We riff off each other for a few minutes, and when he stops playing, I give him my full attention, and while it’s not exactly a ringing endorsement, it’s the best I can do for him at the moment.
“Okay, you’re not fired. Yet. See you next week for your first lesson with the kids.”
The handsome bastard stares at me for a second and then gives me a sharp nod.
A nod.
No words, no gesture, no smile or readable facial expression, just a firm nod. A firm nod that just might melt my panties away if I must define it.
It’d be a lot easier to work around him if I didn’t have to look at him.
Calum Lefleur may need charm school, but damn, he’s a beautiful man.
11
let loose, try new things
Cal
“How’s it going?” Evan asks as we huddle up for practice instructions.
I lift a shoulder. “It is what it is.”
He huffs a laugh and rubs his bearded chin. “I see you’ve not yet gotten comfortable in your new home.”
“This isn’t home to me. Montreal is home.”
“I get that. It’s hard to assimilate somewhere new, with a bunch of people you don’t know. And this is your first trade, so it’s doubly hard. Maybe we can grab a beer one night, talk it out? I want you to feel welcome here. I want you to be part of the team. I, for one, am happy to have a goalie like you on the squad.”
Evan has always been nice. He’s the team captain and it’s his job, I guess, but his words do give me some comfort. No one really talks to me here. People are pleasant, I suppose, but I see their relationships and their bonds, and I feel very out of place. I just don’t know how to fit in.
“I’d like that. To grab a beer sometime.”
“Great,” he says with a sharp clap on my back. “Let’s make it happen. Now, I think, fundamentally, our team totally gets how good you are. They saw you in action in the finals. But knowing a thing is different than integrating it into a team environment. They loved Manny, not just the goalie but the man and their very good friend. It’s hard to let go of someone you love, and they’re possibly in mourning right now. It was not just a season-ending injury for Manny, it was the end of a twenty-year career for a guy who’s a shoo-in for the Hall of Fame one day. But, having said all that, they can love you too, when they see what you can do for the team.”
“I don’t need to be loved.” As soon as I say the words, I wish I’d not said them.
“Then respect. Whatever. They’ll step up and protect you as best they can, but you want more than that. You want to feel a sense of place with this team.” He puts up a gloved hand as soon as I open my mouth. “I know, I know. You’re going to say you don’t care about this team, that you didn’t want to be here in the first place. I get it. You want to go back to Montreal. But you can’t. You’re under contract here, dude, and you’re serious enough about the game to make the best of it, even if it’s just on the ice. Thing is, that won’t be good enough to sustain you here, not for the duration of the contract.”
I bite back the automatic argument that buds in my throat. He’s just trying to help, I remind myself. I nod, and he claps me on the back one more time just as the coaching staff lays out our next drill.
It’s a simple shot-on-goal exercise. The team splits up into two lines as I take my place at one goal and Dante Castellano takes his place at the other end of the ice. He stares me down like he wants to tear my head off. He probably does want to tear my head off. What he doesn’t realize is that he should be directing all that energy to the drill, to stopping goals. He could outshine me here, prove his worth.
Tugging down my goaltender’s mask, I crouch in front of the goal, hyper-focused as the first in line skates forward with the puck.
The players have been instructed to come in hard, fast, and from different angles. This exercise is partially about their ability to pivot and shoot from various positions, but partially about my ability to see the shots and react quickly.
Each time a player scores on one of us, the buzzer goes off, loud and obnoxious in an empty arena. The team wings shot after shot, and I get into a game-based mindset. Stop the puck. Don’t worry about anything else. What angle is it coming from? Where do I position myself? Should I come out or pack in tight?
Vaguely, I hear the buzzer go off a few times. Only one am I certain is for me.
When the coaching staff calls time, I’m sweaty and out of breath as I look up and see that I only let in one goal, while Dante let in eight.
He stares, open-mouthed, at the scoreboard before pulling his mask off, letting it dangle from his fingertips as he processes the reality presented. He looks at me, and his expression turns from disbelief to frustration or anger before he turns and skates toward the edge of the ice, letting himself out, slipping on some blade covers, and disappearing down the tunnel.
As the other guys get their next instructions, I skate off, following Dante, finding him standing in the tunnel, forehead against the wall.
“Castellano,” I say on the approach.
“Fuck off, Lefleur.”
“Why do you let shit get into your head? It’s a drill and you acted like it was an Olympic trial.”
“Look, Manny got hurt and I thought it was my turn. I’ve been here, drilling, working, waiting. I stopped almost every shot in college but since I’ve been here, I can’t get the consistency I need to make first string and now some fucking whiz-kid comes in and there’s no hope at all for any real playing time. Again. I’d prefer they fucking trade me down to the AHL at this point. At least I’d get to play.”
“I don’t know how that feels because I’ve never been second string.” Castellano bares his teeth at me, which I interpret to mean I’ve said something stupid, as usual. Still, I continue, “But I do know how it feels to want something so badly. I want to go back to Montreal. I’m trying to convince them to take me back. If I leave, there’s an opening. You just need to get focused and be ready for when it happens.”
“Why the fuck are you so focused on getting back to Montreal?” He throws up his hands. “Trades are part of the deal in pro hockey. You got a platinum package coming here and this is a platinum team.”
“My life is there. My girlfriend is there. And I think she’s cheating on me. I need to get back to my life and my routine.”
Castellano chuckles. “If she’s cheating on you, you probably fucking deserve it.”
I shrug and chew on my bottom lip. “Maybe so. Listen, I’m not your enemy. I came here because I got traded but I’d leave in a heartbeat if it meant I could go home. I’m going to do my job here, but you have a job, too, which is to be ready for anything.”
He takes a breath and nods curtly, heading back out on the ice to finish practice. I follow, unsure if I’ve made things better or worse for myself.
Evan makes good on his offer, asking me to grab a beer after practice. He can’t stay out long, as his wife and kids are waiting on him at home, but he doesn’t seem rushed as we grab a pint in the restaurant that’s attached to the arena. He asks me all about Montreal, says he’s never been there except for games. He tells me about how he met his wife, who worked for the Crush before starting her own public relations firm.