Page 19

Bad luck

Remy

We finished the preseason with five wins and a loss. I played a couple of periods, but mostly against the wannabes on the other teams, so it wasn’t much of a test. It was nice to have a winning record, but it meant nothing since those wins didn’t count for our season record.

The team settled on the three goalies they’d planned on from the beginning: Keats, Lappy and me. The regular season began, the familiar routines of my adult life. Warm-ups and practice, afternoon naps and games, with travel shaking up the groove.

The team was putting Lappy in for most games, either on the bench or a starter. Keats and I rotated as the other goalie suited up. I was in net for every sixth game. Not enough time to get into a routine, but it also kept us fresh. As the oldest of the goalies, I appreciated that.

We had a good team, with strong forwards, so we were winning even if sometimes Lappy struggled.

I mentioned to Otts that he didn’t understand English very well, which could be affecting his play, but the team didn’t seem worried.

They were sure he’d pick it up. Learning a second language in the locker room meant he had an impressive vocabulary of swear words, but I wasn’t sure he was comfortable enough to share any problems he had.

The second time I was tapped to start, I looked up from lacing my skates to find Lappy in the stall beside me, watching me with a frown.

He pointed at my skate. “You do dat one first, other time.”

I took a minute to work that out. “Did I?” Had he been watching me?

He waved his hand. “You not do de same, tout le temps?”

I finished lacing up the skate and shrugged. “Not now.”

“Now?”

“Maintenant.”

I’d seen how Lappy got ready. He’d kiss his St. Christopher medal, cross himself, and put on his gear left to right, exactly the same order every time. He double-checked his skate laces and stomped the mat three times. If something went wrong, he’d start the whole process over again.

“I used to…” How did I say “have quirks” in French so that he could understand with his limited English? “I used to tape my stick.” I mimed it. “Always the same. Got dressed, always the same. Skated around the net, three times, always the same.”

And if any of those routines didn’t go right, it threw me off mentally.

“Not now?”

I sighed. “I was injured.” I pointed to my groin. He nodded, quite aware of the risks with those muscles for ice hockey goalies. “After, I played different.”

“Why?”

“Because of the injury. It hurt and could injure me again.” I waited while he worked through that. “I did the same things— my stick, my gear, my skating. And it didn’t help. I tried different things. Nothing worked. So I stopped.”

He was blinking fast, like his brain was racing and he suspected I was blaspheming.

“I don’t judge anyone.” More blinking. “You keep doing what you want.”

“Tattoo?”

It took me a minute to understand he was referring to mine. I looked over my shoulder, where most of my back was covered up. “Yeah?”

“Good luck?”

I snorted. “No. Bad luck.” Pride going before the fall.

He looked down, then back at me. Then he grabbed his medal again, kissed it, and stood. Stomped the mat three times and left. He’d probably avoid me from now on because of my bad juju.

I followed him out, warmed up, and once the anthem was done and the game started, I settled into my stance without skating around the net, tapping the posts, or any other superstitious moves.

I hoped the game went well or Lappy would be sure I was bad luck.

Plus, with so few starts I didn’t have many chances to prove my skills were still sharp so I could entice a team to sign me next year.

I let in the first shot on net. Fuck . It wasn’t like I expected every game would be a shutout, but it was a blow to my confidence just the same.

I did my best to shake it off and focus on the next shot.

I let another one in. The team got one back, so we were only down a goal at the end of the first, but I felt it was all on me.

Lappy stayed as far away from me as he could.

My teammates all skated by to encourage me as the second period started. Viggy scored to tie it up at the beginning of the second. Then we went ahead one, but another one slipped past me to leave us tied after two periods.

Three goals wasn’t the end of the world, but I’d only faced eighteen shots.

The mood in the locker room was tense. We returned to the ice for the third period.

The teams traded goals, and I tried to clear my mind.

Fortunately, our forwards were clicking.

They scored just before the end of regulation, so we had the win.

The guys congratulated me but I wasn’t happy.

This wasn’t the consistent play I wanted to show.

“It’s a win, Remy,” Hanny said. “Take it. The next game is a fresh slate.”

Lappy continued to keep his distance from me, and I was pretty sure he thought the high goal count was because of my refusal to be quirky. Or my tattoo. I wasn’t going to have much chance to help him the way the coaches wanted me to in that case.

The team headed out on a two-game road trip and I was left behind.

It was disappointing, but anything could happen and I needed to maintain my cardio and muscle mass and flexibility.

We did some shooting practice, me and the skaters who’d also been left behind, and after lunch I headed back to the carriage house with nothing to do.

I brought Beast home from the doggy day care and stopped at the workshop door instead of heading up to the apartment. I heard the sound of a machine running—maybe a planer? I rapped on the doorframe.

Sophie was wearing headphones while she worked.

Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She’d had it down the night Beast and Goober had their face-off, or whatever the hell that had been.

I’d been able to see the waves where it fell around her shoulders, a dark chestnut with some red highlights.

It had made her look softer. Now she had it covered with a handkerchief, protecting it from the dust I could see in the air.

She had her back to the door, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. The jeans weren’t tight, and neither was the T-shirt. She was slender, but surprisingly strong as she worked. I enjoyed watching her—the concentration, the skill, and a body that looked good even in her work clothes.

Yes, Sophie was attractive, but she was Otts’s ex.

She had been kind, but I was a stranger and he was her ex-husband, her friend, her brother’s best friend.

There was no doubt where her priorities would lie, and nothing was going to happen between us, despite what I might be tempted by.

But maybe we could be friendly. Without the team here, I had no one I knew in the city.

It would be nice to talk to someone, even if it was just about Beast and Goober.

Speaking of which, the cat slunk in the door past Beast, who growled. The cat jumped on a workbench and Sophie stopped the machine.

She pulled down her headphones. “What’s up, Goober?”

I cleared my throat and she jumped, turning around. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. I knocked, but…”

Her body relaxed. “That’s fine. I get a little absorbed when I’m working.”

“You’d need to, wouldn’t you?”

She nodded but her eyes flicked from Beast to Goober. Beast was sitting beside me, leash taut, eyes on Goober, occasionally growling but in a halfhearted, obligatory way.

“They’re not fighting?”

I looked at my dog. “I think he’s trying to keep up appearances, but the cat passed by us to get in there and he didn’t lunge. Normally he’d almost rip my arm off.”

A smile quirked up the corner of her mouth. “I don’t know what they’re doing and I don’t trust it to last, but I’m grateful they’re not fighting.”

“Exactly.” I smiled back at her, and it was good.

In different circumstances, Sophie and I could be friends.

Maybe more. My mind wandered for a minute thinking of those more things.

Her smile dropped. What? Oh, wondering why I was there.

“I came to ask how Hanny’s guitar was going.

” It was a lame excuse, but with the team gone I was grasping at straws.

“Good. He was going to come by after the road trip he said the team was on. Maybe you can let him in, in case I’m…” Her hand waved at her machine.

“Yeah, absolutely. We usually finish up practice at the same time, so I could bring him by after that. You’re here working afternoons, right?”

“Usually. Maybe check first.”

“I’ll do that.”

I should leave. That excuse had been weak to begin with.

I’d like to look around her shop and ask what she did with all this stuff, but I knew nothing about music and guitars, and this was going to be awkward if I just hung around.

I should go upstairs…where I would have nothing to do except walk Beast till practice tomorrow.

“Do you watch hockey?” The words slipped out of my mouth and I cringed.

She cocked her head. “Do I watch hockey?”

“I just wondered, because you and Otts, and maybe you’re a fan? Or maybe you watch the Aces because they’re local and his team?”

She shrugged. “Not often. He’s with the team, but he’s not on the game feed.”

“Of course.” I knew that. Smooth I was not.

“Sometimes I watch with Cash when he’s around. He’s a fan and always watched Ollie when he was playing.”

“Oh. Right.”

“So why aren’t you with them? They’re on a road trip, right? Are you injured?”

That would be preferable to admitting the truth. “No. The team is carrying three goalies, so we rotate. And I was rotated off this trip.”

She cocked her head. “Is that normal?”

“This is the first time I’ve been on a team with three netminders. I was brought on because I’m older, and there’s a rookie they think could use someone looking out for him.”

She squinted, eyes focused upward. “You’re the same age as Ollie, right?”

I nodded.