Page 12 of Playoff (Toronto Blaze #4)

What choice have I got?

Alek

Cooper had messaged me to get to the practice facility early and hit up the bike room with JJ.

He didn’t offer a ride, and he didn’t suggest JJ pick me up.

If JJ and I had to talk, doing it while we were on the bikes was probably as good a place as any.

We didn’t have to look at each other and he could vent whatever his problem was into working out instead of using fists.

Not that I had anything against the guy, but I’d bet another shave that he was among my parents’ victims. Why else was he that pissed with me?

I called an Uber to get to the practice facility, and by the time I'd changed and made it to the bike room, JJ was already there and working up a sweat.

I wasn't sure whether he was the kind of guy who was always early, if he was nervous about this, or just wanted to show me up, but suspected the first. Maybe all three.

"Hey." I up-nodded before getting on the bike beside him.

"Hey," was JJ's flat response.

It took me a couple of minutes to figure out how this model worked, but I soon had a warm-up routine going.

I took a swig from my water bottle. "Cooper said you have a problem. We’re supposed to talk it out.

” Not sure if JJ was on board with this, but I was doing my part.

If the guy wanted to hold on to his grudge, I’d work around him.

We cycled in silence for long minutes. I’d done as much as I was willing, so the ball was in his court.

After a couple of miles, he broke the silence. “You have a lot of people pissed at you?”

“Yeah.”

“What for?”

“A lot of things.” I thought of Weasel, the people my parents embezzled from, players I’d made look stupid. Women who’d wanted more than I was willing to offer. Coaches. It was a long list. “But hell if I’m going to list them for you.”

“Your parents ripping people off one of those things?”

“Pretty well top of the list.”

He was quiet again for a moment. “My parents invested money with yours.”

Fuck. I’d guessed that was the problem. In the States, there were enough financial con artists that my parents didn’t attract a lot of attention. Here in Canada they were bigger news, and their victims popped up everywhere. It wasn’t just the climate I liked about California.

“Sorry to hear that.”

I didn’t say anything else. When the story had first blown up, I’d wanted to help the people who’d been scammed.

Fortunately, before I could offer to do something stupid, a lawyer had approached me to help get through the interviews with the various law agencies that were involved.

He’d given me good advice. Say as little as possible.

I’d tried to help one family that reached out, and they’d hit me with a lawsuit so fast my head spun.

From the corner of my eye, I saw my teammate turn and stare at me. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

We were getting to it now. I paused the bike program and sat up, ready to pay full attention. “What do you want from me, JJ?”

He paused his bike as well. “I want you on another team. I don’t want to see the name Denbrowski every time I turn around.”

I crossed my arms. “I didn’t ask to come here.”

He looked past me. “I know. In my head, none of this is your fault. If you’d been part of the scam, you’d either be with them or in prison now.”

I kept from flinching with an effort. Everyone knew my parents had fled with my kid sister.

They hadn’t taken me. Maybe people thought I’d refused to go with them, but I hadn’t been offered a choice.

I liked to think I’d have been horrified by what they’d done and turned my back on them, but they were all the family I had.

Who the hell knew what nineteen-year-old me would have done?

“You didn’t make my parents gamble on something too good to be true. You didn’t blow up our lives. But when I hear your name…”

“Even if I changed it, you’d still hear it every time they talked about me.”

“Not asking you to. And it’s not just what happened back then. My parents? Still dwell on it, and they’re hoping you being here gives us a chance to screw you over to benefit us.”

That hurt. It was hard to accept that people hated me for something I hadn’t done. I couldn’t reveal that though. Instead, I shrugged. “There’s a long line of people wanting that.”

He narrowed his gaze. “How the hell do you live with it?”

I tensed, my jaw clenching. I hadn’t done anything that was an issue to live with.

JJ read me better than I’d expected. “No, I don’t mean because you did it, but with people watching you, asking questions, trying to get their pound of flesh from you?”

“What choice have I got?”

My lawyer had suggested changing my name, moving away, but I couldn’t do that without giving up hockey.

Hockey was all I had when this went down.

I hadn’t gone the college route, but went straight to Florida’s farm team.

Florida would have preferred me to leave, once my family name hit the headlines, but I was a damned good player and they settled for trading me.

I’d fought for my place in hockey in spite of my family and my name, and I wasn’t giving it up.

JJ nodded, like he’d worked something out. “It’s a me problem, not you. I’ll handle it. I handled it when I played against you before, so I’ll work something out now that you’re around all the time.” He wasn’t happy about that either.

I cocked my head. “But we’ll never be besties.”

His expression lightened. “I’m not the besties type. But it’s better if we’re not too close.”

Like anyone was close to me. Those were the people who could screw you over more than anyone else.

A nice guy would probably have asked about his family, if they'd recovered, something like that. But I'd learned the hard way. You asked those questions, and then people wanted you to help them. I'd been inundated with requests and sob stories. I still was, occasionally.

So we turned back to our bikes and started them up again, riding side by side in silence till other guys started to show up and JJ finished his workout and left. I nodded to the new faces and moved on to some weights.

I'd gone through fitting in with new teams before—first when I'd been traded from Florida to Texas, then Nevada, and finally LA. It took a while to learn new systems and new teammates. I wasn't going to have a great game my first one with the Blaze, but I hoped it wouldn't be a fuckup.

Morning skate was better than practice yesterday, but I still had new plays to learn. I’d been put on the second line with Fitch and Gerbs this time. I hadn't been on the ice very often with Fitch in LA, but I was more familiar with his style of play than any of my other new teammates.

At the team lunch after the skate, Fitch invited me to join him. My guess was that Cooper had gotten to him. “Were you sent to be nice to the new guy?”

He smiled. “I drew the short straw. Cooper said you might be interested in rooming with me.”

“He did, did he?”

Fitch shrugged. “Your choice. I know what it’s like after a trade, not being sure if you want to commit to buying something. But hotels suck, and short-term rentals aren’t much better.”

I picked up a forkful of chicken. “You’re really selling it.”

“I stayed with Ducky the first few months I was here. We carpooled, he took me out a few times—it was a nice way to settle in. I’m not offering lifetime, but if you want the spare bedroom while you figure out what you’re doing, you’re welcome.”

I’d been thinking about this since Cooper mentioned it yesterday.

The hotel did suck. Assuming I wasn’t traded again, I had potentially five months here, or most of three at a minimum.

Finding a rental and moving elsewhere again after the season ended was going to be a pain.

And it had been a long time since someone had offered company like this.

“Sure. We can give it a try.”

Fitch smiled. “Glad to see the enthusiasm. Not a good idea to move before the game, but tomorrow?”

We exchanged numbers, and after my meal I went back to the hotel. There was another message waiting for me at the front desk from one of my parents’ victims. Word was getting out. I was happy I’d be leaving soon.

We played New Jersey that night. I hadn’t seen them yet this season.

The three of us on our line, Fitch and Gerbs and I, were still learning how we played, so we didn't make much of an impression in the first period.

Our top line, Oppy, Deek and Barnes, scored, as well as our third line, the shut down players.

Jersey got a goal in, but not while I was on the ice, fortunately.

"Let's get one too," I said to my linemates as we went over the boards for our first shift in the second period. I’d been brought here to score goals, and I wanted to prove my worth.

We almost did that shift. Crash, one of the D-men, cleared a pass to Gerbs and we had a good rush down the ice to our opponent’s zone. Gerbs passed to Fitch, who passed to me, and I carried it to the goal. The shot just missed, and they took it back to our end.

When we were called in for the next line change, Coach pinned me with a glare. "What the hell was that?"

I frowned, breathing hard and spitting out my mouth guard. "I had a shot."

He pointed at the scoreboard. "No, you fucking didn't or we'd have a goal up there. Fitch had the shot. Pay attention and pass the fucking puck."

My cheeks burned, but I held back the angry words. Was he serious? I'd seen a chance and I'd taken it. Had Fitch been in a better position? Maybe, but I thought I could do it.

I was pissed, but my chance came in the third.

I stripped the puck from one of their forwards and got a breakaway.

I went in, determined that this goal was happening.

I came in on the left, the goalie matching me, and moved my feet and hips as if I was about to change direction.

As soon as he committed, I straightened and shot the puck between him and the post, into the net.

Yes. This was what I did. How I played and what they traded to get. I scored. My new teammates patted my helmet, and at the end of the game, my goal was the game winner.

Coach could kiss my ass.

I was on tap for interviews after. I was the new guy, so I needed to be officially introduced.

The PR department had warned me that news of my parents was out there, and I’d be asked questions.

Like I didn’t know that. Did the press have anything new to ask?

The last time the LA team had played in Edmonton and I’d been speaking to the media, my parents hadn’t come up.

I’d hoped the story was finally becoming stale. Uninteresting.

At least since I’d scored the game winner there was something else to talk about.

I pulled off my pads and did a quick cooldown before changing into Blaze sweats and following a PR person to the media room. Once someone in management introduced me, I sat down at the table, behind the microphone. I didn’t bother with a statement, just waited for questions.

The first ones had obviously been vetted by the team.

“How do you feel about playing in Toronto?”

I leaned forward. Instead of saying I’d avoided playing for a Canadian team for a reason, I was a good team drone.

“I’m happy to be playing for a competitive team.

I saw how well these guys did last season, and I hope I can help them do better this year.

” Better meant the Cup and I was good with that.

“You’ve been playing in warm climates your whole career. How’s the weather up here?”

“I need a thicker coat, ASAP.” That got some smiles, and even one laugh.

“How are you adapting to a different system?”

“It’s going to take some time before I fit in. But my line did score the game winner, so I hope that’s a sign of good things to come.”

Then things got a little tougher as they asked about the illegal stick penalty from my last game in LA.

“I wasn’t trying to take unfair advantage. A teammate made a bet with me, thinking we could try it for a couple of shifts and not get caught. We were wrong, so I lost the bet.” I ran my hands over my still almost bald skull, and that got some laughs.

They asked who I made the bet with and I told them, but I didn’t say anything about how he’d made sure I got caught. LA knew, and some of the Blaze did. Word would get around, without anything going in the press that Weasel could take action against.

Then we got to the good stuff.

“There are people in this city who were victims of your parents’ investment scam. Do you have anything you’d like to say to them?”

I didn’t roll my eyes, but I’d had this question before.

Many times. I’d learned to be very careful.

“I’m very sorry for anyone who was harmed by my parents.

But I would like to make it clear that I was never involved, had no knowledge of what was going on, and haven’t spoken to them in ten years.

I can only hope no one else will be victimized in such a way. ”

Not a chance of that. People were greedy and gullible, and others would prey on that. Those scum would even prey on their own family. Ask me how I knew.

The team called an end to questions, and tension eased out of my shoulders as I left the press behind. That hadn’t gone too badly, but who knew what they’d actually print?