Page 92 of Goalie Interference

Cash set it down. “This is really interesting. Can I play it when you’re done? I’m curious how it’s going to sound.”

I checked his expression, but he was sincere. I knew my work was better than a lot of instruments I’d seen, and I didn’t need Cash to validate what I was doing. But damn, did it feel good.

We talked more about guitars—mine, Diane’s, and the types Cash preferred in different situations. We had lunch together before Cash took an Uber to the studio to get back to work.

I was earning Cash’s respect, and I could have done it before. The reason I had done it now was due to the hockey player who saw something in me when other people didn’t.

But on the way home, a talking head on the radio mentioned the trade deadline coming up for hockey and questioned whether the Aces would make any moves. My good mood plummeted. What was I going to do if Remy was traded? Or when the season was over and he was gone?

I sucked at casual.

Remy

Watching my country beat the favored Americans in the final was a thrill. But the next day, the guys who’d traveled for the break showed up again in the locker room, bringing back worries about the trade deadline.

Lappy had gone home to visit his family on his time off, but it didn’t look like it had done much for him. He was thin and jumpy and speaking less than ever. Was he worried about being traded too?

It was a fact of life for hockey players. Normally I stressed less, since I didn’t put down the roots the other guys did. My goal was to be someplace I got to play as much as possible. But now staying in Austin was important to me, even though I was getting hardly any starts. It wasn’t hockey I was worried about.

At the end of that first practice, I took the time to ask Lappy how things had been in Quebec.

He lowered his brows. “Why?”

“Small talk.” I wasn’t going to tell him that management hoped I was mentoring him, without him knowing.

“Small? Petit?”

“Being polite.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You want me go, no?”

What the hell?

“You play more. You picture with dogs to…ah…people watch. Like you.”

So much for trying.“I did the photo shoot to get homes and money for the animals. That’s all.” Did he understand all that? Hell if I knew, but if he was getting paranoid that I was trying to take over for him, anything I said to help would just make him do the opposite.

Before our first game, I was called in to talk to the coaches after the workout. Not a great sign.

Coach Mack was there, as well as Coach Russo. And of course, Otts. I didn’t think they’d all want to talk to me if I was being traded, but I couldn’t see a reason why they’d do this if they were definitely keeping me either.

“Coach Trent told us you’ve been monitoring Laplante. What do you think?”

Mack was focused intently on me, while Otts was staring over my head. Had he said I was responsible for the kid? Did I tell them what I really thought, or what they wanted to hear? I pictured Lappy as I’d left him in the locker room, pale, thin and cuticles raw.

“I think he’s feeling a lot of pressure, and it’s getting to him.” My career was ending but Lappy had a bright future if no one, including Lappy, fucked it up.

“Why do you say that?”

“He’s lost a lot of weight. He’s biting his nails till his cuticles are bleeding. He knows you were hoping for more from him andhe’s gotta be feeling it. But since his English still isn’t the best, it’s hard to talk about it with him.”

He had been suspicious of me after he commented on my tattoo and we talked about superstitions. I didn’t judge him or anyone else if they wanted to follow particular routines, but I was weird for a goalie, by not being weird about it.

“You think we should send him down?” Mack asked.

“That’s not my call.”

“It would give you more starts,” Russo added.

---