Page 40 of The Trade Deadline

Chapter 28

Ryan

Ryan was able to command Lars’s attention for a whole forty-five minutes. Long enough to check both rooms (equally sized and identical except for being mirror images of each other, which was strangely comforting) and trade handjobs. Before the afterglow could settle in, Lars was on his back staring at the ceiling, his hands clasped on his chest and eyes distant.

“You okay?” Ryan asked.

Lars didn’t answer him at first. He’d been so sure Anders wouldn’t be here, and Ryan had assumed Lars knew his brother well enough to believe him. Lars had been so blindsided, Ryan himself had felt it like whiplash.

It was so hard to get to the NHL. The circumstances that would have to align for two brothers to make it were even rarer, and being on the same team was pretty much unheard of. Yeah, it happened, but Ryan had the gut feeling Lars had told his agent to make damn sure it didn’t happen to him. They’d be together this weekend in the same jersey for the first time since…

Had they even played for Team Sweden together? There hadn’t been any Olympics that allowed NHL players since Ryan and Lars were old enough to qualify. The brothers were so far apart in age, this might very well be the first time they were officially on the same roster.

“I’m glad my nephew is here,” he finally answered. “He’s a good boy. He’ll have fun.”

What he didn’t say rang much louder.

I’m not happy my brother is here.

He’s awful.

I won’t be able to relax at all this weekend now.

Ryan didn’t get it. In general, he didn’t like giving people he disliked power over his mood and therefore his performance. He doubly didn’t get Lars’s animosity. Yeah, Anders was rough on the ice, but in the lobby he’d been perfectly polite to both of them. Not warm or anything, but Ryan got the impression his distance was more about respecting Lars’s boundaries than anything to do with his own feelings about it.

Like when his big sisters had given him space in public because he’d found them embarrassing.

He didn’t think Lars would appreciate the comparison.

* * *

The All Star fanfare reminded him a lot of Juniors, except this time people seemed to notice Ryan as a person and not just the team he played for. It was great, doing all the interviews and talking to the other players, all of whom knew him . They congratulated him and brought up his Michigan goal like Ryan Russell was actually a name known around the league. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t let it go to his head, but he did allow himself to enjoy it for now. What was one weekend as a star? Better than none, that was for sure.

He’d worried briefly that Lars’s mood would suffer because of his brother’s unexpected appearance, but Lars did a good job of pretending he was unbothered. He played with his nephew Anton in the hotel as promised and the two were glued at the hip on the rink. Whenever Ryan dared to sneak a glance at Anders, he was wearing the closest thing to a smile Ryan had ever seen on his face.

It was surprisingly easy to ignore Anders most of the time. Aside from keeping an eye on Anton, he never imposed himself on Lars. He talked to the other players, to the refs, basically anyone who wasn’t Lars Nilsson. Lars was great at keeping his back to Anders 99% of the time, like he was pretending he didn’t know that Anders was there yet knew exactly where he was, but was forced to watch Anders compete in the hardest shot competition. He won with a 102 mph shot that Lars clapped for only when his nephew jumped up and down in excitement.

It was very different from when Lars was in the trick shot contest. He did it with Anton, a play where Lars skated in hard, faked a shot, then did a drop pass for his nephew. The goalie did a great job pretending to try and stop the puck, and Anton looked extremely pleased. Anders had filmed the whole thing, actually grinning when his son scored and whooping happily. He’d put his phone away before Lars could see, though.

Even though the brothers were playing nice, Ryan was apprehensive about taking his own turn. He wasn’t babysitting them, exactly, but he liked being there in case Lars broke their unspoken truce and took a swing at Anders. But as his competition came up, Lars was practically vibrating with excitement. Ryan decided to hell with the Nilsson brothers: this was his first (and probably only) All Star weekend. He was going to enjoy it.

He was put in the timed passing contest, just as Lars had predicted. It was simple enough—basically hitting pucks into small nets at different distances and heights, with the fastest time winning. He’d done a million of these in practices over his life, but this was the first time the whole damned hockey world was watching him do it.

“You’ll be great,” Lars promised over the cheers as his name was called. “I promise.”

Ryan got in position, first puck at the ready, and waited. As soon as the timer sounded, he sank the first puck. And the second, then the third. It was only on the fourth that he messed up, needing three tries to get his saucer pass over the little barrier and into the net. The last two went smoothly, much to his utter relief. He’d done it, and as an added bonus, he hadn’t completely sucked! He didn’t even remember to look at his time before he practically rushed back to Lars on the bench, who high-fived him and grinned proudly.

Although he didn’t win, he got a respectable third place out of eight participants, losing to last season’s point leader and MVP, respectively. Honestly, not bad at all. Definitely none of the nightmare scenarios he’d conjured up the night before where he couldn’t get any of them before time expired and he was kicked off the ice. As much as he didn’t want to embarrass himself (still possible), he didn’t want to let down the people who’d voted for him. For whatever reason, whether it was Lars canvassing for votes or general fan support, there were people out there who thought he deserved a shot, and he felt he hadn’t let them down.

That got them through Thursday and Friday with no issues, but Saturday was what had Ryan’s stomach in knots. The mini-tournament divided each division into a team, and then had the eastern teams play each other for a spot in the finals while the west did the same. As the Metropolitan division team, they’d face the Atlantic team in a 3-on-3 style game. Which was all well and good, but that meant there were only eleven players on their team: no way Lars and Anders could ignore each other. The other players on their team seemed uneasy as well, no doubt well aware of the Nilsson Brothers’ rivalry now sitting in the locker room with them.

“For some reason,” Anders said as he addressed them before the game, little Anton at his heels with a clipboard that appeared to have a coloring page from Paw Patrol on it, “they think as captain, I should be responsible for lines as well. I’m not a coach, nor do I want to be. I’ve put together lines as a starting point. We can always fall back on them if no one has any preferences.” He pinned a piece of paper to a whiteboard using a bright pink magnet. “I don’t care if you follow them or not. As long as we have three players on the ice and a goalie in net, feel free to make changes. If you’re a forward and want to try defense, now’s your chance. If two centers want to be out, by all means.”

Ryan stole a glance at Lars, sure this last bit was directed at them; Lars looked unmoved. He didn’t look as pissy as he usually did around his brother, but that was most likely due to Anton’s presence.

“However,” Anders continued, “my son will be on the bench with us, so watch your language. Other than that, have fun, and let’s win some games.”

There was a semi-enthusiastic round of applause. There was absolutely nothing on the line in this exhibition tournament: no advantages were awarded for their teams or division for winning, and there were barely any bragging rights, since no one ever really gave it their all. Ryan wouldn’t phone it in, but he couldn’t afford to go all out, either.

While players chatted and got dressed, Lars went over to inspect the lines.

“Are we doing a top line, second line, third line?” he asked. It was the most polite Ryan had ever heard Lars be when addressing Anders. It also sounded like a student talking to their teacher.

Anders hesitated a fraction of a second. “With a roster of All Star players, they’re all top lines,” he said diplomatically.

Ah. He didn’t want to offend anyone.

Lars nodded. He picked up a marker. “May I?”

Anders raised an eyebrow and gave a slight nod. Lars uncapped the marker and made a few changes. Ryan held his breath when Anders leaned in to inspect his handiwork.

“Speed Line,” Lars said and pointed. “Shut-Down Line. Possession Line.”

Anders read it over, his lips moving faintly as he did so. “Hmm,” he said with an air of approval. “Do you want to coach?”

Lars shrugged with an air of indifference that Ryan could almost believe, except for the proud glint in his eyes.

When Lars sat down next to him to get his gear on, he leaned over to whisper conspiratorially, “I got us on a line together.”

“I’m guessing we’re not Speed Line,” he teased. His heart beat faster in his chest. Would they have chemistry on the ice when actually on a line together? Would it mean something if they didn’t?

“Possession Line. We’ll have the puck the whole time for sure.”

“Where’d you put Anders? Shut-Down Line?”

Lars stood to pull on his hockey pants. “Possession Line. With us.”

Ryan froze. He’d misheard that, surely.

“We’re really the top line,” Lars said, confidently but still quietly. “But if Anders refuses to label it, the score sheet will.”

“You… wanted to be on a line…with Anders…?” Nope, even out loud it didn’t make sense.

“I don’t like him,” Lars said, sparing a glare at his brother, one that immediately softened when he noticed his nephew. “But he’s a good player. Best defenseman here by far.”

“Then shouldn’t you balance out the lines?—?”

“This is a scoring tournament. So the three of us will get enough goals to even out anything else. Besides”—he stopped briefly to pull his jersey on, an ugly, neon blue monstrosity that hurt your eyes if you looked at it for too long—“that’s what people want to see. Me and Anders. Together.”

He didn’t sound particularly happy about it. More like he was resigned to making a spectacle of himself. Or maybe he saw it as a necessary evil. The only way to finagle the two of them on a line together. A way to please his nephew and temporarily appease the rest of his family after years of fighting.

“Okay,” Ryan said, because he had zero clue what else he could say. “Cool,” he added lamely.

Ugh.

The game itself was…surreal.

The speed of the play was intense. Playing 3-on-3 felt faster than regular games, mostly because of the open ice, but also the higher talent level (and lack of defense). It was like an NHL team distilled down to its fastest, most showboating members.

And somehow Ryan was with them.

He’d never clicked so well with linemates. Anders really was a solid defenseman, even by himself. He and Lars made it look easy; despite their animosity towards each other, they barely needed to speak a word to know where each other were and what they wanted. And maybe watching Lars all season had put Ryan on a similar wavelength, because after a shift or two, Ryan fell into step with them. He knew when Anders was going to pinch and covered him defensively. He knew when Lars wanted him to spring him for a breakaway and sent the pass. He knew when both were buying time for him to get open and set him up for a one-timer.

And it was easy. He’d rarely skated so hard, but didn’t feel nearly as tired as he should. In fact, he left the ice at the end of his shifts refreshed; he even had a fleeting moment where he felt he could do this forever.

Better than that: it was fun . Remove the stakes—this game didn’t affect their stats, didn’t have to do with standings points, had no bearing on whether or not the Crabs wanted to re-sign him—and it turned out he still really liked playing hockey. He especially liked playing with Lars.

It was magic.

They ended their game against the Atlantic 10-4, all three of them with two goals. They weren’t able to get anyone a hat trick because once they were close enough, they kept passing and passing, no one willing to take the shot. It was one of the rare times where no one was selfish enough.

They had two hours before they played the winner of the Western Conference game, and everyone was hydrating and eating snacks. The three of them had migrated to three stalls in the corner, otherwise apart from their other teammates. Ryan couldn’t stop smiling because this was just too surreal and he kinda loved it.

“Who has the least hat tricks?” Anders asked as he handed them both protein bars.

“Career?” Lars asked. “I’ve got twelve.”

“No playoffs,” Anders chided. “I have four.”

“Fine,” Lars grumbled. “Ten.”

And Ryan was again reminded that he didn’t fit in with elite company.

“One,” he said, then was so embarrassed that he added, “I had a few in the AHL, but only one NHL hat trick.”

“That’s—” Lars started, but was immediately cut off.

“How long were you in the AHL?” Anders interrupted.

Ryan’s shoulders tensed. “Almost a full season.”

“Less than a season and you scored several hat tricks?” Anders asked with a raised eyebrow. “How many?”

Ryan made a face. It had been a huge blow to be drafted, play two games, then get moved to the AHL farm team. It shouldn’t have mattered—it was an important part of player development—but the team had made it clear when they’d moved him that he wouldn’t be coming back up that season, period. After that brief taste of the NHL, moving down had been almost too easy. It’d been below his skill level, but he’d unfortunately found little on-ice support from his team. Granted, it’d been a better fit for his confidence level.

“I don’t know.” He knew. “Like two or three?” It’d been six.

“What team drafted you?”

Ryan looked to Lars, who had dropped out of the conversation. He nodded at him to answer.

“Rangers.”

Anders made a noise that sounded almost like a growl and spit out something in Swedish.

“No cursing around Anton,” Lars drawled, and Anders threw a guilty look over his shoulder: Anton was distracted with the goalies.

“The Rangers are shit with development,” Anders said, his voice a normal volume except when he said “shit.” “They’ve ruined plenty of good players. Good for you that you got out of that organization. Lillen, you remember Henrik?”

Lars scowled at the nickname. “Yes.”

“One of my best friends from Juniors. Drafted the year after me by Austin. Completely ruined his career by constantly moving him up and down, no notice. He lost all his confidence and had no stability to improve his game. Got a few single-year contracts around the league but retired early.”

“Oh.” Ryan had never considered that his early struggles in his career were because of the team that was responsible for developing him and not simply because he wasn’t good enough. “I can’t complain too much. Won the Calder Cup that year. The Rangers didn’t even make the playoffs.”

Anders’s eyes glinted with enjoyment, making him look so suddenly like Lars that Ryan had to focus on his crooked nose and the freckles and all the other little differences.

“Good for you. You are fortunate that you got that opportunity and they didn’t stop you from continuing to play. The Crabs are…” He made a face that made it clear he was trying to be diplomatic. “They are rebuilding well, I think. Good addition this summer. Just need a few more pieces to be a contender.”

“Hey!” Lars interrupted. “We have two All Stars! We’re already contenders!”

Anders merely waved his brother’s protests aside. “Tell me that in April,” he said without so much as looking at Lars. “You are doing well with them this year. We will get you a hat trick next game. Better than an NHL hat trick, since so few players get the chance to play in this game.”

Lars, who looked about ready to start yelling at his brother, immediately perked up. “Yes! We’ll get Ryan a hat trick to win this stupid tournament!”

Anders winked at Ryan, and then the brothers got distracted arguing with each other about how best to arrange Ryan’s upcoming goals. When Lars briefly disappeared to help Anton get set up on his tablet, Ryan wondered if he’d be responsible for making small talk with Anders. Hopefully not. Anders seemed the quiet, brooding type.

Which was why he was surprised when Anders said, “Everyone else calls you RJ.”

Ryan couldn’t tell if there was an accusation there, and he didn’t know if he should play dumb. Given how supportive Anders had been today, it felt wrong to.

“They do,” he acknowledged and braced for more questions.

There were none: Anders merely nodded and began to put his gear back on.

They ended up losing to the Central Division team 7-9. Ryan did get his hat trick in the last shift of the game. Anders’s and Lars’s excitement for a goal that didn’t even get the team within tying baffled the other players, but Ryan loved getting smashed between them and nearly going deaf from Lars’s cheers.

It was the best possible end to the weekend, made only better when Lars enthusiastically sucked him off in his hotel room as they packed.