Page 39 of In It to Win It

“Wow. The Wynn family are like royalty.”

“So I’ve heard.”

The music is loud and catchy, and I watch the players shoot the puck at the net in fast, hard shots. JP pauses near the center line to talk to one of the Condors players. Neither of them crosses the line, but they prop their arms on their sticks for a moment while they chat. I check the Condors player’s number and yeah, it’s Harrison Wynn. It takes me a minute to figure out the relationship because that family’s a little odd, but Harrison is my friend Everly’s brother, which means he’s Théo and JP’s uncle. I seem to recall that he usually plays for the Condors’ farm team in Pasadena, but I guess during training camp they all get a chance to play so the coaches can have a look at them.

What does it feel like for JP, playing against the team his grandfather owns, which his brother manages, and against another family member? It must be weird. On the other hand, he’s a professional, so he probably just focuses on what he needs to.

JP laughs and the two men part, skating off in opposite directions.

The horn sounds to end the warm-up and JP does a weird thing—sprints from one side of the ice to the other, then back, as fast as he can, hopping off the ice as he arrives at the gate and disappearing down the tunnel.

“Glad you like hockey,” Anthony says. “Could’ve been a dud date if you didn’t.”

I smile. “I love hockey. This is great.” I munch on some popcorn. “Did you ever play?”

“Yeah, I did. Thanks to Bob Wynn and Wayne Gretzky, hockey started to get more popular here in the eighties and nineties. I was one of the kids who wanted to be like them. I was an okay player, but I sure wasn’t ever going to make it my career.”

“So you understand the game. You can explain things to me.” I give him a wrinkled-nose smile. “I like the game, but I have to admit I don’t know everything about it.”

“Sure.” He clearly likes this. Score a point for me for stroking his ego.

And he does answer my questions, when I don’t understand an icing call, or when the Eagles get a penalty shot because one of the Condors interfered with JP on a breakaway.

“Why isn’t it just a hooking penalty?” I ask.

“Because he had a breakaway and had a clear scoring chance.”

I nod, tensing as JP prepares to take the penalty shot, pausing bent over to catch his breath. Then he strides forward, picking up the puck at center ice. My eyes go wide, watching as he skates in on Bergström, our goalie. He curves to his right, then crosses in front of the net with the puck. Bergström goes down in the splits, trying to block the net with his legs, but JP stops abruptly, spins around, and shoots the puck into the top of the net.

“Holy shit!” I jump up, clapping, smiling broadly. “He scored!”

Anthony tugs at the sleeve of my Condors sweatshirt. “Hey, uh . . . that was the other team.”

I subside into my seat, my face going hot. People are looking at me like I’m an idiot. “Right,” I mumble, picking up my beer from the drink holder and gulping some down. “It’s just . . . I know him . . .”

Anthony chuckles, shaking his head. “Okay. But damn, they’re up one–nothing, now.”

The first period comes to an end.

“Still two more to go!” I say cheerfully, to make up for cheering for the wrong team. “Lots of time! And anyway, it’s just an exhibition game.”

“Let’s go up and get another drink.”

The Condors end up losing, three–two. JP has no idea that I’m there, but it’s like he’s showing off for me, scoring another goal and assisting on the third. I’m reluctantly impressed.

And he doesn’t even get in a fight.

9

JP

“I’m not goingto this yoga class by myself.” I frown at Everly. We’re sitting on a patio having a Friday happy-hour drink.

“What do you mean?I’mgoing.”

“I mean, I don’t want to be the only guy there.”

She laughs. “Why not? Seems like good odds to get lucky.”

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