They were getting damn good at the blind passes. It was kinda spooky.
“And?” Crawford said blankly.
“And he’s usually here by now. Isn’t itweirdif he has season tickets, or whatever? Where do you think he is tonight?”
Crawford looked increasingly baffled. “I don’t fuckin’ know. Maybe he’s sick? Maybe he was in town for a couple of months for work, then left? How the fuck should I know?”
Rafe shrugged, good-natured as always. “I just thought it was weird.”
“Yeah.” Crawford eyed Rafe. “Somethingsure is.”
He skated away to continue his warmup and Rafe shrugged at Graham, who laughed and went back to stickhandling.
Chirping fans or not, they had a game to get ready for.
When they paused for the first TV time-out, Graham skated around, deftly avoiding the ice crew who had come out with shovels to clean up the loose snow created by their blades.
The first period had started hard and fast, and now Graham’s hip throbbed a little from the hit he’d taken a few minutes ago.
After a hit like that, he didn’t like to sit too much, felt like his muscles tightened up unless he kept the blood flowing, so he skated around near the Harriers’ bench, looking idly around.
It had been a good start to the game. High energy, and Crawford had managed to get the puck off to Tanner earlier and Tanner had set up Connor in a pretty little give-and-go play that ended up with the puck buried in Dallas’ net, putting the Harriers up 1-0.
Now, as Graham cruised around, trying to keep his blood flowing, he glanced up at the seats right near the tunnel and saw a girl—maybe five or six years old—wearing a medical mask and carrying a sign that said, Hey, Crawford, I’m a fighter like you. You’re my favorite player … can I have a pic or a puck?
Graham smiled, a little surprised she’d pickedCrawfordas her favorite and not Connor or Jesse or Tanner like most kids. Graham would have to let Luke know once he got back to the bench though.
She gave him a cheery little wave, and his smile widened as he waved back. His gaze slid sideways as the guy with her—her dad maybe?—held up a sign saying,Don’t blame me for her liking Crawford—I’m just the guncle.
It took a second for “guncle” to translate to “gay uncle” in Graham’s head, but he laughed when it hit. He grinned at the guy, only to realize he was wearing a vintage New York jersey.
To a Boston vs. Dallas game.
That was a little weird … it hit Graham that this was, in fact,Vintage Jersey Guywho Rafe had been talking about earlier.
He was cute, Graham decided as he headed back to the bench to tell everyone about what he’d seen. A little older than Graham, but not by much, with dark curly hair and heavy stubble.
When he reached the bench, Crawford was leaning against the boards and staring blankly across the ice at nothing.
Graham nudged him. “Hey. I found your guy.”
“Huh?” Crawford looked up.
“Your vintage jersey guy. He’s here. Just in a different seat.”
“Oh good.” Crawford said with a roll of his eyes.
Graham laughed. “And get this. He’s here with akidtonight.”
Crawford shrugged. “Assholes have kids too. Who grow up to be even bigger assholes. What else is new?”
“No. It’s nothiskid. Look,” Graham said. “You have to see it for yourself.”
“I’m not fucking going over there,” Crawford said. “It’s bad enough when I can’t get away from him.”
“Why, you scared of a few mean words?” Graham teased.
Crawford gave him a withering look. “No, I just don’t give a shit about him or his family.”
