“As you know, you’ll still get paid the rest of your salary—another eight million on top of your cut for the Stanley Cup,” Coach Whittaker told me four days after we’d won the Stanley Cup.
The coaching staff, plus Cormac, Maxim, Stolly, and Naese were scattered across the seating in my new living room. The house fit everyone well, and I liked the large, mid-century sectional in a deep, rich blue that Vivi and I had settled on.
Belladonna had been making the rounds, getting attention and lots of petting from each of the men. Behind her was Vivi’s puppy, a scraggly little thing that supposedly had some golden retriever in it. I was doubtful, but the little scamp was sweet and wanted to please, plus she hero-worshipped Belladonna. Little Irene, which was Greek for peace, now snuggled onto Maxim’s large thigh. My linemate’s hand found her chunky belly, and he murmured softly to the pup.
Vivian was at Mom’s house, as she usually was this time of day. Mom had come through her chemo really well, and the doctors were cautiously optimistic based on the PET scan taken yesterday. We’d hung out in the hospital together—weird but also affirming.
I’d been released to Vivian’s care after my mother’s procedure. Vivian had driven my truck, something she was still muttering about, first to Mom’s house, then to bring me back to our place.
I sat in my favorite spot of the couch—the one nearest the kitchen—trying not to wince at the too-bright lights or whenever I had to turn my head. I didn’t have a concussion, but I had bumped my head on the ice, and I had a hell of a black eye to go along with scoring the winning shot for our team’s championship season.
As I’d just learned, my portion of the winnings was about two hundred and forty thousand.
“We’re hopeful Dr. Horton will clear you so you can come back to your line next season,” Coach said.
“We’ll see.” I shifted. I met Coach’s concerned gaze with my one good eye. “I see what you mean about roles changing.”
He nodded. “It happens. I wish you hadn’t gotten so banged up, Lennon. When you come back—and you will—I want you to help some of the younger guys. They already see you as an unofficial coach.”
“We’re just talking next year, right?” I asked.
“If that’s what you want,” he said. “But if you want to play more, we’ll talk about that, too.”
“Sounds good.” I didn’t want to make any rash decisions while I was hurt. Vivi and I needed to continue discussing what we wanted our future to be. “I definitely want to complete next season, but this injury’s taken me down.”
“Understandable,” Cormac said.
“Did you see the coverage?” Stol asked.
“Man, your mom got more airtime than our game.” Naese shook his head but a smile tugged at his lips. “Lola’s fierce.”
“She was the other night,” I said. “I can’t believe Gunnar let her out there.”
“He didn’t. He brought out Vivian, and Lola slipped past security,” Coach said. He shook his head. “If that hadn’t been such a dirty hit, and if Meddie wasn’t already on the brink of being cut, I think I would have had a much different conversation with Jonas.”
Jonas Sutton was the opposing head coach, and he’d been furious with Medvedev for the hit.
“Doubt he’ll get the fat contract he’s expecting,” Naese said.
Stol stretched out his legs. “I’d be surprised if anyone good picked him up.”
“Oh, he’ll play,” Maxim said. He was a fatalistic Russian. “He’ll find a home because there are always like-minded assholes out there.” He winced and covered Irene’s furry ears. “Sorry, baby. You shouldn’t hear such bad words.”
The guys all laughed. I tried, but it hurt.
“How’d the call go with Camden Grace?” Coach asked.
I perked up. “Great.” I explained the details of how we hoped the foundation would work.
The guys whistled. “He’s a big deal,” Cormac said.
I nodded. “He’s also former Army—a ranger and my brother’s CO. He likes the work I’ve been doing in the off season, matching dogs back to their handlers. He’s going to help me set it up as a real foundation, with a board and everything.”
“Ah, you get to have a bunch of dogs at your place?” Naese asked. His lip started to push out in a pout, but Stol slugged him.
“Those are trained killers, dude. No way they’d let you, like, frolic in the grass or some shit.”
“Well, they might.” I chuckled, then winced. “But the dogs do like to bite, rip, and tear stuff more than they like to frolic.”
