Amie: The Titans GM just called me for an update on your shoulder. What do you want me to tell him?
“Fuck, I don’t know. Tell him I’m in fucking injury purgatory with no idea when I’m going to be let out again,” I muttered to my phone screen.
Of course, Amie, my agent since I was eighteen years old, did not deserve to shoulder any of my ongoing frustration about my recovery. Instead, I sucked in a deep breath to try to calm my anger over the whole situation before tapping out my reply as I walked to the building’s elevator.
Asher: I have an appointment with the ortho surgeon next week. Can you hold him off with a non-answer until then?
There was no follow-up appointment next week. I’d have to sweet-talk something last-minute with the head receptionist at Dr. Janson’s office. It was a good thing he was a hockey fan.
What the fuck did I want to do if my shoulder never got better?
Even allowing the thought to enter my mind felt like admitting I was giving up on returning to the Titans. Nothing could be further from the truth. I’d be a model rehab patient, following my doctors and physiotherapists’ instructions to the letter.
Amie: Fine. I’ll do my best.
Finding the elevator blissfully empty, I pressed the ground level button before leaning back against the mirrored wall behind me.
Closing my eyes, I could imagine Amie shaking her head at me, having to take a bullshit answer back to the organization. Unfortunately, I didn’t think I’d have an answer for her next week either, but I was clearly not in the state of mind to think seriously about my future.
At least I’d postponed that problem for another day.
Thankfully, no one got on as the elevator chugged its way past the other floors.
Zane had been right about one thing when he asked me to sign on to help with coaching the Hammerheads this season. I hadn’t had much time to dwell on my injured shoulder with the constant demands of working with the offensive lines, rehab and working out.
Lakeside was a laidback city to spend the season in. The team was, as far as I could tell in the weeks I’d gotten to know most of the players, made up of guys I respected.
Zane had been working overtime since he joined the Hammerheads’ organization to stamp out any of hint of toxic hockey culture within the team. It was clear that he was more concerned with leading a team of respectful players than a team solely focused on winning and having asses in seats to make money.
Despite my initial feelings of being ill-equipped to take on the role of an offensive line coach, I’d found my groove and felt a deep satisfaction at watching my lines improve week after week.
Zane’s dreams of the Calder Cup didn’t seem so out of reach anymore.
Don’t forget your favorite player. Can you imagine your shoulder magically healed overnight? Are you ready to leave Cade behind and return to eighty-plus games and b being on the road for half your time?
Fuck, no. I couldn’t imagine being forced to leave Cade in Lakeside and pretend we’d never met. He might be struggling now, but his hockey IQ was through the roof when he forgot to be so worried about fucking up the play and just followed his instincts. Once he started playing more consistently, any NHL team would be stupid not to snap him up.
Do you really want to face Cade on the opposite side of the faceoff circle?
God, I’d be so distracted by his perfect face and those gorgeous red curls plastered to his forehead under his helmet, I’d lose every damn time.
The elevator doors opened to reveal the building’s lobby, dragging me from my spinning thoughts. I slowed my steps, trying to decide which way to go once I walked out of the automatic doors.
The Tim Horton’s across the street beckoned me with its promise of a caffeine boost cloaked in average-tasting coffee.
Adjusting the brim of my baseball cap a little lower over my forehead, I hoped to get in and out with my order without being noticed by any potential fans.
Having kept mostly to my apartment on the Hammerheads’ off days, content to chill with Poe a lot more than I could during the NHL season, I hadn’t seen much of Lakeside in the of couple months I’d been here. Hell, I’d only been in Tim’s a handful of times, and only when I overslept after a hard rehab session. I mostly preferred to get my food delivered to save myself the hassle of running into fans.
You sound like an asshole, Landry.The fans are the reason you can play hockey at all.
The text from my agent had set me more on edge than I had already been. I decided that I’d better get a decaf coffee after all. I didn’t need any more chemical stimulants adding to my natural agitation.
A quick glance both ways showed no traffic on the road in front of the apartment building. Out of instinct, I tucked my chin in an attempt to hide my face slightly or at least go unnoticed. I’d been pretty lucky so far in Lakeside. Zane had assured me that the town, though extremely supportive of the team, tendedto leave the players and coaches alone, knowing that privacy was highly valued by most of us.
At the same time, I couldn’t shake the thought that I was going to run into a gaggle of fans, wanting autographs and to talk about my injury.
That’s all anyone wanted to talk about. They wanted to know when I’d be back on the ice and what the chances were of the Titans winning the Cup again.
