Page 11 of Scoring Position

The ref dropped the puck and they were off. Nico won the faceoff and got the puck to Wright, who took it left and up the ice, and Nico gave chase.

Halfway through the first period, neither team had scored and Nico had spent more than one shift awkwardly aware of Wright on his wing, calling for the puck and getting into the face of whichever opponent was closest.

Nico needed to tune him out or at least turn down the dial on his own annoyance. But he couldn’t, and his frustration built.

Wright tapped his stick on the boards and called out encouragement to Chenner as he skated past. Nico gritted his teeth against his mouth guard. Why did he have to be so loud?

By the time Nico slipped back over the boards for his next shift, his annoyance had shifted into anger.

He took the faceoff in Nashville’s end, snapped the puck from under the nose of the opposing center, and sent the puck straight to Wright. Wright sniped it to Chenner, who brought it in front of the net as Nico and Ryan followed. Then, as if they had rehearsed the move a hundred times, Chenner shot the puck to Nico, who two-touched it up to Wright, who then sniped it into the back of the net.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Wright yelled with his arms in the air. He body-slammed Chenner, and the two yelled as their called-up defensemen joined them.

Longing burned in Nico’s gut—he’d always loved that sense of pride and connection with his team. He’d lost that feeling here, along with his ability to contribute anything decent on the ice. How could he celebrate an assist when he couldn’t even score anymore? And why would Wright want him to join in anyway? He was supposed to be keeping his distance.

He returned to the bench, sure that he was imagining the weight of Wright’s gaze on his back.

The game finished 1–0, so Wright’s goal ended up being the game winner, not that it mattered in the preseason. With the skeleton crew of the usual lineup—Nico, Wright, Greenie, and a couple others—the night’s celebration should be optional.

Or so Nico thought… until Yorkie stepped into the room.

Coach had already finished his postgame lecture full of backhanded compliments, so Yorkie just had to whistle once to get everyone’s attention. “Since this is the last night of the preseason…,” he said.

Nico’s heart sank. It was going to be a mandatory celebration after all.

“Hit the showers and let’s get this show on the road. I want to see everybody at O’Malley’s by eleven.”

Nico averted his gaze before Yorkie could make eye contact. If he kept his head down and got out of the locker room fast enough, he knew he could get away with sneaking out before anyone could corner him with an individual invitation that they wouldn’t really mean and he wouldn’t be able to refuse.

Half an hour later, he pulled into the garage of his modest suburban bungalow and turned off the engine.

Then he just sat for a moment, breathing deeply.

It wouldn’t be like this forever. He was good at hockey. He knew in his bones he was. Last season, before he’d broken his arm failing to avoid a hit, he’d finally felt like he’d hit his stride. He’d had points in five straight games—a personal record at the NHL level.

Now, he was back, and his body was stronger than ever. He could get back to where he’d been. He just needed to shake off the rust.

Just a little more practice and he’d be back playing like he knew he could.

Maybe then he could go out with the guys and feel like he deserved to be there.

RYAN LETthe clock tick over past eleven thirty before he turned to the guy closest to him and asked the question that had been on his mind since the second period. “Kitty. Buddy. Friend.”

Kitty—he was Kitty to everyone on the team except Kirschbaum, who called him Misha—gave him an amused look from behind one of his many shot glasses. “Doc,” he echoed. “New guy. Very annoying. Lots of questions.” He nudged Ryan’s shoulder to show he was teasing. If Ryan hadn’t been a professional hockey player, he’d have gone flying out of the booth. “What?”

It was probably a direct result of the alcohol he’d consumed that he said, “What is Kirschbaum’s deal?”

Kitty said something under his breath in Russian and flagged down the server for more vodka. Which did not surprise Ryan. Nico Kirschbaum seemed like a situation that required booze.

“I’m not gossip about teammate,” Kitty said. “Kolya is good kid.” He narrowed his eyes. “You leave him alone.”

Ryan put his hands up. “I am! I amhonoring the agreement.” The agreement he shouldn’t be talking about. While there was plenty of speculation about Rees’s motivations for bringing Ryan onto the team, Ryan didn’t feel like confirming it.

But he was burning with curiosity.Somethinghad made Kirschbaum look at their little goal celebration like it was the dessert table at a wedding and he’d brought the team nutritionist as his date. Maybe if Ryan could figure that out, he could get Kirschbaum to trust him. He’d had enough struggles in his life to be able to see when someone else needed help. “I just want to know—”

But before he could get any further, Kitty put a hand on his arm. “What agreement?”

Ah… shit. He shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not important.” Kitty was still giving him the gimlet eye. He was going to have to explain if he ever wanted his arm back. “He resents that Rees traded his friend for me, and I get it, so I’m giving him space.”

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