Kirill picks it up, along with the Breaker who was just on Gage. He spins and dumps it back to Gage as I’m skating toward the blue line. Coen’s on the opposite side, not two feet behind me.
Gage slides it across to me, and I push it into the Breakers’ zone with Coen following right behind over the blue line. I dump it behind me to him, continuing to streak over to the left side of the net. Gage is on the right, near the boards but cutting in fast to the net. Our defenders are only a skate’s length off, but they seem more like troublesome gnats than anything.
Coen executes a sharp pass to me, and my blade is already connecting in a pass right across the center of the Breaker’s zone to hit Gage crashing in. He flips it over the goalie’s right shoulder, and the arena erupts in a roar of victory so loud I swear the rafters are shaking.
The five of us come together in a big-ass group hug, and I swear I even seen Coen’s lip curl slightly, which might indicate this goal stirred some level of happiness.
And thus, the new Titans have put their first points on the board. A goal by Gage and an assist by me.
It feels fucking fantastic.
CHAPTER 4
Stone
It was a good practice.
As good as one could expect from a downtrodden team thrust together with immense pressure on our shoulders. We’re not by any means professional quality, but we’re not the Bad News Bears either. Some things are starting to come together.
Some things are not.
The battle for starting goalie is going to be intense. Both Patrik and Jesper are good and deserve to be on this team, in my opinion. Patrik has a technical edge over Jesper, but Jesper has nerves of steel, whereas Patrik can let his emotions tear him down. It’s tough letting this play out, because having a solid goalie in net is crucial to filling up the wins-versus-losses columns.
There are other bright spots. Gage is quickly becoming the glue that’s holding people together. The younger players gravitate to him for advice and direction because while Coen has been designated captain, he’s built walls around himself. He’s made it clear he really doesn’t want the title, and I expect if Coach Keller has a sensible bone in his body, he’ll designate Gage as the team leader sooner rather than later.
Not only has Coen checked out mentally, but his play is starting to suffer. He performed solidly in our first game, but it wasn’t at his usual level. Yesterday’s game wasn’t so hot. He underperformed across the board, at least in comparison to his ability. Our star center looked sluggish and dull more often than not. The fan favorite known for his incredible energy, disarming smile, and roguish antics was nowhere to be seen. I expect this might stem from emotional issues relating to recent events, but it’s so hard to tell. Maybe Coen was only good because of the particular people he played with. Maybe without the players who died on that plane, Coen isn’t going to be good at all.
Regardless, not my problem. I’m pleased with my level of play and the more I’m out on the ice, the better I’ll get. Gage and I are clicking out there, and he reciprocated the favor I did him in the first game and fed me a pass for a quick slap shot yesterday to get my first goal with the team. Unfortunately, we lost 2–1, but it wasn’t a blowout, and that’s something we’ll take right now.
Showered and changed into street clothes, I gather my duffel bag and swing it over my shoulder. As I pass Gage on the way out, he looks up and grins. “Great practice. That little juke move you did had Poe’s head spinning.”
He’s talking about Camden Poe, one of the original Titans defensemen who wasn’t on the plane. He’d missed that game due to a knee injury and was slowly working his way back. Today’s was a good move, and a greater test of Poe’s abilities. I might have lost him for a minute, but he caught up.
For the first time since joining this team, I have a moment of genuine lightheartedness with a teammate. I’ve had good practices before—I’ve had great practices before. I’ve played well, and some would say even better than when I was down with the Badgers.
But I haven’t connected with anyone. Still so mired in my guilt over taking Brooks’s place on this team, I haven’t wanted to let anyone in lest they see what a fraud I am within the Dumelin family.
Gage catches me off guard, though. I’d been thinking about stopping by the grocery store, so when his compliment came, accompanied by such an easy smile, I opened up to it.
“Thanks, man,” I reply. “You didn’t do so bad yourself, for an old guy.”
Gage snorts and turns his attention back to his gear bag. “See you tomorrow.”
“Later.”
As I navigate through the basement level and up one flight of stairs to the players’ underground parking garage, I pull out my phone and see an email from Harlow Alston—again.
This now makes the third she’s sent, which is one more than I can tolerate since I’ve told her I’m not interested and to leave me alone.
It’s apparently a concept she can’t understand, and I wonder if it’s because of who she inherently is or if she’s driven by the monetary compensation she’ll get by dragging me into this.
When I first received communication from her, I googled her name.
Her website came up, and I was surprised to find that she’s an older attorney with short, iron-gray hair in a pixie cut. Her ice-blue eyes are cold, and the expression on her face said, “Don’t dare fuck with me.”
She looks like she could chew up anyone and spit them out without so much as breaking a sweat. She looks like just the type of attorney I would hire if I had legal woes.
She’s clearly a fucking bulldog and doesn’t know when to quit, and it’s pissing me off.
I pull up this most recent email.
Dear Mr. Dumelin,
In regard to your last communication wherein you asked me to leave you alone, I am sorry, sir, but I cannot do that. I am acting on your late brother’s behalf, and I have very important information that we must discuss. This is not something you can ignore. I am demanding that you take this seriously and reach out to me so we can schedule an appropriate time for you to come into my office and go over these issues.
If your schedule is such that you cannot come in, we can certainly do a telephone conference. However, there are documents for you to review and sign in front of a notary public, which will require your presence in my office at some point.
I would suggest you give your brother the respect he deserves and call as expeditiously as possible to make an appointment.
Sincerely,
Harlow Alston
My blood boils as I read back over the line where she tells me to give respect to my brother. Who in the fuck does she think she is? She doesn’t know me, and I know she sure as hell didn’t know my brother. Some high-powered lawyer he must’ve hired before he died to do something that needs my attention. More than likely some type of release to his estate so my parents can claim it all, which can most certainly be done via mail and without bothering me.
I read her email again, and I know she’s not going away.
My fury doesn’t abate but seems to burn brighter. I’m already burdened by so much fucking guilt that I’ve taken my brother’s place on this team, I don’t need some high-and-mighty bitch telling me I owe my brother respect. Does she think I don’t understand that?