Page 9 of Offensive Edge
“Yeah, yeah, some of us have to cash out chips, so you’re going to have to wait a few minutes.”
Rowan followed the small pack of guys through the casino floor to the cashier. The best thing about casinos, Rowan thought, was their consistency. They were always operating at one hundred percent. Busy carpet, bright lights, loud sounds, servers bringing you shitty drinks for free. Cigarette smoke everywhere. It was like walking into a tunnel. When they finally found their way out to the Strip, the city lights glittered around them. Rowan thought about what the city looked like when you flew in. How Las Vegas was a sparkly little blip on a dark landscape.
He thought about how badly he wanted to go to bed.
“How are you settling in, bud?” Lincoln Daniels asked him, falling into step next to them as the rest of the guys led the way.
“Vic is a gracious host,” Rowan said. “Love being on the ice with you guys. You probably know that already.” Lincoln played on the top D-pair with Vic, and was frequently on the ice with Rowan. He was both responsible and offensive. Rowan’s favorite kind of D-man.
“You’ve certainly clammed up Laney.”
“We, uh.” Rowan searched for words that he could say that wouldn’t make both of them sound terribly immature.
“I get it. You probably haven’t had much contact since you were kids. We all have friendships like that. If anyone understands, it’s other guys in the league.”
Rowan thought Link probably didn’t have a friend who he used to feel so physically desperate for he couldn’t think. A friend who, in his mind’s eye, was shirtless and hickey-covered, laughing as Rowan tickled him, his body over Rowan’s right where it belonged.
He needed to stop thinking about teen Theo-and-Rowan. The past was over.
“Well, if you need any recs for stuff to do around SJ, I grew up in California, so I’m the hometown guy.”
“You didn’t grow up in San Jose.” Rowan would know. Rowan studied.
“Long Beach is closer than every other guy on this team. I at least grew up in the state.”
“Well, thanks, Link. Mostly it would be nice to make some friends. And then hopefully, at some point, Theo and I can figure out how to be friends again too. And then it’s straight to playoffs.”
“Step-by-step instructions, I love it,” Link said. He put his number into Rowan’s phone and made them take a selfie together for his contact photo. They both had big, colorful, alcoholic slushies in their hands, and Rowan was attributing Link’s sudden friendliness to the several drinks they both had back at the blackjack table.
Link carried the conversation. He had a lot to say about Las Vegas, and Rowan let him run his mouth, giving him grunting responses to encourage his monologuing. He learned about a family vacation, several bachelor parties, and a number of NHL games, good and bad, and how they celebrated or nursed their wounds on the Strip after.
The entire time, he kept an eye on Theo in front of him, who was walking between Sammy and Fiko, his own tall slushie in his hand, swirled pink and blue. He combed a hand through his hair and laughed again, his face bright and strange after giving Rowan frown after frown.
As he watched, he developed a secondary goal for the season. Yes, he wanted to win the Cup. But he also wanted to be responsible for making Theo look like that.
They walked the Strip forever, until the already-tired athletes concluded they needed to split up—the boys who wanted to stay out and the boys who wanted to go back to the hotel to sleep. Rowan was in the second category. Theo was in the first.
Despite spending over an hour trying to catch his eye, Theo never looked at him.
Rowan tossed his half-empty slushie in an overfilled garbage on the way back to their hotel.
CHAPTER7
THEO
Of all thechallenges that Theo had in his career, this took the cake.
“How much time can you two spare me today?” Lydia asked, her ever-present phone in her hand, fancy camera over her shoulder. She had the determined look of an NHL social media manager trying to drum up content in her eye.
“Twelve minutes,” Rowan said, his face looking as pinched and grumpy as Theo’s felt. It was twelve minutes more than Theo wanted to give.
“Alright, that is...fine,” she said.
“Unless you want us to dance, in which case I have zero minutes,” Theo added, trying for a joke. Lydia smiled. She had a hard job. Theo wouldn’t want to try to convince hockey players to make TikToks all day.
“It’s just a few trivia questions, boys. You’ll survive.”
She sat them down next to each other in the locker room that the rest of the team had vacated already. Theo knew Vic was waiting in the car for them.
