Relief courses through me. Thank fuck. Guys are still warming up, while Coach Jensen stands at the benches talking to Graham, who’s sipping from his travel mug.
Saved by Garrett Graham. If he weren’t here distracting Coach, I probably would’ve been sent home.
Shane skates toward me. “You okay?”
For all the ways he can be a jackass, he’s also a good friend.
“Yeah.” I pause. “Carma shut off my alarm.”
He grimaces. “Well, I guess that neighborly relationship is over.”
I can’t help but chuckle. He nailed that one right on the head.
“Dude, what the hell?” Hugo Karlsson, one of our senior d-men, skates up to us. He looks concerned too. “Everything okay?”
See? I want to shout to Graham. All these guys know me. I’m never late. The fact that they’re all concerned means this is an anomaly.
Except who am I kidding? Rare or not, I still messed up. I took her upstairs last night. Let her crash in my bed when I knew I had to be up early. I was thinking with my dick. Which I don’t do very often, to be honest. Don’t get me wrong, I get laid. I like to fuck. But I’m the one who let a random hookup turn into a problem.
Shane and I do a few laps. I breathe in, trying to center myself. At one point Beckett comes up alongside me. “What happened?” he asks.
“Carma,” I reply.
“Karma always comes for you, mate.”
“You’re not funny usually, and you’re especially not funny this morning.”
He merely chuckles and skates off.
My gaze drifts back to the benches. My hackles raise when I notice Colson is there now, laughing at something Graham said.
“Best buds over there,” I mutter to Shane.
Shane leans in, lowering his voice. “I heard Colson and Trager talking in the locker room earlier. Turns out Colson used to date Graham’s daughter.”
I try to disguise my interest. But yeah…that is certainly interesting. Wonder how Colson fucked that one up.
Still, however things ended with him and Gigi, Case clearly remains in her father’s good graces.
Unlike me.
A piercing whistle slices through the crisp air.
“Gather around,” Coach orders.
I don’t miss the way everyone’s gazes dart toward Graham as we line up in front of the two men. The man is an actual superstar. The best player to ever come out of Briar, which says a lot because Briar’s produced plenty of other legends. John Logan. Hunter Davenport. This year alone, there are eight draft picks in this rink. Eight. Briar’s an elite hockey program, with only the cream of the crop.
“I’m sure this man needs no introduction, but this is Garrett Graham. He’ll be helping me lead practice today.”
A ripple of excitement travels through the group.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Patrick Armstrong blurts out.
Coach glares at him.
“Oh, sorry,” Patrick says hastily. “I mean, are you kidding me? No f-bomb.”
“Since when do I give a fuck about your language?” Coach says. “I care about the interruption. Shut up.” He jabs a finger at Patrick, who instantly shuts up.
“Now, this isn’t simply the case of an alumnus wanting to kill some time, relive his glory days,” Coach explains. “You want to tell them why you’re here?”
Graham takes a step forward. “Hey, nice to see you all. I’m not sure how familiar any of you guys are with my foundation, but we work with a lot of charities to raise funds for various causes. We also run a few junior hockey camps. There’s one in particular that I head up with Jake Connelly.”
More excited murmurs ring out. Connelly is another legend. Not Briar-produced, but a legend just the same.
“About three years ago, we started the Hockey Kings juniors camp. It runs for one week every August. And every year we pick two NCAA players to help us coach the camp.”
This is the first I’ve heard of it. But I realize why that is when he continues.
“I always pick one Briar player, and Connelly picks one guy from Harvard.” Garrett makes a gagging noise. “You can’t account for taste.”
A few guys snicker.
“I’ll be keeping an eye on all of you during the season, you know, to scope you out. Scout who I think would be a good fit to coach with us. Last year Case helped us out.”
I notice Shane rolling his eyes.
Lucky Colson. Guess that’s what happens when you bang the man’s daughter.
“Year before that was David.” Graham nods toward Demaine. “With that said, I never choose the same guy twice, so, sorry, you two. You’re shit out of luck this year. The rest of you, it’s fair game. Do your thing today, practice as usual, and anyone who’s interested, just leave your name with Coach.”
I imagine every single guy other than Colson and Demaine will be writing their name on that list. Even the rich ones who go jet-setting with their folks in the summer will undoubtedly make the trek back for that one week. We’re talking about running a camp with two of the greatest players of all time. Anyone who’s serious about hockey will want to be there, myself included.
I know from personal experience what it’s like to learn directly under Garrett Graham. He and I didn’t spend much one-on-one time that week six years ago, only a couple solo sessions, but I learned more in those five days from him than in all my years playing hockey combined. Graham possesses innate, almost otherworldly instincts when it comes to this sport.
“All right, enough talk.” Jensen claps his hands. “We’re going to set up two three-on-three corner drills. I want to see you fighting over that puck. We’re going to run them simultaneously on either end of the rink. Garrett on one end, me on the other. Graham, pick your men.”
Garrett scans the thirty or so faces in front of him. “I’ll take Larsen, Colson, and Dunne. Facing against Trager, Coffey, and Pope.”
My stomach sinks. So it’s like that, huh?
Jensen assigns me to his group, which is something, I suppose. While everyone scatters to get in position, I skate over to Garrett.
“Hey,” I hedge, feeling awkward as hell. “I just wanted to say it’s an honor to have you here. Learning from someone of your caliber is invaluable to all of us.”
Awesome. I might as well pull the man’s pants down and kiss his ass for real instead of proverbially.
His half smile tells me he knows exactly what I’m doing.
“If you think a couple compliments are going to make me forget what I saw out in the parking lot, they won’t. It’ll take a lot more than that.”
“I know. I just…I do want you to know that’s not who I am. I’m never late. Well, clearly not never. But this was the first time,” I amend. “And I hope you can overlook this morning’s screwup, because I’m an excellent player, and I really would like to be considered for this opportunity.”
He gives me a long, discomfort-inducing once-over. Finally, he speaks. “My choice isn’t based solely on who’s an excellent player, kid. This is about a lot more than stat sheets. It’s about leadership. And from what I’ve seen so far, you might be lacking greatly in that quality.”