O’Keefe takes his hand and shrugs. “I follow the money.” His voice drips with arrogance, implying the Enforcers wanted him enough to pay him top dollar.
I don’t know the amount of his contract, but he ain’t shit for his comment. He’s going to test my last nerve this season. We’re less than five minutes in, and he’s insulted the team.
Myteam.
Maybe I need to ask Benzy for some of his calming crystals. He’s always spouting off about their healing properties. I could use a hit of serenity in rock form.
O’Keefe saunters by me with a nod and does a lap, checking out everyone’s lockers.
“How are lockers assigned here?” he asks.
Ace tilts his head as if he’s trying to figure out O’Keefe. “Is there a problem with your locker?”
He holds up his hands. “Nah, man, just wondering about the pecking order.”
“Ace is the best captain,” Benz chimes in. “You’ll love it here.”
If Benz can’t befriend O’Keefe, there’s no hope for the rest of us. I thought Ace would ask the veterans to meet the new players, but Benz is a strategic choice to make them feel welcome.
O’Keefe pulls a face behind Benz’s back that sets my teeth on edge. I will my fingers to unclench and shake them.
Ace’s phone goes off, and his face falls when he checks it. “There was a mix-up with the start time today. It’s the four of us for now.” He turns to O’Keefe. “Your choice—the weight room or the ice?”
“The ice, baby. Always the ice.”
“I’ll meet you out there.” I hadn’t planned to skate, so I search for the equipment manager.
He apologizes for not having my gear ready.
“It’s all good. I specifically said I wouldn’t need it. My bad.” He has one of the most thankless jobs in the NHL. He keeps track of all our shit and organizesit. A hockey player’s gear smells gross on a good day, and we’re not known for neatness.
Fortunately, no one on the first two lines retired, and we only had one major injury, meaning most of our players came back.
With only three new players and three active team members on the ice, it would’ve been difficult to avoid O’Keefe, but it’ll be impossible now with the four of us.
Benz is fully dressed when I get back. Since goalies wear more equipment, I’m impressed.
“I’ll wait for you.” He glances at the door.
“Go ahead,” I say. When he hesitates, I add, “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
His round eyes sweep the locker room. “You okay with this? I promised Leo I wouldn’t stick my nose where it doesn’t belong,” he says, lowering his voice to imitate his boyfriend. Leo was our goalie coach last year and Benz’s best friend’s dad. Now he volunteers his time unofficially because he’s Benz’s boyfriend. “But this is some crazy shit, right?”
“Yeah. I knew it was a possibility before the announcement, but I didn’t think it’d happen,” I admit. I don’t say I’m the dumbass who told our GM, Ari Dimon, it wouldn’t be a problem.
“At least you weren’t blindsided.”
“Thanks for your texts.” He’d sent me messages after the announcement that we picked up O’Keefe in free agency. I raise my hand to fist-bump him, but he rocks me in an awkward goalie hug.
“See ya in a few.” After he leaves, I let out a slow breath.
My body’s buzzing, and skating will help release my tension. I refuse to let O’Keefe get the best of my anxiety. I won’t stay stuck in his game.
The problem: I’m not sure what his game is.
He didn’t need to come here.
So why the hell did he?
