“Did she say that?”
“Not in so many words. But she’s been through hell at the hands of the hockey-industrial complex, and I just want to protect her. The easiest way to do that is to leave her alone.”
Reid snorted. “You don’t believe that for a second. You’re the guy who stepped up and told all those assholes where to go when they poked at her. And I know you said you needed her to drive you to Michigan, but that wasn’t why you took her there.”
“Oh, yeah, Mr. Know-it-all, why did I take her there, then?”
Tell me because I have no fucking clue why I do anything anymore.
“You were falling in love with her, and you wanted to keep her safe.”
“That’s not what happened!” Bast stared at Reid who was shaking his head, still with the disgust, but mixed with something else: pity. “I was pissed to all hell with her, and I wanted to punish her for—”
“For what? The Big Dump? Because that’s not what you were mad at her for.”
Bast scoffed. “So why was I mad at her?”
“Because when you met her, you wanted her and then found out a whole host of reasons why it could never work. Coach, Connor, Gallagher. You were mad at her because she was the woman of your dreams, and it had just turned into a nightmare. But then I lent you my lake house and look where we are. You made it through the wilderness—”
“Like a Virgin? Are you paraphrasing Like a Virgin?”
Reid smiled. “Somehow you made it through.”
Bast shoved him, which made Reid laugh and Bucky bark.
“It’s okay, boy.” Reid knelt to reattach his lead. “Bast and I are all good.” He looked up and smiled, acknowledging the truth of that. “You’re crazy about her, bro. Let her know.”
“All this wisdom in the head of a complete asshole. How does that happen?”
“I recommend therapy.”
Two days later …
* * *
After his PT appointment, Bast headed to the players’ lounge where he found Reid making a kale smoothie while Cal Foreman looked on in horror.
“Baby Durand,” Foreman said, his lip curling. “Tell me you don’t eat this junk like your brother.”
“I’m more of a sandwich guy.”
“Excellent. I’m making a turkey-gouda special. You in?”
“Hit me.” He took a seat at the counter while Reid poured his green goop into a glass. “So, anyone up for giving advice?”
“About your woman in the hot tub?” Gunnar Bond called out from the sofa where he and Levi Hunt were watching Days of Our Lives.
“No. About Deacon.”
Dex O’Malley pointed from the lounge’s well-worn leather lazy boy. “Not denying he has a woman, though. Or the hot tub. We’ll stick a pin in that.”
Reid sipped his smoothie, and excellent actor that he was, did not retch. “What’s the latest on Deacon?”
“I’m being told I need to apologize. Fix this before the lawyers take over.”
Foreman looked up from a jar of light mayo. “That guy needed to be put in his place. You were doing the right thing by Pepper.”
Bast thought so. It was good to hear someone else agreed.
The mouthy Southie, as Foreman was known, wasn’t finished. “O’Malley, you’re up.”
Bast startled at finding Dex beside him at the counter. “Jesus, you’re quiet.”
“That I am. So what gives with Pepper?”
“We’re just friends.” He caught Reid’s eye, complete with raised eyebrow, and added a feeble “I like her.”
Dex nodded. “And?”
“And nothing.”
Foreman shared a glance with Reid. “Is he always this chatty?”
Reid smiled at Bast. “He’s giving her space.”
“Probably for the best,” Foreman offered. “Right now, she doesn’t need Baby Durand punching out reporters or issuing public apologies on behalf of the org, not when she’s busy turning herself into a TikTok superstar.”
“A what?”
“Yeah, she made some videos. Well, they’re edited together—”
“Stitched.” Erik Jorgenson had just arrived and opened the fridge door. “Funny, too.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“On TikTok,” Erik said, as if Bast was completely clueless. Which he was.
Foreman passed a sandwich over to Bast. “Open up the TikTok app, dude.”
“I don’t have an account.”
Reid had his phone out, and after a few seconds of searching, he handed it over. A video was already playing so Bast started it over.
Tommy Toga, the New York Spartans mascot, was skating around, munching on grapes, which was his schtick. Then boom! He bumped into Kyle Henninger, a forward for New York, who went down with a thud. The mascot took a moment to consider his handiwork before offering Henninger a grape and yelling “Toga this!”
Okay.
Cut to another mascot, this time Vancouver’s Sammy the Shark under a cartoon wave filter when he encountered the Gills’ Cully Tipton. Not a crash this time, but Cully turned tail while chased by the shark who got him against the boards after five seconds and started gnashing on his shoulder.
What the f?
Next up was Big Cat, the Boston Cougars mascot, who seemed to be stalking the team’s goalie, Finn Ferguson, in a jungle … and on it went with ten second vignettes of the NHL’s mascots taking out players all over the country in funny and funnily specific ways.
“This is fucking wild,” Bast muttered. “Are the Rebels in here?”
“Last one,” Erik said. “The best one.”
Sure enough, there was Rowdy Rebel, and Bast’s pulse jumped at the sight. The gray rat-fox-duck combo was skating along to a whistling soundtrack, not a care in the world. In the other direction came Theo Fucking Kershaw, also whistling and wearing … no!
Bast’s toque. Gwen’s damn crooked zig-zag pattern was unmistakable.
Was Kershaw doing an impression of a certain Canadian hockey player?
This was confirmed when the guy yelled, “Mon Dieu! Magnifique!” and the camera cut to a very made-up Tara Becker, sitting in the front row waving vigorously and fluttering her eyelashes. She leaned her substantial chest against the glass and—wait a second. Was that a tattoo of his name?
Bam! Both Fake Durand and Rowdy Rebel went down with Theo howling like a banshee. What a ham.
“Kershaw going for a Daytime Emmy here,” Bast muttered, while the idiot yelled, “My face! My beautiful face!”
He rewound and played it over.
Erik chuckled as he extracted a Tupperware of meatballs from the fridge. “I thought it was a pretty good impression. It only took five takes.”
Reid and Bast both said, “You were there?”
“Yeah, they filmed it yesterday after practice. Casey did the editing, and Mia and Kennedy were on hand to direct. It was very professional.”
“My Kennedy?” Reid asked.
Erik squinted at him. “Is there more than one? And they captured the essence of what happened perfectly.”