Page 8 of Playoff (Toronto Blaze #4)

I held out my hand to shake Osgood’s. “Happy to be here," I lied.

"Have a seat."

I kept my smile and sat in the seat they offered. Cooper waved and left me with the two men.

"We're glad to have you on the team. You’ve heard that Ducky is out for the season. Without him, we’re hurting for offense. None of the new guys have been able to fill that void, and we need points.”

I nodded politely. None of this was news.

“The team had a rough start but we’re still mostly the same team that made it to the finals last season. We make the playoffs, and anything can happen. We’ve brought you in to score goals. We’ll eventually put you on the line with Oppy and Deek, and with your skill set, that should plug the gap."

I nodded again. I’d hoped to be playing on the first line, so I just had to prove myself. As for Oppy and Deek, I’d played against them, knew how they worked. I could adapt, and it would be exciting to be in the playoffs with a team that had a chance.

"I'll be blunt, Denny. You have a reputation.

You're a good goal scorer, but a liability on defense. And off the ice, a loose cannon. We’ve heard the stories—the parties, the skydiving, drag racing…

We want you to work on your defensive skills.

It would make things easier as well if you didn't cause too much drama off the ice. "

My back was stiff and my smile rigid. I was sick of being shit on for how I played and lived my life. I hadn’t done those stupid things for years, but the stories lingered. "Teaching an old dog new tricks?"

Coach Howell grinned. "Hoping the old dog will play nice with the other animals on the team."

I almost laughed. Calling the team animals hinted at a sense of humor I hadn't expected. "I'll do my best, sir." It was the only answer possible.

This was the last year of a three-year contract for me. Whatever the Blaze wanted, I had to do. The other option was to retire, but I was pretty sure I’d rather play no matter what they asked me.

"Well, let's get on the ice. Today's skate is optional but a lot of the guys are here. After last season, they're determined to go all the way."

If they played the way they could, and didn't rack up a lot of injuries, they could still make the playoffs and go somewhere.

It had been a long time since I'd been on a team with that kind of potential.

Maybe this would work. Maybe I'd still be here after the trade deadline, and share the playoff run.

The coaches led me down to the locker room.

The facility was new enough that the odor of sweat and dirty feet hadn't completely filled the room.

The stalls, even for a practice facility, were roomy and finished in black, with red and yellow trim.

In the middle of the floor was the Blaze logo. I knew better than to step on it.

There were at least fifteen guys there, maybe twenty, which was more than ever showed up for our—I meant, LA's—optional skates. The goalies were at the far end of the room, the defense on one side of the U and the forwards on the other.

Conversation petered out as the men caught sight of their coaches and me.

"Team, here's Alek Denbrowski, our new winger. Make him welcome. Have they got his cubby ready?"

The team was organized, because in the middle of the forwards was a stall with my name, containing practice gear, also with my name on it. Spelled right too. More than once I'd had to correct how the equipment guys had written it.

Cooper was on the opposite side with the defense, already dressed.

His was among the heys that were sent my way.

I nodded and headed to my new stall to change.

Being on the ice, where I knew what I was doing and was good at it, would help a lot in settling in.

It was reassuring to see my equipment had arrived—my skates, and sticks, not the illegal one from the last game.

I sat down to pull off my shoes. I picked them up to put away and met the gaze of the guy in the stall directly across from me. He was staring, eyes narrowed.

JJ. Justin Johnson. From the expression on his face, he already hated me. That was a new record. I wondered what his issue was. My rep? My parents? My game?

I drew in a long breath. This might be a long couple of months after all. I broke the staring contest and continued to get dressed. He was gone before I was putting on skates.

Stepping onto the ice was like coming home—as close to a home as I could claim.

There were differences with each team, but we all did drills, we all spit and sweated and swore.

I had an excuse for not keeping up in this practice, but I would have to make a real effort.

The systems were different, and the coaches didn’t let anything slide.

They were as quick to call out Cooper for being out of position as they were Mitchell, the backup who’d let in the winning goal in the finals last season.

I was out of position a lot, but less so as the drills went on.

My new linemates were Deek and Oppy, and they were used to playing with Ducky.

I wasn’t as fast, but I had more muscle.

We needed time to learn to play together, but they’d relied on Ducky to put the puck in the net the most, and that was what I did.

The coaches kept me back, talked strategy with me, since the Blaze used man-on-man defense when high in the DZ, while LA had stuck with the simpler zone defense.

My job was to light up the goal lamp, so I focused more on OZ play, but this was a challenge.

If anyone fucked up, it left the goalie vulnerable.

By the time they let me go, most of the locker room had emptied out. JJ was gone. He left a sense of foreboding behind him.