Sighing, Davis shook his head. “You don’t have to say yes Just—whatever you did, I’m glad you did it. Because I was worried about him.”
“Me too,” I admitted quietly. “I was afraid he’d…” I trailed off, not sure how to word it, and a little afraid that saying it out loud would manifest the worst.
He’s in good hands now. He’s in rehab. He’ll be fine.
Davisglanced toward the locker room again, then met my gaze. “Listen, I was really happy when they signed you over the off season, man, but—” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat before he tried again. “Now that I know you saved our captain?” He swallowed hard as he clapped my shoulder. Then he continued into the locker room without another word.
I was grateful he hadn’t said anything more.
The guys had been through enough today without seeing me fall apart too.
Avery sat on his couch and studied me as I took a seat in one of the recliners. Grimacing, he asked, “So… How did they take it?”
“Honestly?” I smiled. “I wish you could’ve seen it.”
His eyebrows climbed almost to his hairline.
I told him what our teammates had said, and the parts they’d been most concerned about. “As soon as Coach said you’re not suspended and we’re encouraged to keep in contact with you, everyone started talking about going golfing with you or dragging you out to eat.”
Avery wrinkled his nose. “Oh God. Don’t tell me I’m going to have to fend off Baddy and Eminem trying to take me golfing.”
“What? I thought you liked golfing.”
“I do, but those two…” He groaned theatrically and flailed a hand before letting it fall to the cushion beside him. “Oh my God.”
“Yeah? Do tell?”
“Eh.” He shook his head and managed to laugh. “There’s a lot of stories to tell.”
I shrugged. “I’ve got time.” I’d need to head home at some point for my pregame nap, then to the arena, but I still had a couple of hours yet. Something told me that stories about golf course shenanigans would be easier for Avery to handle right now; he was still brittle and ashamed after his talk with the brass.
He pursed his lips, gaze turning distant for a moment. Then he chuckled. “There was one time we were golfing in—I want to say Vegas? Might’ve been Arizona. All the dry states look alike after a while.”
I snorted. “Yeah, they kinda do.”
“Right? Anyway, wherever the hell we were, Eminem brought a box of those prank golf balls?” He groaned and rolled his eyes. “The ones that explode when you hit them, or they’re weighted weird so they don’t go where they should.”
“Wait, those are a thing?” I laughed. “Really?”
“Ugh. Yes. And the ones he got—they’re almost impossible to tell apart from the real thing.” He picked up his drink and muttered, “That was the longest eighteen holes I’ve ever played.”
“Yeah, I bet. Did they bring the real balls too?”
“Oh, they did. Though…” He snickered. “Baddy thought it would be funny to mix them all into the same bucket, so then they were getting the prank ones, too. Eminem was doing pretty well that day, but then he got one of the exploders, and it fucked him all up.”
“You know, I never could quite reconcile hockey players with golf,” I mused. “Because it just seems so sedate and mellow, and every hockey player I know gets bored if he has to sit still for two minutes.”
Avery chuckled. “I know, right? But put a bunch ofpranksters and shit-talkers out there, and it ends up being a lot of fun.”
“I believe that.”
He laughed again, but it faded, and from the shift in his expression, some less pleasant thoughts were creeping in.
Eyes distant, he whispered, “Leif got his best ever score that game. The prank balls didn’t throw him off at all, and even without his handicap, he blew all of us out of the water.” Watching his fingers play with the hem of his shorts, he said more to himself than me, “Golfing without him has been really weird.”
“I’m sure it has,” I said softly.
He shifted his gaze in the general direction of his garage, and he sighed. “His clubs are still in my trunk.”
