“Fair point. But even before that,” I reply.
Landon nods. His eyes are glued to the closed doors in front of us. I’m very quickly regretting blurting out that private little tidbit. I clear my throat and rub my chin through my beard. He turns and looks at me. His gaze is… weird. Heavy, like the silence. “You keeping that permanently?”
“I think for a while longer at least,” I say and tug on the ends of the rough red hair growing from my face. “You don’t like it?”
“Nah. I like it.” His voice is deeper than normal. Rougher.
The elevator doors open, and there’s a cacophony of noise that pulls us out of whatever moment we’re having. Landon steps into the hall as a woman in workout gear walks by. I’m guessing she’s a trainer or physiotherapist or maybe the team doctor. She smiles but keeps going. I step into the hallway next to Landon and immediately see my cousin using the leg press machine just inside the open doors of the gym. He grins as he looks up. “Grady!”
He lowers the machine and jumps off it. Conner has me in a bear hug before I can blink. I grin. “Hey!”
“Welcome to the team!” Conner squeezes me hard one last time and then lets go and turns to Landon. “Hey, Casco. Welcome! Glad to have you.”
“Thanks.” Landon and Conner do the bro hug thing.
Conner is grinning like a fool, and I have a weird feeling it’s about more than just me, but I don’t know what. “Aunt Leah and Uncle Cole are blowing up the group chat, organizing a huge group to come to the first pre-season game,” Conner tells me.
“I muted the group the minute I heard they were looking at renting a bus,” I reply with a wry smile.
“Abbott assigned me to be your contact for questions, help, anything really,” Conner goes on, running a hand through his hair, which swoops over his eyes. “He would do it, but he’s still injured and not here regularly. Should be good to go by the first month of the regular season, though.”
I nod. Not having Abbott here is good for me. I heard he’s married, so that should make it not awkward, I hope. Abbott is openly gay, but before that, he was closeted like me. And we did some stuff in that closet together before he started dating his now-husband. That’s the problem with this league, it’s a small pond.
Someone clears their throat, and we all turn to see Coach Larue standing outside his office. He’s in a Riptide track suit, his arms are folded over his broad chest, and he’s wearing a smile. His face is extra creased, and it isn’t just wrinkles. Larue was an enforcer —the guy on the team who started all the fights and/or protected the star players from getting into fights—back in the day, and his face is laced with the scars to prove it. According to my sister Shelby, chicks dig that.
Coach Larue walks over and shakes Landon’s hand, then mine. “Hate to break up the family reunion, but we’ve got work to do.”
Conner grabs my shoulder and squeezes again, walks toward the gym, then says, “Feel free to trade for more of my cousins, Coach.”
“I’d take them all if I could. And all the Cascos too.”
Landon flashes a small smile at that. Sometimes I think he forgets he’s considered hockey royalty, just like my family. He never talks about it, but it’s something we should talk about since we have it in common—the weight of expectation. “My brother is a goalie hoping to enter the draft next year.”
“Oh, I know. Had a hell of a season last year,” Coach says, and Landon’s smile grows proud. He never talks about his siblings, so this is new to me.
We enter the small office, and my eyes are instantly drawn to the wall behind Coach’s desk. There’s a Riptide logo painted on the plain white surface, in various shades of blue and red, but it’s different than the regular logo. The whole thing is made out of a bunch of tiny cursive words. Strength, passion, dedication, attitude, positivity, endurance, and teamwork make up the large arching wave in the middle. The circle around it is made up of other perfectly scripted affirmative words.
“That logo is great,” Landon says before I can, as he lowers himself into one of the two chairs across from Coach’s desk.
“My youngest kid did it. She’s an artist and an aspiring fashion designer,” he says proudly. “The owners like it so much they’re going to make shirts with it for this season.”
Coach sits down as I slip into the seat next to Landon. He grins at us from the other side of his desk. “I played with both your dads.”
For a split second, I feel like he must have me confused with one of my cousins because my dad never played professionally, but his gaze moves to me. “I played with your dad before the pros. Well, against him mostly, but we did do an all-star tournament together in juniors. He would have owned this league.”
I nod. My dad’s legacy in hockey is the Garrison who could’ve been. It bothers him. Even though he’s never outright said it, I can tell. It bothers the fuck out of me, too, because I don’t just have shoes to fill. I have a legacy to make, one that has to equal the legacies already carried by other Garrison family tree branches. I don’t talk about the pressure, though, to my dad or to anyone. Coach looks back at Landon. “Your dad was a hell of a goalie. Hated playing him. Hardly ever scored on him.”
Landon grins. “I hear that a lot.”
Coach laughs. “I gotta say, I was shocked we were able to get you both. Very pleased but shocked.”
“Happy to be here,” I say, because this is like a formula at this point. I’ve heard the spiel from every coach I’ve played for. No one is gonna say “really wish the management didn’t pick you.” Or “you weren’t my choice, but here we are.” Landon looks antsy as he nods.
“We’re close, as you probably noticed, but we just haven’t quite gotten there the last couple of years,” Coach goes on as he scrubs his salt-n-pepper facial hair with his palm. “You two got there. More impressively, you both swept in after the season was in full swing and found a way to be assets. To make your mark. I’m not just blowing smoke when I say I watched every game, and both of you were key players in getting the Cup.”
Landon nods again and rubs the back of his neck as he shifts awkwardly in his seat. “I appreciate that. I think there was a lot of hype over my return, and I’m grateful for it. I did leave it all on the ice.”
“I did too, and I know we made a difference,” I add. “But we weren’t the only difference. Tate and the Westwood twins had already tasted victory and were not only eager to do it again, they, like a good chunk of the team, had the recipe.”
