He had whispered the words, but Dax started waving his hands in panic. “She was sad because Ivan is a dick and he doesn’t spoil her.”
“Dax—” August pushed himself to his knees and took a breath. “She’s married to amillionaire. What do you mean she doesn’t get spoiled?”
Dax shrugged. “Money can’t buy you orgasms or instructions on how to find the right spots.”
Fucking hell. Maybe quitting hockey to become Quinn’s full-time model wasn’t such a bad idea.
“I’ll take any salary if I can play on a team with you again,” Dax continued, oblivious to August’s shock. “I’m a free agent next season, and I’m going to be traded before the March tenth deadline anyway, so maybe try to put a good word in for me? I swear I won’t sleep with any more married women. I’ve learned my lesson.”
August was pretty sure he hadn’t learned anything, but he owed Dax’s mother for helping him feel welcome when he was an awkward teen, so he would do it for her.
“I don’t know if we have the cap space, but I’ll let Coach know you’d be a good fit on our team,” said August.
It wasn’t a lie since August played forward more than defence these days, so they had room for a solid defenceman on their roster. Dax also put up a lot of points every season, so it wasn’t like he would be a burden.
Unless…he started fucking the wrong people.
“You’re the best, Gus!” Dax poked him again with his stick. “Sorry, I mean Gusty. I love how you’re still rocking the white hair after all these years.”
August took his helmet off so he could brush his bangs out of his face. He needed a damn haircut and dye touch-up soon. “I never saw a reason to change it.”
Real reason: hockey superstition. If he changed his hair colour, everything would fall apart.
“It’s your signature. I dig it,” said Dax. “Vancouver has the warmest winters in Canada, right?”
August stood, already knowing he would regret his choice to speak out for Dax’s placement on the team. “Sure it does. I’ll catch you later.”
Warm-up was about to come to an end, so August gave Dax a salute and took a lap to get his blood pumping before heading down the chute to the locker room.
He zoned out while he checked his tape as Callahan and Coach said their motivational speeches, reacting only when the topic switched to him, and cheers erupted through the room.
“This is going to be a fun game,” said Callahan. “We have Gusty back, Niko just overtook Jett Killinger in league points, and our rookie goalie got a shutout his last game. The Washington Shit Eagles are going down.”
August chuckled as the guys laughed and shouted in agreement. Nothing could take his joy away, not even when Coach Fedorov approached, scowling down at him.
“You play good in practice today,” said Coach.
August didn’t know if that was a question or a statement, so he nodded.
“Glad to have you back, Snow.” Fedorov tapped August’s arm with his tablet. “Next time, say what is wrong. I’m too old for surprises—hearing that you were struggling almost gave me heart attack. You are very important player on this team, and I like you. You are a good kid.”
Coaches always made August nervous, and it made sense now that he knew why, but Fedorov never had. He was strict, sure, and he gave tough love, but he never failed to make August feel safe in the sense that he wouldn’t hurt him.
August was fighting back tears when he said, “Yes, Coach.” It had been a long day, and he was getting overstimulated by all the loud voices and friendly touches, but he was handling it.
Fedorovtskedand tapped his arm again. “Do not cry, Snow. Is not time to be sad. Every guy here wants to see you succeed, so tighten your skates and do what you do best.”
August was impressed by the pep talk. Normally, Coach would say something random because even though the guy was amazing at pushing their team, he wasn’t the greatest speaker.
“Will do, Coach.” August smiled through the twinge of pain that had abruptly pulsed behind his eye. “And can I also talk to you later in your office? There’s a guy on the Washington team I used to play with who you might be able to grab.”
“Merlin?” Coached asked. “Word is floating around, but I hear he is troublemaker.”
August shook his head. “Not around me, he’s not.”
Fedorov furrowed his brows, holding August’s gaze until he was satisfied with whatever he saw, and shrugged. “Okay. We’ll talk later. Win first.”
August could work with that.
