He laughed. “Yeah, they do. God, that one we had last season?” He rolled his eyes and groaned. “Thank God Vegas had that fourteen-game losing streak, or we’d have had the biggest one for the season.”
“I remember that. What was it, twelve games?”
Rolling his eyes, he nodded. “Twelve very long and frustrating games, yeah.” He grinned. “And yet you still signed with us, you fucking masochist.”
I snorted. “Not like I had much choice. And anyway, I seem to recall you guys also had a couple of solid winning streaks last year, so I’ll take my chances.”
“Fair enough. Detroit held their own last year, too, didn’t they?”
“We did. If I’d stayed, I think I’d have been happy, but it probably was time for a change of scenery.”
“I know how that goes.”
I eyed him. “Says the guy who’s still with the same team that drafted him.”
“Yeah, but I was seriously considering leaving after my entry-level contract was up. I liked the team, but the coaching was…” He wrinkled his nose.
“Ooh, that’s right. You guys had John Robinson, didn’t you?”
He rolled his eyes and groaned. “God, I hated that guy.”
“Really? Was he actually as bad as people say?”
“He…” Avery quirked his lips. “I mean, there are definitely worse coaches out there. There was one in my division in major juniors who was a real piece of work. Robs? He was just… He was one of those old-school coaches who was old school for the sake of being old school.”
“Oh, Jesus.” I rolled my eyes. “So, an absolute hardass who thought everyone was getting too soft?”
“Exactly. He’d yell and scream because that’s what old-school coaches did, not because it was actually effective.” Avery sighed. “The thing is, he was pretty good when it came to strategy, and his systems were good. If he’d chilled the fuck out a little, he’d have been fine. But he was so determined to be a drill sergeant on ice skates that it was really fucking stressful.”
“Ugh. Sounds like my U16 coach.”
“Yeah?”
“Yep. One of my buddies said that guy would probably go home and watch the boot camp scenes inFull Metal Jacketand beat off.”
The full-throated laugh that burst out ofAvery made my hotel room tilt. Christ, I was so stupid for him, especially when he smiled.
“Oh my God,” he said, still laughing. “I bet Robs did the same thing.” He mimicked jerking off, and he scrunched up his face as he said, “Yeeaah, do the bit about steers and queers again. Fuck yeah.”
I laughed so hard I was cackling, and he did too.
It felt good, even if it was commiserating over (and making fun of) some awful past coaches.
As we settled again, I asked, “So you stayed because they brought in Coach Tabakov?”
Avery nodded. “I like his style and his systems. And I really wanted to stay because of—” His teeth snapped shut, and all the lingering amusement vanished from his expression. I wasn’t at all surprised when he whispered, “Because I liked playing with Leif.”
“I believe that,” I said as gently as I could. “When you’re that close to a teammate, you’ll put up with a lot.”
“Exactly.” He met my gaze through the screen. “Did you have anyone you were close to like that?”
“I was pretty tight with Conrad Waverly. He was my roommate when I was a rookie, and we got to be really good friends.” The memory made my chest tight. “Fucking sucked when they traded him.”
“That’s the worst, isn’t it?” He winced at his own words, and once again, I didn’t need to be a mind reader—no, someone being traded definitelywasn’tthe worst way two teammates could be separated.
“It sucks,” I acknowledged. “We’re still friends, and we always grab dinner when we’re in the same city.”
“That’s good,” he said, seeming to brighten a little. “I’ve got some old teammates—both from the Whiskey Rebels and major juniors—who I see when we’re on the road.” Hepaused, then laughed. “I swear, when we all retire, we should just form our own team of old crotchety-ass players who can’t be traded because fuck trades.”
