Page 11 of A Vegas Crush Collection #2

mr. honest engine

Boris

The general manager of the Crush is a goofy man. Bud Bellikowski is balding and wears what little remains up top in a comb-over. His striped polo shirt is clashing with the ill-fitting pants he’s wearing, and his posture is terrible. But he does seem excited to have me on the team.

He pulls me aside to stand in front of the players who are now assembled in the locker room prior to our first official team practice of the season.

“This is Boris Dr?ghici,” he says to the team.

“AKA the Ice Dragon and the division’s third-leading scorer last season.

He’s played four seasons for the Austin Comets and they were sad, sad, sad to see him go.

But their loss is our win, and he’s going to round out what I think is the strongest lineup this team has ever seen.

Coach will talk more about this, but I think we’ll run starting lineup with him at center ice and Evan and Mikhail on the wings. ”

“I think we need another Cold War so these Russian players will stay on their own side of a lake,” some young guy says. “Let us red-blooded Americans get some playing time.”

Viktor Demoskev smacks the kid on the back of the head and says, “Shut up, asshole.”

“Tyler, do you ever read the paper?” another player asks.

I try to keep my face neutral as I take a seat next to Georg, who says, “Tyler’s a hothead with a big mouth but he’s just joking. Demoskev’s his BFF, so he doesn’t actually hate Russians.”

“It’s okay,” I respond. “I am not Russian.”

“Marginally less Russian than I am,” Georg argues.

“Very less Russian, cousin.”

Georg just shrugs. We’ve played together most of our lives, in various capacities. It was fun to fill out the Russian team for Sochi together.

The coach stands up and talks about his expectations for this first week of practice, and for the season, before introducing Evan Kazmeirowicz. Evan is team captain and a very strong scorer.

“Hey, ladies,” he says with a winning smile that spans the room before his eyes settle on me. “Welcome, Boris. It’s good to see you. I think aside from when you played for the Comets, the last real interaction we’ve had was in Sochi. Is that right?”

I nod and give a half-smile. “I think so.”

Evan gives a few notes and then sends everyone toward the ice. As I stand, he steps over and shakes my hand. “It’s going to be great having you here with us.”

“I am excited to be here, Evan. Really looking forward to working with the team.”

“Awesome,” he says. “Have you settled in okay? Sin City treating you well?”

“It has been fine. I am just learning my way around, still. How are you? Having a great career, and I hear you are married with children now.”

“I think there’s something in the water,” Evan says with a laugh. “I got hit by Cupid’s arrow and then Georg did, and then even that fool Demoskev. Watch out, or you’ll be strung up soon, too. Though I will be the first to admit these women have made better men of all of us.”

“That would be okay with me. First, I just want to play hockey, though.”

Evan claps me on the back. “Good man. Hockey first, women second. Although I haven’t heard those kinds of rumors about you.”

“I’m boring that’s why.”

“Boring is just fine in life but not on the ice. See you out there.”

He heads toward the door as I grab my stick and helmet. I stop at the water station to fill up my drinking bottle just to make a point to both Georg and Evan. They both laugh and shake their heads.

“Hockey first!” Evan repeats, grinning as we all head out to the ice.

We’ve done our full-team warmups and now are separated into skills training.

I’ve taken about fourteen shots on goal when Coach tells me to take a break and head down to PT for a wellness-check on my late-season concussion.

I switch out of my pads and boots and into a T-shirt, shorts, and trainers before heading down into the lower-level training and therapy areas.

I wander until I find the PT space, a large room with about five individual therapy and massage spaces, some light equipment, a few workspaces, and a cryo-tub.

I’m greeted by a pretty blonde who says, “You must be the Ice Dragon.”

“Boris.” I hold out a hand.

She takes my hand and says, “Pam.”

“Oh, nice to meet you, Pam. You are Georg’s wife, yes?”

“Yes, though it depends on how annoyed I am with him on any given day whether I admit it.”

I laugh lightly at her joke and she smiles, her eyes bright and twinkling with humor. I decide I like this Pam. I can see why Georg would make such life changes for her.

“So, my notes say you suffered a late-season concussion,” she says, pointing me to a therapy table.

I climb on as I answer. “I did. It was nothing too serious but the hit was hard enough that I’ve had some ongoing pain in my neck and shoulders. It can cause headaches from time to time.”

“Look at you, Mr. Honest Engine. Most guys would not dare admit ongoing trauma, because they’d be worried about being benched.”

“I want to play for a good many years, so I know I must take care of my body if I want it to last.”

Pam smiles widely. “I’m going to put that on a poster for these other knuckleheads to see every time they come down here. I swear to God, these guys would come in here with their guts hanging out and be like, ‘I’m fine. I can play!’”

“I have been cleared to play,” I remind her.

“I get that. I just appreciate your honesty. I can’t help you manage pain if I don’t know you’re having it.”

Pam does a standard concussion protocol and announces that she sees no lingering issues before having me lie down so she can work on the muscles in my neck, head, and back.

It’s probably been about six weeks since I last had the hands of a physical therapist work within my muscles.

How did I forget how tight they were? How did I forget the sensation that even though it feels like my neck and back will be black and blue at the end, I’ll have more range of movement back?

And Pam is very good. She was the perfect PT with strong wrists and the ability to reach deep when mobilizing.

And fuck, at times it hurt like hell. Deep breaths, Dr?ghici.

“So, Georg told me you’re distantly related?” she asks as she works.

“Not too distantly,” I say. “I am his father’s cousin’s son. So, his second cousin, I believe?”

“Did you grow up with him?”

“No, I was born in Romania and then moved to Czech Republic until I was a teenager, before moving again to Russia. We got to spend more time together once we were both training for the Olympics.”

“And you played for Russia in Sochi?”

“Yes.”

“He was a wild man back then, I hear.”

“That is true.”

“Come on, that’s it?” she asks. “You’re not going to give me the dirt?”

“A gentleman never tells such stories. They aren’t mine to tell.”

“Well, there aren’t that many gentlemen out there anymore, I’m afraid. But good for you. I’m going to tell all my single girlfriends to get in line for you.”

“No, no,” I say. “I will find the right woman when the time is right. No set-ups, please. I will keep drinking the water here, though, just for luck.” I give her a wink.

“Something tells me you’re not going to need any luck, Boris, once word gets out about you.” She gives me a wink back.