And despite knowing I should put distance between us, despite understanding the risks, I couldn’t bring myself to regret a single moment of the afternoon we’d just shared.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Griffin
The smells of sweat and ice melt permeated the locker room as I stood, still in my practice gear, and cleared my throat. Players looked up from unlacing skates or peeling off soaked undershirts, conversations dying as they registered my authoritative stance.
“Quick announcement.” I raised my voice to reach everyone. “Starting this week, we’re doing weekly video game tournaments at my place.NHL Hockey—the latest version with our team in it.”
That got the reaction I’d expected—a mix of groans and laughter rippling through the room.
“You’re kidding,” Holloway said, grinning. “We get to play as ourselves?”
“Or against ourselves,” I replied. “The point is getting linemates and defensive pairings working together off the ice. Building chemistry through shared suffering.”
More laughter, though I noticed Turner’s scowl as he turned away, making a show of shoving gear into his bag. Predictable.
“Tonight, I want the second line—Fournier, Petrov, Martin—and Williams. Seven o’clock. I’ll provide the pizza and beer.” I rattled off my address.
“Do we have a choice?” Fournier asked, though his tone was more amused than resistant.
“You can say no. But then I’ll know you’re afraid of getting schooled at video games by your linies.”
That got competitive fire flashing in several eyes. Hockey players couldn’t resist a challenge, even a casual one.
“I’m terrible at video games,” Petrov groaned, his Russian accent thickening with his complaint. “This is going to be embarrassing.”
“Then you’ll fit right in with the rest of us.” Martin clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll see you there, Cap.”
I pulled out my phone and hesitated for only a moment before texting Wesley.
Griffin
Hosting video game tournament tonight for team-building. Social media opportunity if you want to come.
The response came as I was untying my skates.
Wesley
Sounds fun. What time?
Griffin
7
I sent my address and tried not to think too hard about why I’d invited Wesley when the whole point was player bonding. Professional documentation, I told myself. Good PR content. That I wanted to see him, wanted his company while navigating the delicate politics of team chemistry, was irrelevant.
Or at least, that’s what I tried to convince myself of.
By seven o’clock, my apartment was as ready as it could be. PlayStation set up, controllers charged, coffee table cleared of everything except coasters. The space still didn’t feel like home—too clean, too impersonal, more like a hotel suite than a place someone actually lived—but at least it was organized.
The view from my ninth-floor windows showed downtown Beaverton’s lights beginning to twinkle as dusk settled over the city. Not the mountain vistas I’d had in Colorado, but striking in its own way.
Fournier arrived first, followed quickly by Williams and Martin. Petrov showed up last, looking resigned to his fate.
“Nice place, Lapierre,” Martin said, immediately gravitating toward the windows. “This is what a captain’s money gets you, huh?”
“This is what ‘I didn’t want to buy another house without a no-trade clause’ gets you,” I replied, earning knowing laughs.
