

After yet another disappointing performance where he barely held it together against Toronto, he has now beenpushed to the 3rd line, a clear demotion for the player who used to raise hell with Lewis and Donnghal in their honeymoon season last year.

Crossing the Hudson has done magic for Cole Korhonen, tallying five points in three preseason games and bringing new energy to the Stars’ offense.

Surely the Stars’ GM is shopping around to clear up some cap room? Maybe a change of scenery is what Kerrigan needs to get inspired again.

The Stars could use help in defense and they also need a good backup to Greco with Davies being another headache for the rookie GM.

CHAPTER 17

COLE

Nothing Else Matters - Metallica

I almost flyinto the kitchen when Liam punches me in the shoulder and Lewis decides to wade in by tripping me up.

“You’re jealous that I got moreinchesthan you,” I crow at them, flipping them both the bird as I right myself.

Gagné chuckles. “You got moresomethingthan them. Not sure it’s inches though.”

I wink at him. “I’ll have to flash you the next time we’re in the showers and you can be the independent adjudicator.”

He snorts then rubs his nose—not sure when the fucker broke it, but he’s had a bandage on the bridge for the last day or so.

Grinning as they scoff all the way to their cubbies after I read the PSN article aloud on how fucking awesome I am, I head into the kitchen without their interference and blink when I see Kerrigan sitting to the side, his shoulders rounded and his back hunched.

In front of him, there’s the same paper I was reading and a protein shake, but that doesn’t hold my interest—it’s how he’s swiping at his eyes that does.

I don’t know the man but I doubt PSN’s cutting diatribe is why he’s crying—we’ve all been annihilated in the press at some point and I was only joking about being awesome.

Contentment from playing with my people has benefited me so far, but lucky runs don't last forever. You have to be an idiot to forget that.

I head to the fridge to snag some fruit and, with my back to him, ask, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” is his gruff response.

“I’m sorry about that article.”

“Finnegan knows how to hit a nerve,” Kerrigan agrees before he chokes out a laugh. “Like I give a fuck if I’m traded or not.”

There are hoots in the locker room as well as the ‘slap’ sound from a towel being snapped, but I ignore the chaos as I grab an orange and start peeling it. “You really don’t care?”

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