Page 3 of Whirlwind (Seattle Blades #4)

B eing traded at the drop of a hat is never fucking enjoyable. It’s even less fun when, for some unknown reason, my visa takes a week to clear. It’s not the usual process, which is fairly speedy since we have so many international players in the NHL.

I should see it as a perk, not a bug. It did give me extra time to pack up what I needed from my house in Vancouver and find a place to crash in Seattle.

Luckily, a friend of mine has a place down here that he usually uses for short-term rentals when he’s not using it personally.

He’s letting me stay here for a few months, until I can find a place of my own.

It’s close to the arena, which is nice. Not so close to the practice facility, but it’s available now, which means I won’t have to stay in a hotel.

I see enough of those as it is. It’s a smaller two-bedroom townhome—modern, clean, and private.

I’m not selling my house back home. Since I’m only a few hours away, I’ll be able to come back often. Another bonus of this trade. I couldn’t ask for a better city to be traded to. They could have pawned me off to New Jersey. Or worse, Florida, where I’d be about as far from home as possible.

Being close to home, close to my family, is what matters most to me. This way, my parents and my sister aren’t so far that they can’t catch some of my games. I’d gotten used to having them in the stands. It’s not often a pro gets to play for their hometown team; I was lucky in that regard.

It’s also great that I’m familiar with Seattle already, since my ex…girlfriend? No, she wasn’t that. Not exactly. My ex-hookup who I was in love with, happens to live here.

With her husband.

Who is now my teammate.

Isla also works for the team, and her father is now my coach.

Life really does have a way of kicking you in the dick.

What I’ve done to deserve this level of karma is anyone’s guess.

I like to think I’m a good person. Do I sleep around too much?

Yeah, probably. I don’t make promises I won’t keep, though.

I’m a good friend, a decent human, a great son, and brother.

All I did was fall for a woman who couldn’t fall for me.

Fucking Freckles.

We connected over her love for hockey. Born and raised Canadian, I’ve known a lot of women who love the game.

It was different with Isla, though. The game was like the air in her lungs.

Growing up in the industry, she understood me and my crazy schedule.

She also had impeccable insight into gameplay, itself.

If I was in a rut, she always had some tips to help me out of it.

I scored more goals while dating her than any other time in my career.

It’s not lost on me that Cillian Wylder’s game has vastly improved since getting back together with her.

That man has everything I want. A successful career, a smart wife, a great kid, a supportive family. I don’t hate him, but it would be easy to.

Cillian makes her happy. Happier than I ever did, regardless of how hard I tried, or what I would have given to be with her. My love for her lets me admit that. My love for her also feels like thorny rose vines surrounding my heart, serving as a constant reminder that she’ll never be mine.

No matter how many other women I’m with, it’s still her face I see when I fall asleep. Every fucking night. Isla is the ghost that haunts me.

I shake away the melancholy as I walk into the Iceplex. This morning is my first time on the ice with the team, and Coach Cole wants to talk before I suit up for practice. The last thing I need is to be morose when I shake Isla’s dad’s hand. Or her husband’s.

The first person I see is Alexander Fane. Another of my new teammates, and Isla’s best friend. Well, now he’s Isla’s sister’s partner, too. One thing the Seattle franchise seems to do well is keeping it in the family.

“Hey, Tyson. Good seeing you,” he greets, holding the security door that leads to the offices and locker room open for me.

“Thanks, man. Good seeing you, too. I was happy to see that they brought you up.”

Fane was a solid player on Seattle’s WHL team when Isla and I dated.

Young and hungry is how I remember him. It didn’t surprise me when the Blades picked him up and developed him on the farm team for a couple of seasons.

Fane reminds me of the guys I grew up with, who all believe hockey is life.

The race to the NHL was all that mattered.

“How’s the move?”

“No complaints, other than how long it took. Eight days off the ice makes me feel like I’ve retired.”

“I’m sure the guys will put you through the paces this morning,” he says with a wry smile.

“I’d expect nothing less.”

“See you in there, man,” he says, patting me on the shoulder before heading into the locker room.

Cillian and I have a rivalry on the ice. At first, it was over Isla. That ended after a season, and now, it’s feigned for the sake of the fans. They love to see it, but neither of us go out of our way to pick a fight with one another. Doesn’t mean we don’t check slightly harder than we should.

That will change, now, for obvious reasons. We’ll need to thoroughly squash any ill feelings because our fans will be looking for it, and cracks within the team shouldn’t be for public scrutiny.

I knock on the coach’s door.

“Tyson Murphy, good to have you,” he says as I walk in.

“Happy to be here,” I lie. Well, half lie. I’d rather be home in Vancouver.

“It’s not easy being traded, especially from home. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

“Felt like the rug was pulled out from me, but I’m ready to play. More than ready, antsy.”

“Good, because we need you. Have a seat, let’s chat.” I sit in the chair on the other side of the desk, which is piled with neat stacks of papers. Probably stats on every player in the league. “Haven’t had a conversation since you and Isla called it quits to whatever the two of you were.”

I know where he’s leading. As much as I don’t want to talk about it, there is no avoiding the subject.

“No, sir. Not since before Wylder showed back up.”

“The two of you going to have problems playing on the same team?”

“No, sir.”

“You sure about that? My daughters have earned much respect from this team. Wylder won’t be the only guy to have a problem if you run your mouth.”

And there it is. The first time Wylder and I faced off after Isla and him reconciled, I provoked him on the ice. Said some shit about Isla purely to see how he’d react. Of course, Coach took notice. I guess now it’s my turn to explain.

“I cared a lot about her, sir. I still do. There was zero chance I was getting on the ice with him and not testing his loyalty to her,” I say, imagining he’d have done the same if he’d been in my position.

Coach leans back, appraising me silently, for a moment. A small grin grows before he says anything else to me.

“The truth is, I gave Cillian a right hook the first time I saw him after we drafted him. I won’t hold your past animosity against you, so long as the two of you act like what this franchise needs.”

“It’s not a problem on my end. All I ever wanted for her and Sadie was their happiness.”

“They have that,” he says with emphasis.

“I know.”

“Good,” he says. “Then, let’s talk about your scoring and what we need to do for you to pick that back up.”

This season has been my worst start since I entered the NHL seven years ago. Three seasons ago, I was the top scorer in the league. My team…or, my old team, had an off year last season. We didn’t play cohesively. Because of that, management executed several changes to our lineup and coaching staff.

“All I need is a team that wants to work together toward the common goal. I haven’t gotten the cup. That’s what I need—a team focused on that, rather than their own egos.”

“That’s it?” he asks, skeptically.

“I could use some new opinions on my form, too. Until this season, I’ve had the same coach. He was great, but maybe we got complacent with each other’s style,” I admit. “Like so many of us, I’m a creature of routine. That routine is no longer paying the same dividends it used to.”

“You’re going to be okay with us changing up your routine?

” Again, he’s skeptical. As he should be.

Hockey players aren’t just creatures of habit; it’s not just superstition.

It’s a way of life. Some guys wake up at 8:08 every day.

Not eight AM or eight-thirty. They tape their sticks the exact same way they’ve been doing it since peewee, absolutely no alterations.

They chew their mouthguards a certain way or at certain times.

Our warmup routines don’t waver night to night.

During the season, they eat the same food every day without variation.

I’m not any different. After a while, you figure out what makes you feel your best and you stick to it.

“If you’d have asked me at the beginning of last season, I would have said hell no.

After the last two months, I’m open to suggestions and seeing what may work better.

I’m at least halfway through my career. I want this second half to be better than the first. I’ll listen to whatever you all have to say. ”

“We’ve evaluated your tapes. Not only from your time in The Show, but also from when you were coming up.

The trainers are going to work with you on a few things, they’ll go over some of those today on the ice.

I suspect they’ll improve your personal game.

As far as the team is concerned, we’re a family.

The guys will give you the same energy you give them,” he says, then smiles.

“After some initial shit is given in fun. You know how that goes.”

“I expect it.”

“There might be a conversation or two from the higher ups regarding your reputation, as well. As long as it doesn’t affect your time on the ice, I don’t give a shit what you do in your personal life. This is just a heads up that they may throw some media training at you.”