This sharing was unexpected—and unexpectedly comforting. “How did you deal with it?”
“Badly. I tried to hide my pregnancy from them—from everyone—because they tend to make everything worse. Which was especially tough on Theo, who wanted to shout the news from the rooftops. You know how he is.”
Theo was one of the nicest guys in the NHL, a little like Bast—though how true was that? He hadn’t been so nice to her when he heard who she was. Everyone had a darker side, she supposed.
“Now you’re with Theo, so that’s not possible anymore, is it? Hiding, I mean.”
Elle smiled. “Theo craves the spotlight, but he’s careful about splashing our private lives all over the Internet. But I get where you’re coming from. Sometimes it’s easier to put your head down, ignore the haters.”
Which is why Pepper was here, holed up like a criminal on the lam. The last time she’d tried to let loose and forget about the past, she’d ended up on the receiving end of Bast Durand’s disdain.
Outside the Kershaws’ window, the world was blooming, filled with noise and laughter, and there was Bast Durand, superstar hockey player at the center of it.
She wanted no part of it, not anymore.
“Just looking for a quiet life.” Even if it meant a stunted one.
Right now, it seemed the safest option all around.
6
November
Hockey season is in full swing, and with it an old face in a young—and bruised—body. Bastian Durand, Cup winner, once the league’s highest season goal scorer (sure it was three years ago, but the record still stands), and former Hawks superstar has made the jump across the city to appear on the roster of the better team’s rival, the Chicago Rebels. Of course, there’s the drama surrounding his brother, Reid. Can the two patch up their differences long enough to put in the performances a team like the Rebels sorely needs this upcoming season? Only time will tell if the younger Durand’s wrist—and mind—are strong enough to handle the pressure.
Curtis Deacon, Chicago Sun-Times
A hockey locker room was probably the worst place in the world to try and center yourself ahead of a game, but never had Bast been so glad to have the opportunity.
Two months of healing for his fractured wrist, three plus months of physio, wrist surgery to make it stronger, more healing, more PT, practice every day for the last four months in the off-season. Ten months since he’d set foot on competitive ice.
He flexed his wrist. It felt good. He felt good.
Even if he was the new guy on the team.
Even if it was on his old team’s crosstown rival.
Even if it might be awkward being teammates with his brother, the guy who caused his wrist injury in the first place. (The press still loved that shit.)
No, Bast didn’t mind any of that. He loved hockey too much.
“How do you feel?” Reid asked as he sat beside him.
Nervous. “Good. Really good. This year, we’re going to win a Cup together.”
“You think so?”
“I do.” He flexed his wrist again. “Now I’m on this loser team, we’re going straight to the Big Time.”
“Cocky fucker.”
Yeah, he was, even if it was partly a front. There’d been moments over the last ten months when he worried he might not make it back. Every athlete harbors a latent fear that he’s one fall away from permanent retirement, but Bast’s ego was outsized enough to help him overcome any serious doubts. He was meant to play, ergo nothing would stand in the way of that. A man possessed of such natural gifts on the ice wasn’t meant to sit around feeling sorry for himself. He’d take that “cocky fucker” label and raise it to a run for the Cup every time.
A text came in on his phone from Gwen.
These seats are amazing, Bast! Thanks so much.
She’d also sent a pic of her and Cecy, who was looking so much better now, her eyes bright, her skin no longer that gray pallor. That fucker, the big C, was in remission, and just seeing her smiling face lifted his heart.
Reid smiled. “Is that the little girl from Lurie Children’s?”
“Yeah, with her gran. If you can have a bunch of cougars in your corner, so can I.” Kennedy’s grandmother Evie had formed a superfan group for Reid from her old folks’ home. They regularly attended Rebels games to cheer him on, often getting into granny-offs with Kershaw’s fan club.
Another buzz on his phone and he checked, expecting more from Gwen, but no. It was from his old college friend, Connor Calhoun, a forward with the Denver Diamonds, who was also the son of John Calhoun, the Chicago Rebels’ coach.
And Pepper’s brother, information he would’ve liked to have in his possession sooner that night in Jimmy’s Tap eight months ago.
Connor
Break a wrist, buddy!
Typical Connor, zero to asshole in 0.1 seconds.
Bast
Aw thanks, dickhead. Sorry about your three-game losing streak. Sucks to be a Diamond right now.
A month into the season, and the Rebels were 5 and 4, a damn sight better than a losing 2 and 7, Denver’s record to date. Bast had hated every second on the sidelines for the last three weeks, but this was the first regular season game the Rebels’ medics had approved him for play.
Another text from Connor zinged. Jesus, he had a game to get ready for, but of course this dick in Mountain zone thought Bast had all the time in the world.
Connor
Say hi to my sister for me.
Something in Bast’s chest lurched. He’d never told Connor that he knew Pepper—if fifteen minutes of conversation counted as knowing someone.
Bast
Your sister’s here? At the game?
Did that sound casual enough?
Connor
LOL. Yeah, “at the game”.
LOL? What was so funny? And why was “at the game” in quotes? So Pepper wasn’t a big hockey fan—she’d made that clear. It probably was kind of strange that she’d show up to a game, but her dad was the team’s coach, so maybe she was here for him?
Or maybe she knew it was Bast’s first game back, and she’d shown to give him some moral support. He liked that idea a little too much, but he didn’t have time to interrogate Connor about it because they were called for the walk to the tunnel.
“You ready?”
Reid held up his stick for tapping, something they used to do all the time when they were younger before heading out to practice and looking for any excuse to beat the shit out of each other on the ice. Now they were on the same team, and Bast couldn’t wait to show the world how well they worked together.
He winked at Reid, rolled his shoulders back in preparation for battle, and touched his stick to his brother’s.
“Eh bien, mon frère, allons-y.”
The first period flew by. Bast spent about four minutes total on the ice, and while he didn’t do anything major, it was awesome to be out there playing the sport he loved. Not on the same line as Reid, but that would happen soon. He couldn’t wait.