“I’m not even thirty yet. You’d think they’d be looking at Locks and Goon before me,” I say, and David laughs.
“You’ll be thirty in two months,” he says, and I grab a bowl and start scooping in spoonfuls of chili. It’s rich in tomato and full of spice, just the way Dad used to make it. It was the only thing I learned to cook from him before they died, and I made sure to teach both the boys so they’d always have something of him to pass along through to their own children and grandchildren one day, just like Mom’s spaghetti.
“And while we’re on the subject of my birthday, there will be no party, got it?” I tell them. Both turn their attention to their bowls.
“Sure,” David mumbles through chewing.
Benji follows with, “No party, no worries.” But both of them are terrible liars, and I can tell from their tones alone that they’re full of shit.
“Why is it I don’t believe you?” I ask, and they both shake their heads.
“Seriously, we haven’t planned anything,” David says this time, actually looking me right in the eyes. Maybe he isn’t lying about the party, but these two are definitely up to something. I guess I’ll find out in eight weeks.
Chapter five
Luka
I’vehadbreakfastwithReid every morning, collecting both our meals, proving over and over again that I know what I’m talking about when it comes to nutrition. More than half of the guys on the hockey team at Boston University took the class. It’s easier to learn a subject you can connect with, and since we all wanted to be professional athletes, nutrition is key to achieving that. Plus, if you don’t make it, it opens up an avenue to other jobs in and around sports. Reid uses the time to recap my previous day’s performance, which basically is a play-by-play of the stuff I did wrong and how to fix it. He throws in a couple of praise statements, and it’s those that I cling to in order to keep me from spiraling down the “holy shit I’m in way over my head” thoughts that want to creep in.
After breakfast, I usually get in some early practice drills. Reid keeps telling me not to push myself too hard with all the extrasessions, but I feel like I need to nail down every play if I’m going to show the coaches they made the right choice, and show Reid I belong here.
It’s the last day of camp, and while my performance in the exhibition games has been good, I feel like I could have done more. The crowd loves it when I pull off a trick play and it results in a goal, but Reid hates it when I do it. He’s used to being able to anticipate people on the ice, and it’s a skill that makes him an amazing captain, so when I do something completely out of nowhere, he doesn’t know how to react except to get pissy with me.
Today will be the busiest day of camp, because the final roster is being revealed, and I’m praying my name is on it. I didn’t come here to get sent down to the AHL. I’m here for the big show. Please let me get picked. To get out some of the nervous energy, I head out onto the ice to practice some of my trick shots. I set my phone on the railing by one of the holes and hope to not hear it ring. If you haven’t made the final roster, you’ll get a call from the GM telling you why. If you don’t get a call, then you know you made it. Guys like Reid don’t have to worry about today. He’s contracted for another two years and is one of the best players in the league, not just this team.
Today, I’m working on what I like to call my butterfly toss. When I was in college, Cosmo used to give the president of the frat a hard time for being a lacrosse player, forever comparing their game to a bunch of guys running around trying to catch butterflies in their nets. I miss Cosmo. We played against him in an exhibition game a few days ago. We caught up for a drink after, and while it wasn’t ashard as I thought it would be—sitting there and listening to how amazing his life is signed to his dream NHL team, how well he’s getting on with everyone on it, and his upcoming wedding to the guy who isn’t me—it wasn’t exactly a fun night out. I faked a message from Mom after one drink, and after promising to catch up again soon, I headed home.
For the butterfly toss play to work, I need to gain possession of the puck behind the net, get closer to one side, then flip the puck up onto the blade of my stick and tuck it into the top corner of the net like throwing in a lacrosse goal. It’s not easy to flick the puck up, and even harder to keep it on the blade, but if done fast enough, it fucking kills.
I finally get into a rhythm with it, pretending I’m being surrounded as I work the puck out from behind the net, get it up, and toss it in over and over. Then my eye catches the time.
Shit. It’s twenty-five past. I’ve got a special teams meeting at half past. I’ll be lucky if I’m not last in the room now. Fuck. I turned off my alarm because I didn’t want to freak myself out thinking it was the GM calling me, and now I’m going to be late. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I quickly take off my gloves and slide guards over my blades. The training room isn’t too far from the ice, but as expected, when I get there, I’m the last to walk through the door.
“Nice of you to join us,” Harris, our secondary offensive D, says from the back row of seats, but then Reid turns his head toward him, arms squarely folded over his chest.
“The rook was here early practicing, something you might want to consider if you ever want to make it off PP-two.”
How did he know I was practicing again? Was he watching me? And wait . . . Did I hallucinate, or did Reid just defend me? Maybe he’s finally starting to come around.
I take a seat two down from him, and when West is pulling up a video to show us, I lean toward him.
“Hey, thanks for that,” I whisper, and without even looking at me, he replies.
“These meetings, this team, they need to be your priority.”
“Why do you think I’ve been practicing so much?” I whisper back.
“To make yourself look good,” he replies, his gaze still straight ahead.
West clears his throat at the front of the room.
“Let’s get started, shall we?” West asks, and I don’t get a chance to respond to Reid’s last remark. I’m not just doing the extra training for me. It helps the team if I know what I’m doing out there on the ice, so it’s for them too. West wasn’t even ready with the video when I got here. I didn’t delay the meeting or miss anything. He defended me to Harris, so why even do that if he had a problem with me being two minutes late? Urgh, will I ever get on this guy’s good side?
Today’s videos are of us. Last exhibition game we had two power plays, and West took us through both step by step, highlighting what worked well and where things fell apart. He always asks us what we saw and what we think we could do next time rather than just tellingus, which is good, because it forces us to really look at the situation and run through in our heads what to do. Reid has the answers for everything, but lately he’s been keeping his hand down, letting the rest of us work out the solutions.
“The weak left side needed to stay back about two feet; they were too far forward,” I say, and West smiles and nods.
