It’s an elevator ride down because the oversized vehicle parking is on the ground level. Landon and Michaels get in the elevator with me. Between the three hockey bodies and each of our suitcases, it’s a cramped space. Michaels’ shitty mood is also taking up space. “I don’t see why we couldn’t leave in the morning. Tomorrow isn’t a game day anyway.”
“Yeah, but why spend daylight on a bus? This way we’ve got more time for practice and to review game footage and stuff, which is great,” Landon replies.
After this mini-road trip, we have three days off in a row when we get back before our first home game. Now I’m worried I’ll have to spend it feverishly hunting down an apartment, because although I intend to talk it out with Landon on this trip, I doubt it will solve anything. Not really. And continuing to live with Angie and Landon now is probably a mistake.
Tyson snorts, as if balking at Landon’s take and the trip schedule. He gives us both the once over with pure disgust in his stare, “Will it be enough time for you two to find that Cup-winning game you supposedly have? Because you both played like shit tonight.”
The elevator jostles to a stop, and the doors slide open. Tyson storms out, his suitcase clipping mine and almost wrenching it from my hand as he leaves us. I grind my teeth, and Landon lets out a long, low gush of air from his lungs. Our eyes meet. “You bet your ass I’m gonna aim every shot over his left shoulder in practice tomorrow… and until the end of time.”
Clearly, Landon made note of the fact that both easy goals Tyson let in were in that area. I smirk. He smirks back, and then the sexy little fuck winks at me before exiting the elevator, leaving me to stumble out behind him in shock.
By the time we get to Boston, my body aches and my brain is cloudy. Landon looks like how I feel, so I know it’s not the time to talk it out. We have all day tomorrow between practice and meetings. I grab the key to my room, and Landon grabs his. We’re on different floors, but I turn to him as I get off the elevator. Conner is getting off with me, and two other teammates are staying on because they’re on Landon’s floor. “Talk tomorrow?”
He nods, his eyes blurry.
I walk down the hall, Conner stops at the room beside mine, and we half-heartedly wave goodnight as we both head in for the night. I don’t even bother to unpack, and I doze off with my socks and underwear still on before I can even pull the covers back.
Chapter 14
Landon
Practice early the next morning is mostly drills, no scrimmage, but Coach has me run plays with the second line and the third. The third. My heart spends most of practice in my skates after that. It probably doesn’t help that I’m acting like Grady is made of asbestos or something. I’m talking to him, when it would be awkward not to, but I’m giving him a wide berth. Like I sat clear on the other end of the breakfast room at the hotel this morning. On Quake road trips during playoffs, Grady and I always sat together at meals, and on planes and buses. Always.
No one here knows how weird I’m acting, thankfully. Well, Grady knows. He frowned when I skated wide around his net. So wide I almost clipped the boards with my shoulder and narrowly missed colliding with one of our assistant coaches. I’m such a coward. Why can’t I just own my behavior? I fooled around with Grady. It was… one of the best sexual experiences of my life. So why do I regret not regretting it?
After practice and gym time and showers and a quick meeting with the coaches to review video footage of our opponent’s last couple of games, we hop on a bus back to the hotel, and I’m immediately intercepted by Kendra Jackson. She’s the head of Public Relations for the team. I didn’t know she would be in Boston, so I’m shocked to see her block my path in her jeans and blazer, and aggressive-looking high-heeled booties that make her almost as tall as me. “Hey, Kendra.”
“I need you and the Ginger Garrison to film those Fun Fact segments now. Where is he?”
I look around the lobby at the other guys heading up to their rooms. I catch sight of Grady lumbering toward the elevator and point.
“Garrison!” Kendra hollers, and he stops and turns around. She jerks her thumb, and he walks over. “You ghosted me at the home arena, so I was forced to follow you here. I need these segments up on the website asap. Everyone is asking about you two. Fans are rabid for info, so we’re giving it to them.”
“Right now?” Grady almost whines.
“Yes. Now. I promise it will be relatively quick and only painful if you don’t act like you’re thrilled to be here,” Kendra explains as we follow her down a hallway off the lobby. “Fans want you to be cheerful and funny and happy to be here.”
“I can do that,” I say, but honestly, with Grady sitting beside me, it’ll be a stretch.
“Yeah. I know the drill,” Grady grumbles. “You don’t want us to do it separately?”
“No,” Kendra says flatly. “You two had all this juju in your playoff run for that other team. Fans are gushing about your bromance on our Instagram, so we will give the people what they want. Bromance the fuck out of each other.”
My eyes move to Grady, and he’s staring right back at me. We start blushing simultaneously, but luckily, Kendra is walking too far ahead to notice. She lifts her hand and snaps her fingers. “Let’s hustle! I know you guys need snacks and naps, like toddlers, so the quicker we get this done, the quicker you get out of here.”
She’s set up a conference room with a Riptide backdrop and two stools that I think she stole from the lobby bar. There are four ring lights positioned on tables around the setup. She motions for us to sit and pulls out her phone. She pauses and smiles. “Let’s go.”
It’s easy at first. She asks us to introduce ourselves, talk about our start in hockey, and why we picked out our numbers. Our favorite memory so far in our career—and of course, we both say winning the Cup. Kendra pauses. “Landon, I thought it would be beating cancer.”
Something in me deflates like a slashed tire. I stare at her, not knowing the polite way to answer that. What I want to ask is why the fuck would a nearly terminal disease be my favorite moment of anything, let alone my career? But of course I can’t. She’s still recording, still waiting for an answer.
Fucking hell. I choose my words as carefully as possible. “That’s not really a highlight. And I don’t think of it in relation to my career. It would have happened if I was an accountant or a school bus driver. I was just lucky enough to end up in remission.”
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t have won the Cup if you hadn’t beaten it, right? So it’s gotta factor into it.” She’s not getting the mood shift she’s creating.
My jaw clenches, and I feel Grady shift beside me. He clears his throat. “I wouldn’t have won the Cup if I hadn’t been traded to the Quake mid-season. There are so many what-ifs on the way to a Stanley Cup, which is why getting to win it is the only highlight.”
Kendra blinks, finally cluing in to what an idiot she’s being. She looks instantly remorseful and stops filming. I hope she edits that out before she posts to socials. If she doesn’t, I’m sure the comments section will be nothing but cancer talk. I fucking hate how it’s still trying to hijack my life. Kendra walks over to one of the tables, her heels clicking rhythmically, and grabs paper and Sharpies, then hands them to us. “Okay, now we’re going to play a game.”
