Page 46 of Two for Roughing

Damir stayed silent.

“Sometime, ask him about his rookie year when he did answer.”

Damir had no intention of doing any such thing.

“Look, is Henderson with you?”

“Yes, why? Did something happen?” Damir couldn’t imagine Henderson doing anything requiring disciplinary action or, to be honest, action in general. Then again, every couple of months, a new player in the league turned out to have a sexual assault charge buried somewhere in his past or a drug problem poorly concealed in his present. The teammates always claimed they had no idea, which Damir found unlikely. He knew exactly who had drug problems on the Firecrackers. But maybe if Coach Simmons said something truly shocking, Damir would get to be one of those innocent teammates interviewed about the latest NHL scandal.

“He’s got to get to the hotel and pack his things. We just got the call—management traded him to San Francisco for Kilian Howard and two draft picks.”

Damir blinked. He blinked again, then rubbed his eyes.

Then, he realized he didn’t hear with his eyes. “You what?”

“Come on, Denny, the team needs more depth. We got Howard for a steal. If we clean up his skating a bit, he can do great things for us.”

“That’s what—” I told him. Damir finished the sentence in his head. But of course, Coach didn’t—couldn’t—know they were seeing each other. Which they weren’t. So, it was fine. “Uh. What do you need me to do?”

“Get Henderson sober and on a plane to California.”

An alternate’s work never ended.

With the phone call over, Damir braced himself and reentered the bar. It was exactly as loud, smelly, and dark as before, overwhelming his senses and disorienting him. How much worse would it be if he were drunk? The mind boggled.

He took stock of the team. The rookies slumped against one another in a booth, empty water glasses in front of them. Ketchup sat across from them, gesticulating enthusiastically regardless of the state of his audience.

Rocky and CrossFit Girl had progressed to arm wrestling, which might be counted as flirtation in some cultures.

And the rest of the idiots were still on the dance floor, Henderson among them.

Damir shouldered his way through the crowd. Lissy spotted him, raised his arms exuberantly, and beckoned Damir to come dance. He held a large cocktail in one hand, the contents slopping from side to side.

It was a good thing captaining a hockey team didn’t require a man to be dignified. Or intelligent. Damir patted him on the shoulder and pushed him off toward Petterson. He grabbed Henderson by the elbow and led him outside.

“Trade went through, huh?” Henderson asked as soon as they made it past the crowd of smokers congregating near the back door.

“You knew?”

Henderson scoffed. “’Course I knew. I’ve had my list ready since the season started.”

“You wanted to go?”

Henderson gave him a pitying look. “Denny. Don’t you want to play for a contender?”

An instinctive argument rose within Damir. The Firecrackers were a contender, or at least they could be with another year or three of hard work and a few clever trades.

Huh.

Good to know he felt so strongly about it.

“Anyway, I’ll never be the starting goalie here, not while Petey’s playing. It was only a matter of time. Who is it?”

“The Sea Lions.”

A smirk stole across Henderson’s face. “Great. Can’t wait to mess with Mazetti. What am I worth?”

“Howard and two draft picks.”