Page 63 of Tough Guy and the Show Off

“So far. Diego Ferguson is really cool.”

“Great, now I have to deal with you and Fergie?”

We both laugh at that.

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” I agree. “Look who’s talking though. You guys picked up Florian Jurowski. That dude is on fire. How did the Magic get him away from Minnesota?”

“By trading our best fucking D-man and our goalie so we’d have enough cash to pick up Jurowski as a free agent.”

“I can’t believe Minnesota didn’t fight for him.”

“I’m sure they did, but they probably couldn’t compete with the salary the Magic offered.”

“I guess my forced sacrifice was worth it, then.”

“Nope. I’d rather have lost a few games with Nilsson and still have you by my side.”

“That’s heresy, man. Winning is all that matters, and we both know it. That’s why you better play your ass off too.”

“I will.”

“We always knew this was a possibility. That’s just how hockey is, right? We didn’t think it would happen now, but that’s life. If we have to be in a long-distance whatever we are until we retire, we’ll handle it.”

“Retire?” He scoffs. “That seems so far from now.”

“You never know.”

“True.” His face lights up. “Are you too tired to watch an episode of Sin City Cars with me?”

“I’m never too tired for that, Trav.”

We both flip on our TVs and navigate to the show. I wiped my hands on my discarded shirt to deal with tomorrow instead of getting out of bed to clean up. I don’t want to miss a second with Trav.

“Goose is such an asshole,” Trav says about one of the guys on the screen. “I hope he gets his ass kicked tonight.”

“Me too.”

And just like that, it’s me and Trav doing the thing we always do. It feels almost normal again. Almost.

TWENTY-EIGHT

SHOW

Pulling up to the arena with my equipment in the passenger seat instead of Beau already has me feeling all fucking off my game. I blared my pre-game playlist the whole way here, but not even “Another One Bites the Dust” could get me hyped like it usually does.

Our talk last night was good. Better than good. I actually went to sleep smiling, thinking about the sound of Beau’s moans and about our agreement not to see other people. If I’m being honest, it was the latter that had me smiling the hardest, even though his moans are damn hard to beat. But I woke up this morning and remembered that he’s a thousand miles away, and the heaviness settled over me all over again.

In the locker room, I stop short. Reggie Albert has apparently already decided that being moved up from second line to take Beau’s spot means that he gets his stall right next to mine too. Albert and I have always gotten along well. He’s a tough guy and he takes the game seriously, plus he’s got some decent skills. But his hair is buzzed short and his ass is just okay. He’ll never replace Beau.

A strong hand claps me on the shoulder and I turn my head to see Klaus, smiling but looking more tired than he should when we’ve got a game about to start.

“Dude, I don’t know what the hell happened with you last night, but thanks for the unintentional wingman. Carrie and I got to talking after you left and she is wife material, man, I’m telling you.”

“Good for you. She definitely seemed like a catch.” I give him a friendly punch on the arm.