Page 34 of Playing to Win

“Come out with us after the next game,” Faith suggested. “And tell us about this guy. He must be something special if you’re going out with him.”

A throat clearing made us aware that we weren’t alone. Ducky had empty beer cans in his hands, with Braydon similarly laden behind him. Braydon’s cheeks were flushed as he set the cans on the counter, and I could feel mine the same.

All eyes were on us, but Braydon looked from me to the others. He raised his eyebrows as if that would tell me something, but I had no idea what. He shrugged, then crossed to me, bracketing my face with his hands, before dropping a kiss on my lips.

A quick kiss should have sold it, but Braydon didn’t take any chances. He held the kiss, stealing my breath. I pressed closer, until he broke away and pulled me into his side.

“I guess he is that special.” Amusement colored Faith’s voice. “And you have a lot of explaining to do after the next game.”

* * *

Braydon

The second practiceafter dinner at Cooper’s was different. My name was now on the cubby in the locker room at the practice facility. I was tempted to take a photo, but that would be too much, right? I shouldn’t act like a fanboy. But Mom and Dad would get a kick out of it.

“Mitch!”

I turned to Petrov, who’d stripped down beside me. Petey obviously had no issues with nudity. The two goalie cubbies were side by side, and a little wider than the others, since our gear was bigger. He was a couple of inches taller than me, but leaner. He’d been drafted from Russia and still spoke with a heavy accent, but I couldn’t even speak reasonable Spanish, so I was impressed by how well he communicated.

“You will be backup for the playoffs. I am playing well, but accidents happen.”

It wasn’t terrible that I had imagined having to take over during a playoff game, was it? I didn’t wish any harm on Petey.

“Next season, who knows? Now, you have work, but I will help.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“We have good coach, but you will listen to me.”

I nodded, because what else was I going to do? Big naked Russian beside me with a serious expression on his face. I’d worked with Coach Salo already and I’d been doing everything he asked. I appreciated that he didn’t try to change my style, but rather work with that style to improve my play.

I wasn’t sure Petey would be the same. He played a little different, staying in his crease more than I did. I was more aggressive, skating out to move the puck to my teammates. I could try to stay back like him, but it would be an adjustment. What if Coach Salo didn’t want that? My foot started to jiggle as I imagined that scenario—the two men arguing over how I should play. I took a long breath. Good thing this wasn’t a game because my head wasn’t focused the way it should be.

At practice, Coach Salo spent his time between Petrov and me and we worked hard on the areas I was weaker in. Since I wasn’t starting, he spent fifteen minutes faking shots at me in net until I stopped dropping to the ice before he actually shot the puck. I was tired by the time practice ended. I waited till Petey had left the ice to speak to Coach Salo.

“Any problems with Petey?”

I’d taken off my helmet, and my hair was matted to my head. I ran a hand through it, loosening the strands. “He, uh, offered to help, but he plays differently than I do.”

Coach’s eyes narrowed. “There’s still a lot you can learn from him.”

I nodded. “I was just afraid he might tell me something different than you.”

He frowned. “I’m the goalie coach, so you listen to him, but do what I say.”

“Yes, Coach.”

He waved me off, and I skated to the exit with no real clarification there.

* * *

After practice,Ducky and Crash invited me to sit with them at the team lunch. I didn’t talk much, but listened, even when they were just shooting the shit. Most of the team got along. They warned me that Gerber was kind of an asshole, but every team had one, right?

I did my usual game-day routine after practice and was back at the rink in time to dress and warm up. Petrov was clearly annoyed they’d made him sit out a game, and swore he’d been fit to play. He glared at poor Royster in warm-ups, and Royster kept well away from the goal. Petey started, and I watched the game with a clipboard, making notes of shots and face-offs for the coach. Pretty sure they had guys already doing those stat things up in a box somewhere and analyzing them better than I could, but it kept me focused, and gave me more information about how my teammates played.

I was pulling off my jersey, clean as when I’d put it on, when Petrov, still wearing full gear except for his helmet, spoke to me in a quiet voice. At first, I thought he was going to offer coaching advice—maybe on how to warm the bench because that’s all I’d done. But it was worse.

“My agent wishes to speak with you.”

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