Part 4 (1/2)
Tanner arrived at the Moens Center around nine the next morning, carrying his big Starbucks coffee. He'd had a hard time getting to sleep last night and he was irritable because of that.
Because of Katelyn.
He couldn't believe she'd showed up in his life again. What the f.u.c.k?
It annoyed him even more that she was still just as attractive to him as she'd been the first time they'd met. Because even though he'd been the one who'd left, he was the one who'd had his heart broken.
When he moved to New York, he'd shut that painful s.h.i.+t down. He'd focused on hockey and women. He'd been determined to succeed, knowing nothing was a given in your rookie season. And life in the Big Apple and the plentiful supply of beautiful women interested in dating hockey players provided plenty of distractions from the girl he'd left behind.
He'd had no intention of ever getting hurt like that again, which meant he'd been a player, dating one gorgeous girl after another, never serious. Well, until Presley. And that had been a mistake.
He headed straight for the omelet bar the team set up outside the dressing room and requested one with smoked salmon, cream cheese, and green onions. d.a.m.n, he loved smoked salmon, and they always had a lot of it. But he did like to vary things and try new combinations, like different kinds of cheese with ham, or ones with a bunch of different veggies. He added diced potatoes to his plate and grabbed a gla.s.s of juice, then joined his defensive partner Andrew Ross and goaltender Brent Stoyko. Maybe the food would get rid of the grouchy funk he was in.
”Hey, guys. Any news from Rupper?”
”No. Why?” Rosser and Stoyker exchanged a look.
”Sidney went into labor last night.”
”Holy s.h.i.+t!”
”Yeah. That was”-he glanced at his watch-”twelve hours ago. Baby should have been born by now.”
”Maybe not,” Stoykers said. ”My sister was in labor for a week.”
”n.o.body can be in labor for a week,” Rosser protested.
”Okay, maybe not. But it was a long time. Ended up having a C-section because the baby was in distress.”
”Ugh.” Tanner grimaced. ”Hopefully everything's okay.”
”I'm sure Coach will know.”
The rest of the guys rolled in and no one else had heard anything either, but as they moved into the weight room to warm up, Coach appeared. ”Rupper's out today,” he announced, then grinned. ”He and Sidney are proud parents of a little girl.”
Cheers erupted.
Coach peered at a piece of paper he held. ”Born at six-fifteen this morning, seven pounds, ten ounces, name is Aubree Anna. Mom and daughter are doing fine.”
Tanner grinned. ”Awesome.”
”Called up Chase Hartman from Rockford,” Coach announced. ”He'll play tonight. Nik, you move up to play the wing with Marc and Julien. Jeff will join Olaf and Steve.”
Tanner nodded and resumed his bike ride. Harts was a good young player with a bright future, the Aces' first-round draft pick last year who was just waiting for a chance to show what he could do with the big dogs. He'd played a few games early in the season but then had been sent back down.
After warming up on the bike, Tanner went through a series of stretches, then changed and headed out onto the ice for the game-day skate. Early in the season, Coach had asked the team if they wanted to continue to do a game-day skate. There'd been mixed feelings. It was kind of a tradition more than a necessity, but hockey players hated messing with a routine, so in the end they'd voted to continue it.
Tanner had his routines and superst.i.tions, like most hockey players, so although he did think it was a waste of time to come to the rink twice on game days, he went along with the majority and showed up as expected. The skate was easy and standard, followed by the special teams meetings. Coach had been using him and Rosser a lot on the penalty kill, usually with him in front of the net.
”The Blades' power play is c.r.a.p,” Coach stated. ”Currently sixteen point eight percent, which puts them at twenty-fourth in the league. They're too impatient, and they try to make perfect plays instead of simple ones. They hold the puck rather than shoot it. That said, we still need to outwork them. Win face-offs. In the defensive zone, you guys know the rule-eyes and a.s.ses.”
Tanner nodded. If the opposing player with the puck was looking right at him-as in, he could see his eyes-he would move to a containing mode, but if he could see the guy's a.s.s-as in, his back-he would go for maximum pressure.
”Remember,” Coach said, ”once one player moves to pressure, every pa.s.s after that has to be pressured.”
Tanner hung around for the lunch provided by the team, carb loading with some pasta with chicken, and a big salad with lots of avocado, his favorite, then headed home for his nap. Another routine, another tradition that some of the guys-including team captain Duper-had questioned. Yet they all still did it. Tanner smiled as he settled himself into his king-size bed, blackout shades drawn on the window of his condo bedroom. What would it take to get these creatures of habit to shake things up? Probably a h.e.l.luva lot of losses.
The alarm on his cellphone went off two hours later. d.a.m.n. He loved sleeping. He rolled out of bed, yawned, and stretched as he crossed the room naked to his big closet. There he selected a dark blue suit, a white s.h.i.+rt, and a nice blue-and-purple tie. He wasn't a crazy dresser like some of the guys-especially Rupper, who wore designer clothes all the time, and Pilker, who had a European flair to his style-but he liked to have fun with ties. As he left his condo, he pulled on a knit cap to hide the fact that he had bedhead and hadn't bothered combing his hair.
It was about four o'clock when he arrived back at the arena, where he hung out with the guys kicking a soccer ball around, then had a bowl of cereal with some almonds on top just before the game. Adrenaline started coursing through his veins as they dressed and stepped onto the ice for the warm-up. His love for the game filled him with energy.
The Colorado Blades warmed up at the other end, music blasting, the stands just starting to fill with fans. The sc.r.a.pe of steel on ice, the smack of a puck on a taped blade, the ping of rubber off the goalpost were all so familiar, yet still invigorated him. This was when he needed to focus, not be thinking of Katelyn Medford and her beautiful eyes.
She'd said she wasn't interested in hockey. She lied.
She'd come to all his games when they'd started seeing each other, and they'd watched NHL games on TV. She'd asked a million questions and he'd patiently explained the game to her. She was a smart cookie and by the end of that season she knew more about hockey than any other girlfriend.
A puck sailed past him and he jerked out of his memories. f.u.c.k! Focus, man. They had a game to play-a game to win-and he had contract negotiations happening. He needed to be sharp.
- They won four-two.
”Good effort from everyone,” Duper said in the dressing room after, celebratory music playing. ”Four goals from four different guys. Shut down their power play. Way to contribute.”
Media guys came in and started asking questions, mostly interested in Duper, Army, Rupp, and Boosh, the guys who'd scored the goals, but Tanner was getting some attention because of a crazy save he'd made late in the third when the Blades were coming back with some pressure. That a.s.shole Tolomey had planted himself in front of Stoyker, who gave him a shove just as the puck came sliding through the crease. Tanner had snapped his stick out to keep it from entering the net.
”Let's talk about that amazing save you made,” Mike Jones said.
Tanner resisted an eye roll. Why did all the reporters start off with that ”let's talk” invitation instead of asking an actual question.
”Yeah, that was pretty lucky,” he began. ”I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Overall, it was a great team effort tonight.”
He spewed a few other cliches, then gave a brief smile and a ”my pleasure” in response to Jones' ”thank you.”
Dressed in athletic shorts and a T-s.h.i.+rt, he drank a protein shake and cooled down on the bike for a few minutes, then went to the foam rollers the trainers had them using.
”f.u.c.k, these things are torture devices,” he ground out between gritted teeth as he rolled his hip over the cylinder.
”I know, right?” Army was sprawled out, ma.s.saging his adductors. ”Christ Jesus.”
”Suck it up, b.u.t.tercups!” Cal yelled. ”This will help your mobility and flexibility-prevent injuries.” He paced around them. ”The skating stride is a unique athletic movement-at the end of a stride, your groin muscle is elongated and rotated, then it contracts and pulls your leg back to midline. It happens hundreds of times during a game. You need to do this.”
”All righty.” Tanner sucked it up and did his hamstrings. He b.i.t.c.hed and complained, but looking after his body was important to him. He knew the frustration of being out of the game, how much it sucked watching from the press box. He sure as h.e.l.l didn't want to be injured.
After showering and dressing in their game-day suits, some of the guys headed across the hall to the Aces Ladies' lounge, where the wives and girlfriends hung out before and after the game and between periods. Some of the single guys-Pilker, Rico, Bomber, and Boosh-were going to the Sin Bin. Apparently Rupper had texted Duper that he'd be there around eleven if anyone wanted to come by for cigars.
So what the h.e.l.l, Tanner tagged along. Duper and Army showed up too, and then new dad Rupper arrived, looking tired but beaming like crazy. After they'd all congratulated him with bro shakes and backslaps, he handed out cigars.
”We watched the game tonight,” he said. ”Sid's got a TV in her room. Aubree loved it.”
Tanner laughed. ”Right.”