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TWO

Blake

The Lucky Tango Bar & Grill is hopping tonight.

Ten-cent wings, five-dollar pitchers of beer, and a jukebox playing good music.

That’s why we hang out here.

“Blakey, come dance with me!” Lori’s a waitress at the bar, and I’ve known her for a couple of years. She’s married, with a couple of kids, so we’re just friends, and I know this is about as close as she gets to having any fun.

“You know I don’t like this country crap,” I mutter, shaking my head as Billy Ray Cyrus’s “Achy Breaky Heart” comes on.

“But I like it.” She starts doing some complicated line dance I can’t even pretend to follow, but I bop around the dance floor with her. I’ve had enough beer to be feeling no pain and I’m grateful I can walk home from here.

I twirl her around a few times, and we laugh.

“Guess what?” she asks.

“What?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Again?” The word slips out before I can stop it, but she just laughs.

“Yup. Baby number three. Jed’s over the moon.”

“What about you?”

She shrugs. “It’s all right, I guess. Not sure how we’re going to afford another mouth to feed, especially when I have to stop working, but we’ll figure it out.”

I open my mouth and then close it again.

None of my business.

“Hey, Blake!” One of the regulars here steps between Lori and me, wrapping her arms around my neck.

“Hey, Sue Ann.” I twirl her around a few times, giving Lori an apologetic smile, but she waves me off as she starts dancing with my friend and roommate, Bodi Michener.

I spend a lot of time here, probably more than I should, but what else is a single guy going to do on his nights off?

We dance for a couple of songs, and I finally make my way back to the high-top table where a fresh pitcher of beer is waiting. I pour a glass and guzzle it down. Not the smartest thing to do as a professional athlete, but what the hell? You only live once. The team I play for, the Phoenix Rebels, is the minor league affiliate for the L.A. Phantoms, but it’s not like I’m getting called up in the middle of the playoffs.

“Hey, did you see this?” Bodi joins me a few minutes later.

“What’s up?” I glance at his phone without much interest.

“The Phantoms. The team bus was in an accident in Alaska.”

“What?” I frown.

“Reports are still coming in, and no news on whether or not they’re okay.”

“Shit.” I pull out my own phone and start looking for information. It’s sketchy, since it only happened a couple of hours ago, but there’s no mention of fatalities.

Thank fuck.

I’ve only been called up to play for the Phantoms a few times in my three years here in Phoenix, but I played in college with one of the guys—Jensen Bang—and we’ve kept in touch over the years. I want to send him a text, see if I can get any news, but I hate to bother him. What if he’s hurt? Or worse?

There’s someone else who works for the team whom I could potentially reach out to, but I don’t have her phone number anymore. No, Rowan probably doesn’t want to hear from me anyway.

Finally, because I can’t stand the suspense, I text Jensen.

BLAKE: Hey, man. Just heard about the accident. You good? If you can give me a shout, I’d appreciate it. Hope you’re okay.

The text doesn’t show as read, and after a solid minute of staring at it, I put my phone down.

“Word through the grapevine is that the bus hit black ice and spun out, went into a ravine, and flipped onto its side. No casualties but a lot of injuries.” Bodi looks relieved.

“I texted Big Bang but haven’t heard back.”

“What about Rowan?” He knows my high school girlfriend works for the Phantoms.

Our eyes meet.

“I don’t have her number anymore,” I admit after a minute.

“Oh. Well, I mean Jensen’ll reach out.”

I’m actually a little worried about Rowan too. As an assistant trainer on the team, she would have been on the bus with them. They’re in Alaska for the first two games of the first round of the playoffs, so she had to be there.

We haven’t seen or spoken to each other in nine years, but I don’t want anything bad to happen to her. She was my first love. My first everything, really. And while things ended badly, we were young and stupid. Mostly me. I’d been so excited about college, and having a girlfriend seemed like such a burden at eighteen.

At twenty-eight, I’m still not big on the whole girlfriend thing. I’ve had a few over the years, but it’s hard to focus on a woman when I’m always playing hockey, traveling for hockey, working out so I can stay in shape to play hockey… hockey is pretty much all I have time for. And frankly, the money in the minors isn’t all that great. I wouldn’t be able to support a family with what I make, so it’s just easier not to start something that doesn’t have a future.

“Hey, did you guys hear about the Phantoms?” Another one of our teammates, Dylan Hayes, comes over to our table.

“Yeah.” I nod. “You heard anything specific? So far, it’s all basic.”

“My buddy Shawn’s sister is married to the Zamboni driver over at their arena. He’s reaching out to her, see what she knows.”

“This is brutal,” Bodi says.

Dylan shrugs. “You know what this means, though, right?”

We all stare at him.

He stares back.

Finally, he lifts his hands, palms up. “ Some of us are getting called up.”

That never even occurred to me.

Christ.

I’d love to play. Not just because the money is amazing, but because it’s the playoffs . I mean, it doesn’t get better than that.

I’ve had a pretty good season, too.

Most goals and assists on the Rebels and second most in the whole league.

That has to count for something.

But it feels shitty to think about something good for me at the expense of the guys on the Phantoms.

And anyway, they’re probably fine.

I pour another glass of beer.

“Here’s to the Phantoms,” I say. “And hoping they’re okay.”

The guys clink their glasses to mine.

I wake with a faint headache and realize my phone is buzzing on the nightstand. I reach for it, frowning at the unfamiliar number. It’s an L.A. area code, though.

“Hello?”

“Blake? This is Drake Riser.”

Holy shit.

My eyes pop open.

Drake is the General Manager for the Phantoms.

“Mr. Riser. Good morning.”

“Good morning. Sounds like I woke you up.”

“Yeah, no worries. I was about to get up anyway.”

“How soon can you be on a flight to Anchorage?”

“I…as soon as you need me. Is this because of the accident?”

He sighs. “Yeah. Thankfully, we didn’t lose anyone, but we’ve got a bunch of guys who can’t play. You, Bodi Michener, Dylan Hayes, Warren Franco, and Mikey Stevens are all coming up. Your flight’s in three hours. You’ll be getting an email with all the pertinent information shortly.”

“I can be ready to go in thirty,” I say.

“Great. Safe travels. Thanks for stepping in.”

“Of course. Thank you for the opportunity. I won’t let you down.”

Fuck, I hope not.

I disconnect and yell for Bodi, who’s already coming down the hall.

“We’re going to Alaska!” he yells.

We high five in the hallway.

“Get your ass in the shower,” I say.

“On my way.”

He disappears down the hall, and I go back to my room to start packing. A minute later, my phone rings again. It’s Jensen.

“Jensen!” I answer on the first ring. “Dude, I was getting nervous!”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve been in the hospital. Broke my arm in two places, needed emergency surgery.”

“Jesus. You okay otherwise?”

“Yeah, it could’ve been much worse. Doc says I’ll be good to go for next season, but…” As his voice trails, I can only imagine how hard it must be to finally make the playoffs and not be able to play.

“What about everyone else?” I ask quietly.

“Marty Nadeau has a concussion and dislocated his shoulder. Ivan Rochenko got twenty stitches in his head, but he’s okay, no concussion.” He gives me a rundown of all the injuries, and while a few are season-ending, none are career-ending. “And then there’s Gene.” Jensen’s voice is quiet. “Our trainer, man. He had a heart attack in the middle of it all. He’s okay but he had to have some stents put in or something… I’ve been a little out of it so I can’t remember all the details.”

“Jesus. I’m sorry I bothered you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Yeah, no worries. I’m a little tired, and my fiancée’s freaking out, but otherwise, I’ll be okay.”

“I’m relieved.”

“Me too.”

“Hey, uh…” I hate to be too nosy, but I just want to know she’s okay. “Is, uh, Rowan okay?”

“Oh, that’s right. You guys dated in high school.”

“I mean, we’re not in touch anymore or anything, but I figured she was on the bus. Just thought I’d check in.”

“Yeah, she’s good. She was a fucking rock star, man. She took over for Gene, got him his nitro, which saved his life, by the way. She and Coach Vanek were like real-life superheroes.”

I smile to myself, because that sounds like the Rowan I remember.

“I’m glad she’s okay. Anyway, I’ll let you go. But, one more thing… I, uh, just wanted you to know—I got the call.”

Jensen knows exactly what that means, and he lets out a small whoop of excitement. “Fuck yeah. Good for you. You come up here and show these fuckers that a little bus accident isn’t going to sideline the Phantoms.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Bodi coming too?”

“Yup. Dylan Hayes, Warren Franco, and Mikey Stevens too.”

“You guys’ll get it done. I have faith in you.”

“Thanks, man. I wish it hadn’t happened this way but?—”

“Nah, don’t do that. Bad things happen. You didn’t make the bus hit black ice. So you take this opportunity to show them who you are. I, for one, couldn’t be happier it’s going to be you. And Bodi too. I don’t know the other guys personally, but if Mr. Riser made the call, then I trust his judgment.”

“If I don’t see you in Alaska, hopefully I’ll see you back in L.A.”

“Yeah, the league made an announcement that they’re changing up the schedule to 2-3-2.”

The playoffs consist of best of seven game series, where you play two in one city, two in the other, and then alternate back and forth until someone wins four. Because of the distance to Alaska, and now the accident, they’ve obviously opted to minimize the amount of travel.

“I guess that’s fair, all things considered. I’m not looking forward to this flight.”

“It won’t be too bad. Bring headphones, get some sleep.”

“For sure.”

I’m suddenly regretting all that beer last night.

And I have a million things to do.

“Take care, Blake. See you soon.”

“You too, man.”

I disconnect and stare at the phone for a second.

I have to call my mom and finish packing, shower, and make sure I have everything I need for a week.

I honestly wouldn’t wish an accident like that on anyone, but now that I’m getting a shot at the big leagues, I can’t deny I’m excited.

I’m twenty-eight, so my glory days are behind me.

It’s always been one thing or another keeping me from making it to the NHL. Bad luck, bad timing, bad everything. I’ve been thinking about retirement, going back to school, looking toward a future that may not include hockey.

But this might be my chance.

For once, things are working in my favor and I’m going to do everything in my power to prove L.A. is where I belong.