“But,” he continues, “I still believe that if Pike hadn’t gone out last night, he would’ve gotten there. And then we would’ve been solid for the next two or three seasons. Veterans aren’t the play for the future—not that it matters now.”
“I agree, but we need someone fornow.”
Greg taps his desk once. “Well, luckily for you. I, too, did some work last night. And some this morning, also. As of ten minutes ago, we traded our second-round draft pick and one of our defensive prospects from the Kodiaks to the Florida Cyclones.”
My heart skips a beat as I realize what that means milliseconds before he says it. Only one defenseman would possibly be coming to us from Florida. The one I didn’t want because of that pesky little crush.
“Beckett Kane is officially a Denver Yeti. He lands tonight.”
Chapter 3
Beckett
“Didyoumakeitokay?” my agent asks over my headphones as I weave through the Denver airport.
“Yup,” I grunt. It’s… fine. I’m lucky the Yeti had a team apartment vacant that I could move into literally the same day. Supposedly, it’s furnished and fully ready to go. Which is why I only had to bring two bags with me. One with my gear, and one that’s essentially just underwear and a suit to wear for the game on Saturday, in case the rest of my things from my old place don’t make it in time. Not that I left much in my Florida condo. I’ve never understood players who have loads of crap in their homes when we spend so much time on the road.
“There is supposed to be someone waiting for you at Door 506 in a black pickup. And the woman I talked to assured me they’d have everything ready for you, including a full closet of Yeti sweats and T-shirts to get you through until the moving company gets there.”
“Great,” I reply, certain it’ll be done. Logistics coordinators for hockey teams are like fucking magicians. I have no idea how they do it, but everything I need is justpoofthere.
“Itwillbe great.” Vic is trying to remain positive despite knowing I’m pissed.
“Well,” I deadpan, “people have always told me I look good in ice blue.”
I can practically hear my agent roll his eyes through the phone. “I’m aware you’re not happy about the trade, Beck—”
“Name one client of yours who haseverbeen happy about a mid-season trade, Vic,” I demand.
“Mikey—he hated the left winger on the Tempest and wanted the fuck out. Look, you knew it could happen. The Cyclones wouldn’t agree to including an NMC in your contract. We discussed it. Almost no players get full no-move clauses after thirty, even if they’re a franchise guy or a star goalie. You assured me it didn’t matter what jersey you were wearing so long as you got to keep playing.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t think I was going to be joining a new team mid-season.”
“Didn’t know you were so passionate about the Cyclones,” Vic says in my ear as I make my way to the correct floor for my ride.
“Just don’t want to have to go through all the new-player bullshit again.”
I don’t want to risk getting put on the IR if an overzealous doctor gets a little too anxious about my hip is what Ireallymean. But that’s not information my agent—or anyone else for that matter—needs to know.
“Beck, they got you on a planehoursafter the contract was signed. There’s no way they’re planning to do anything other than throw your old ass out on the ice. They needed you like, yesterday.”
“I’m not fucking old, Vic.”
“In the world of mere mortals, true. When it comes to professional sports, you’re definitely flirting with it.”
The extra time I have to put in to keep up with my teammates seems to support that claim. And it’s not just extra time on the ice. My strength-and-conditioning regimen is a perfectly structured plan, delivering maximum benefit with the least harm to my body. My recovery days are honed. My stretching routine would make a professional yoga instructor look like an amateur. I eat only what I’m told, never allowing myself the cheat days I did in the past. But it will all be worth it if it keeps me on the ice.
I walk through Door 506 and spot a black pickup idling a few paces away.
“Thanks for that, Vic. I’ve got to go. They’re here. Really excited to make small talk with whatever intern they sent to pick me up.”
“Hey,” Vic says, and I slow down. “This is your chance, Kane. I know how badly you want that C on your chest like your dad had. The Cyclones weren’t going to give it to you, even if Guthry had retired before you. Remember that when you show up to practice tomorrow. They literally traded for you because they needed the leadership. Be the fucking leader.”
“You’re right,” I mumble. After hanging up with Vic, I notice for the first time that the man sitting in the front seat of the pickup staring at his phone isn’t some scrawny intern. No, if things go the way I want them to, it’s my new linemate, Evan Li.
“Li.” I tap on the window. He lifts his head, a smile forming as he rolls the window down. “Hey, Kane! Just a second. Larsen will help you with your bags.”
A big guy hops out of the backseat and sticks his hand out. “Matt Larsen.”
