Page 78 of Playoff
It wasn’t like I couldn’t find a woman to enjoy in bed—I played on the first line of a professional hockey team in a town that was crazy about hockey. Now that people were used to my shorter hair and scruff instead of the beard, I was recognized. There were the typical jersey chasers and other women who’d be happy to spend time with me.
Not taking up those offers was definitely a sign that I was too invested. Cold turkey was the way to go—maybe I couldn’t avoid get-togethers with the team just because Jess might be there, but I could stay away from her. Stop looking for messages from her. And definitely keep all body parts out of her.
I was perilously close to moping, but blamed part of that on the fact that tomorrow night LA was in town. I wasn’t looking forward to playing my former teammates. Fucking Weasel and the fucking bet. The Blaze were the better team on paper so we should beat them, but any team could win on any night. I wanted to show Weasel that his plan had backfired. I wanted him to regret it.
Everyone was at morning skate beforehand. There weren’t many games left before the playoffs began, and we were holding on to a wild-card spot by our fingernails. Maybe that was why this team seemed closer, tighter than the previous teams I’d been on.
In the locker room after, Cooper stood at the edge of the Blaze logo and whistled. Every head turned his way.
“This is a big game tonight. Not sure you all know, but Weasel set up the illegal stick call on his own teammate, Alek. That ended up bringing Alek here, so we’re grateful to the little asshole.”
Some laughs from around the room. I kept my eyes on Cooper, not wanting to see who was staring at me and what expression they had on their face.
“So tonight, let’s make sure Weasel feels our gratitude. Against the boards. Frequently. We have to win because we need the points to qualify for the playoffs, but Alek wants to show these fuckers how badly they fucked up. I’ve got something for whoever scores the game winner, or for Petey if he shuts LA out. Any questions?”
Cheers and the sound of sticks slapping the floor filled the room. I dropped my head to stare at the floor. Damn, this team. They bought into all the hype, the dream of what a team should be. I’d never been with a group like this.
Using my first name to help JJ? That, I got. JJ had been playing here for five years, so of course the team wanted to help him. But I was a rental, just here to finish up the season. They didn’t need to do this for me.
I cleared my throat as the noise settled and stood up. “I’ll be sure to show my gratitude to anyone who makes Weasel miserable.” More cheers. And damn it, I’d always written off that team is a family shit. They were going to make me believe.
The team was wound up as we hit the ice for the game. The crowd was wound up as well. Not many LA fans showed up in Toronto, and the cheer when my name was announced—the team announcers had started calling me Alek and leaving off the last name—was a stark contrast to the reception Denbrowski normally got.
I lined up for the puck drop. Marty, my former captain, was across from me.
“Denny.” He up-nodded.
I wasn’t angry with him. He wasn’t the best captain ever, but he didn’t hurt anyone. I was pissed at Weasel though. LA might have forgiven him, but I hadn’t. And now, with the Blaze supporting me, I was looking forward to making him sorry for what he’d done.
The puck dropped. Deek won the draw and sent the puck my way. I muscled past Marty and found my current captain, Cooper, close behind me. Weasel wasn’t on the first lines, so there were no distractions to my focus.
Marty was back in my face, so I passed to Oppy. He took it behind the net and passed it to me. Back to Cooper, who slid it through the goalie’s five hole.
Yes! An excellent start.
Our line was called off and I sat on the bench, spitting out my mouth guard and swallowing a drink. Normally I watched the play and just killed time until my next shift. But this time, watching was fun.
Weasel couldn’t breathe out there. LA wasn’t making the playoffs this season. They were already out of contention—they missed my scoring. The Blaze were just hanging on, but since the bad start to the season, and after they beat Minnesota back in November, we’d been playing at a different level than LA. We were able to control the play while still giving Weasel extra attention.
Toronto was up 2-0 at the end of the first period, and the locker room was a happy place.
“This team is unbelievable,” I said to Fitch.
He smiled back. He’d managed a pretty impressive forecheck on Weasel. “I’m glad to be playing here. Didn’t realize how bad things were in LA until I left.”
I nodded, but it was different for Fitch. He still had a year on his contract. The odds were good he’d be playing on this team next season. I wouldn’t. So might as well enjoy it while I could.
During a commercial break in the second period, Weasel skated by. “You pay these guys to harass me? Afraid of what I might do?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Oh, Weasel. Are you playing tonight?”
His cheeks flushed. He was on the fourth line now, getting limited ice time, and we’d had very little overlap thus far. I’d left the punishing to my teammates, keeping myself from getting a stupid penalty.
“You’re an asshole. I should tell them what you did.”
I faked a smile. “They know. I should really thank you for getting me traded here. There’s nothing quite like playoff hockey.”
Weasel had been with Nashville in his first season when they went out in four games in the first round. “I know what it’s like!” His face was flushed.
