Page 2 of Hot for the Hockey Player
Nilsson gave us a few more words of wisdom.Then it was time to head out onto the ice and warm up in front of the crowd.I felt like a piece of meat getting dangled over piranha infested waters being forced to stretch and warm up with an audience, but it was all part of the deal.The fans loved every second they got to see us on the ice, whether we were playing, fighting, stretching, or spitting.
I grabbed my mouth guard from my cubby, strapped it to my helmet, and followed the rest of the team out onto the ice.
We were playing another away game tonight, this time in Seattle, but since I spent a lot of time in Washington state in my early career, it felt more like coming home.After getting scouted and recruited to the Spokane Chiefs when I was fifteen, I spent three years playing for them before moving to Seattle to play for the Thunderbirds.Then I left the WHL for the NHL, and have been playing in the big leagues ever since.
I was fourth round draft pick my first year, getting a one-year contract with the Colorado Mustangs, before being traded to Vancouver and becoming a free agent, where I played two years for the Sea Wolves.I loved Vancouver and could have easily finished out my career there, but my agent managed to get me a great three-year deal with the Portland Storm—my current team—and I couldn’t say no.My only request was that I got to stay on the West Coast.I didn’t care where I played or who I played for.I just had no desire to be landlocked in the middle of the country, or on the Eastern seaboard.I grew up in West Virginia and had absolutely no desire to ever see another East Coast hurricane for as long as I lived.
The crowd—as always—was a mix of cheers and boos.Those who came from Portland to watch us play applauded our arrival on the ice, while die-hard Riptides fans let us know we were going down.Most of the time, it was all in jest.So we ignored the boos and heckling.Every once in a while, some nutjob fan would take it a little too far and need to be escorted out of the arena.
The stands weren’t full yet, but they would be by the time the puck dropped.
I skated around the ice a few times to warm up, then dropped to my knees to stretch.
“Yo,” Woodman said, coming to stretch beside me.“You okay?”
Roman Woodman was probably my best friend on the team.Like me, he didn’t air his dirty—or clean—laundry in the locker room.He had a long-time, steady girlfriend back home in Portland, and as far as I knew, he was faithful to her.He also seemed to share my opinion that a lot of our teammates were womanizing douches.The two of us would often take off and go have a beer elsewhere when the team decided to party hard with puck bunnies at a nightclub.
I shrugged, pulling in a deep breath of the frosty air.I loved the smell of the ice.“Yeah.Fine.”
“Weird being back in Seattle?”
“Naw.I like it.It was home for a bit.Love Washington.You missing Julie?”
“She wanted to come up for the game, but got called in for a shift at the hospital.Hard to make a pediatric oncology nurse feel bad about missing my game when she’s literally putting smiles on sick kids’ faces.”He rolled his gray eyes and tossed on a crooked half-smile.
Snorting, I leaned forward a bit more in my frog pose to help open up my hips.
“You really just talk to that chick last night?Or were you just brushing Franks off because he’s a tool?”
“Just chatted,” I confirmed.“Jasmine is great.She played hockey as a teenager.So she really knows the sport.She asked better questions than ninety percent of the sports reporters that corner us after a game.”
Woodman nodded at the same time unease flickered in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“My agent said there’s talk of me getting traded.”
My brows hiked.“Traded to where?”
“Detroit has expressed interest.”
We both cringed at the same time.“Detroit?”While I tried my best to put a positive spin on whatever I could, it was about as tough as stale beef jerky to do so at the idea of Roman getting traded to Detroit.
He nodded.“Apparently, it’s just chatter, but … I dunno, man.I don’t want to leave Portland.I’ve got a great thing going with Julie.She can’t leave her job.Her whole family is in Portland.And it’s fucking Detroit, dude.”
With a heavy heart, all I could do was shake my head.We knew this was part of the job when we all signed up to play.Players got traded all the time.Unless you had an ironclad contract with a no-trade clause in it, it was always an option.And while Roman Woodman was a great right-winger, he was second-string and, like me, this was a contract renegotiation year for him too.
Murmurs about contracts and trades made up a lot of the locker room chatter.Everybody who was in a contract year feared for their future.Some players were eager to move, while others—like Roman and myself—were happy where we were, as we attempted a bit of normalcy in our lives and aspired to set down some shallow roots.
After the national anthem was sung by a local teenage girl from some prestigious choir, it was time for the puck drop.As first-string center, I took my position at center ice, ready for the face-off.
The Riptide’s center—Maxim Hoff—joined me there.“Roy,” he greeted.“How’s it going?”
“Had a fantastic night’s sleep.”
He grinned.“Me too.”
We both put in our mouth guards as the ref skated up with the puck.“All right, guys.Let’s have a clean game, hmm?”
