by Gina Azzi
“Again!” Austin shouts and the team resumes our positions.
We run through the drill three more times until Coach Phillips calls practice. The energy in the locker room is depleted, team morale at an all-time low. I take a shower and dress quickly, just wanting to get out of the arena and put this shitty practice behind me.
“Hey.” Torsten appears at my side as I close my locker door.
“What’s up?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Want to grab lunch?”
“Yeah, sure,” I agree, my stomach growling. As much as I want to get out of the arena, I don’t really want to go home to my empty space and dwell on the season.
Torsten shoulders his practice bag and I follow him out of the arena, sliding into the passenger seat of his car.
“What are you in the mood for?” he asks.
“I haven’t had Mexican in ages,” I say after a moment. My stomach rumbles loudly at the suggestion.
“I know a place,” Torsten says, pulling out of the arena and onto the road. He blows out a long sigh. “Today was rough.”
“Tell me about it. Sims is never where he’s supposed to be.”
Torsten grips the top of the steering wheel, glancing at me. “You think East will be ready to play in a few months?” His tone is measured but I hear the uncertainty, the skepticism, underlining his words.
I blow out a breath and gaze out the window. I want my brother to claim the ice in a little over two months and remind everyone, the team, management, fans across Massachusetts and the entire country, that he’s a fucking god on the ice.
But the reality of the situation is that it’s not going to happen. Even if East was in the best shape of his life before rehab, which he wasn’t, he’s certainly going to take a few weeks to find his rhythm again. In the interim, Sims is our best option and everyone is giving him shit. If we don’t start the season strong, it will be tough to change morale and rally for a spot in the play-offs. “I don’t know, man.”
Torsten’s silent for a few moments. “My contract is up at the end of the season,” he says quietly.
I turn and frown at him. “And?”
“And, if the Hawks don’t re-sign me or trade me—”
“Why wouldn’t they re-sign you?”
He chuckles but it’s humorless. “Scotch, I’m nearly thirty-eight years old. The team just called up two rookies. I might not be starting by the end of this season and I know it.”
I hold up a hand, about to refute him, but at the glint in his eyes, I swallow back my words. Torsten has been a cornerstone of the Hawks Franchise for so long, it’s hard to imagine him not playing for the team. It’s even harder to fathom him not playing hockey at all.
“I need this season to be spectacular. I need to perform the best I possibly can every shot I have on the ice. I need this to be our year, to win the Cup. Maybe because it will be my last. But also because it’s my best chance at being re-signed. If I’m not…”
“What?” I ask, frowning. What the hell is Torsten trying to say?
He gives me a look, amusement flaring in his eyes for a second. “I won’t have a visa. I’ll need to head home to Norway.”
I swear, staring at my teammate, my friend, for a long minute.
He turns his gaze back to the road but I continue to process the bomb he just dropped in my lap. Of course I knew Torsten was from Norway, but I never thought about how he lives in the US. I never realized that without hockey, his entire life here wouldn’t be possible.
Torsten Hansen has been in the US since he was nineteen years old. He has investments here, his life is here. What the hell would he even do in Norway to start over at almost forty? I shake my head, pinching the bridge of my nose.
First, we may lose Easton. Our other defenseman, James Ryan, has been mentally absent since his wife passed. Now, Torsten brings up this.
What the hell is happening to my team? How are we going to compete this year with all of our top players, the seasoned guys who know the rhythm, who understand the flow, being pushed to the fringes?
I fix him with a hard stare. “Then we make this our best season.”
Torsten laughs but by the expression that crosses his face, I know he’s worried. Worried and hopeful.
“I’m serious,” I repeat.
He nods, shooting me a sympathetic look. “And if East can’t get it together?”
I blow out a breath, knowing what he’s asking of me, even if it’s indirectly. “Then I’ll get Sims up to speed. I’ll make sure he’s ready. Austin will too.” Fucking hell though. I don’t want to help East’s competition when my loyalty, on every level, belongs to my brother.
But can I watch Torsten leave the team, leave the country, because Easton made a series of choices that landed him back in rehab?
Stuck between a rock and a hard place, I shake my head and turn to look back out the window. Torsten and I, lost in our own thoughts, remain silent until we pull up to a tiny but brightly decorated restaurant in Boston’s West End.
“What is this place?” I ask, sliding out of the car.
Torsten glances at me over the hood. “A hidden gem.”
I snort, following him into the small restaurant. The moment I enter, the delicious scent of culinary expertise wraps around me and I breathe in deeply.
Torsten chuckles and tips his chin toward a table.
I follow him, glancing at the plates on other patrons’ tables. Everything looks delicious. Bright, colorful, classic Mexican dishes with modern twists.
Is that sushi on nachos? This place is a hidden gem.
Right before I slide onto a chair, I glance up and my gaze connects with Little Indy Merrick. Thoughts of our night together flicker through my mind and instead of feeling awkward, like I should get the hell out of here before she latches onto me, the way I would with other women, I grin.
She freezes, like a deer caught in headlights, her fingers hovering over the keyboard of her laptop.
Some of the tension in my shoulders deflates just seeing her again. “Indy!” I call out to her.
Across from me, Torsten turns in his chair. “Hey there, sweetheart. Want to join us for lunch?”
Indy stares, her eyes widening like she can’t believe we’re here. Her hair is twisted into a complicated-looking knot on the top of her head. Big, triangle earrings dangle from her ears. She’s rocking this tie-dye sweater that looks more like a throwback to the nineties than what’s trending today. The sleeves are pushed up on her arms. Other girls would look ridiculous but on Indy, the look just…works. She looks comfortable and cute and completely confident in her ensemble from way back when.
She stares for so long that I wonder if she’s feeling that awkward need to run, or if she’s worried that I’ll somehow latch onto her, or if I interrupted something important for her work by greeting her.
She shakes her head, moving to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear before realizing it’s tied up. A blush works over her cheeks and she ducks her head, offering a small smile that I can’t help but return. She’s adorable when she’s flustered.
“Hi, guys. Sure, thanks.” She closes her laptop, slips it into her bag, and picks up the coffee she’s drinking.
I pull up a third chair to our table and Indy sits down, dropping her bag onto the back of the chair.
Torsten dips his head forward to kiss her cheek hello and I roll my eyes even though I know he means nothing by it. It’s how he greets every woman, from the college girls who beg for his autograph to the grandmas who tell him about their hockey-playing grandkids. Still, the flicker of irritation that buzzes through me at his greeting Indy is new. I shake it off.
“What are you guys doing here?” she asks, her gaze darting between Torsten and me.
“Are you kidding?” Torsten replies. “This place has some of the best food I’ve ever had.”
“I know, right?” she agrees. “It’s one of my faves. I live just around the corner and I’m trying to guard it with my life. The las
t thing we need is its reputation getting out and the place being overrun with tourists.”
“It’s Scotch’s first time here. Don’t hate me for bringing him along,” Torsten teases.
Indy grins and tips her head toward me. “Just this one pass.” She raises a finger to Torsten before glancing at me. “You’re going to love it.”
“I bet,” I agree. “What did you order?”
“Oh, I haven’t ordered yet. Just a coffee.” Indy lifts her cup to her lips and takes a sip, her eyes distracted again.
“Hungry?” Torsten asks.
She nods. “Starving. I can’t even believe the time. I was so lost in my work.”
“What are you working on?” I ask, leaning back in my chair.
Her expression transforms, her face opening like a sunflower. Her eyes dazzle and I find myself mesmerized by the way she glows. “Oh, gosh, I’m so excited about it!” She chuckles, ducking her head and nudging a menu in my direction. “Let’s order first.”
Torsten grabs a menu. “Just building that anticipation, huh, Indy?”
She flushes, her cheeks turning redder. She wrinkles her nose. “It’s probably not going to seem so exciting to you guys. You’re going to think I’m lame.”
“Nah, can’t be lamer than overanalyzing hockey plays.” I drop my menu. “Order for me. Whatever your favorite dish is.”
Her eyes meet mine. Deep green and bottomless, like the sea. Jesus, a man could get lost in Indy’s eyes. “Okay.”
When our server, Shell, arrives, Indy orders for us and Torsten tacks on his lunch and a couple appetizers to split. Then, we turn our attention toward Indy.
Her grin is straight up goofy, like she can’t hold her news in one second longer. “I’m planning a trip!”
“A trip?” Torsten asks, frowning as he tries to piece together why this is news at all.
“Yes!” Indy exclaims. “A research trip. I’m going to take a group of my second-year students to Bangladesh over winter break. We’re going to be learning about microfinance initiatives that favor women and how this lends to household social mobility. It’s statistically proven that women make better decisions for the family than men, which is one of the reasons why these loans, although small, have been so impactful.”
“Wow,” I mutter, impressed.
Torsten’s eyes are wide as he stares at Indy like he doesn’t know her.
She chuckles and bites the corner of her mouth. “Lame?”
“Not at all, Indy. That’s… pretty fucking awesome.” I like the concept of her research trip almost as much as I like hearing her talk about it.
“You’re a badass brainiac, aren’t you?” Torsten asks. “You must be bored out of your mind at hockey games.”
“Nah.” She shakes her head.
“She doesn’t watch them. She’s too busy reading her books,” I explain to Torsten who laughs as Indy blushes and averts her gaze.
“The trip is in December?” I ask as the server drops off our appetizers.
“Yes. I’ve got so much planning and organizing to do before then. I need to choose the students in the next week or so too. Lots to do but I’m really excited about it. I remember my first time conducting field research. There’s nothing like it. Being connected to strangers, working toward a common goal, feeling like you’re contributing to a big change for someone’s life. This is the reason why I wanted to become a professor. I never anticipated having this opportunity my first year but the professor who usually runs the trip has a medical issue and backed out.” She talks using her hands, gesturing wildly. It’s something she does when she’s excited and I like that she’s passionate about her work. Her eyes twinkle as she says, “Lucky me.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it all out,” Torsten says.
“Hope so.” Indy picks up a bowl and adds some salad to her place. “How was practice?”
Torsten and I both groan.
“That good, huh?”
9
Indy
They grimace.
Immediately, I feel bad for Noah and Torsten. It’s hard when you’ve been playing with the same guys for so many years. Noah, Austin, and Easton have comprised the first-string offensive line for over four years. The guys have been playing together since they were kids. Having someone new trying to fall into their rhythm is a huge change for everyone, including the new guy.
“I’m sorry, guys. I remember when my dad—”
“Had to team up with Ray Silver.” Torsten leans back in his chair. “They ended up being unstoppable.”
“They did.” I tip my coffee mug in his direction, pleased he already got my point. “I can’t imagine how difficult this is for you guys. Or for the new guy.”
“Eddie Sims,” Noah supplies.
“Sims.” I nod, committing his name to my memory. “It’s frustrating and it’s going to be a lot of baby steps. But you all have to be open-minded and willing to change certain things. It could lead to an even better performance.” I duck my head and bite my tongue. Why am I preaching to these guys? After a tough morning on the ice, it’s probably the last thing they need. “Sorry.”
“No,” Noah exhales, scrubbing a hand along his jawline. “You’re right. I just hate hearing the truth sometimes.”
Torsten snorts. “It’s hard because we want East back.”
“Of course you do,” I sympathize, glancing at Noah. His expression is severe, the lines around his eyes deeper than they were a moment ago. I can’t imagine how he must be feeling right now. Most likely pinging between loyalty to his brother and loyalty to his team.
Torsten’s phone rings and he pulls it from his pocket, his scowl intensifying as he swears. “I’m sorry, guys, I need to take this. Give me a minute?” He glances from me to Noah.
I nod as Noah waves him away. Torsten stands and lifts the phone to his ear, heading for the exit.
When Noah looks at me, I catch his gaze and hold it. His eyes burn, darker than midnight. I can’t read any of his thoughts and a thrill dances through my body. “Getting Sims up to the task isn’t a betrayal of Easton,” I say slowly. “You know that, right?”
He exhales heavily and nods.
I’m thankful more appetizers arrive at this moment.
“I’ve never had sushi nachos.” I change the subject.
“Me neither. Especially with this Tex-Mex twist.” Noah adds some nachos covered with hot peppers, raw tuna, and a sriracha-based sauce on my plate. He bites into a nacho and moans. “These are surprisingly delicious.” He nudges my plate toward me and I take a bite.
“Everything here is,” I agree.
Torsten reappears, looking distracted and overwhelmed. “Noah, man, I’m so sorry. I need to go. Something came up. Do you want to come with me or—”
“No worries, man. I’ll catch an Uber or something. Here, take some food to go.” Noah waves to a server.
Torsten shakes his head. “It’s okay. I’m really in a rush. See you guys later?”
“See you, Torsten.” I wave, wondering what could have pulled him away so suddenly. “I hope nothing’s wrong,” I say to Noah as we watch Torsten leave the restaurant.
He frowns, chewing his lip thoughtfully but doesn’t offer any insight on the issue. Noah picks up another nacho and pops it into his mouth. “I get what you said about not betraying my brother but it feels…” he pauses, circling back to our earlier conversation. “Messed up somehow. Today was just, it was pretty fucking bad.”
“I’m sorry.” I remember the rough patches my dad went through when he played. Some days, no matter how hard the team practiced, the rhythm just wasn’t there. If it kept up for more than a week, the frustration plunged him into a mood and he’d sport an expression similar to the grimace Noah’s wearing now.
“I gotta work with the new kid, Sims. Part of it is the fact that he’s not used to playing so hard, for so long at this level. But part of it is the rest of us. We’re not making it easy for him either.”
“Becau
se of Easton?” I guess.
Noah nods. “It sucks. East’s my brother and I’d do anything for him. We’ve always kind of come as a duo. We’ve played together our whole lives. But the team is important too. I don’t want to compromise our being ready for the opening game because I’m not willing to make sure we’re where we need to be.”
“Don’t you think if you come right out and explain that to Easton, he would understand?”
“I think he’d feel betrayed.”
“Maybe,” I say slowly, turning the situation over in my mind. “Or maybe he’d feel a little relieved that there isn’t all this pressure waiting to hit him in the face the second he leaves rehab. Like, now you’re out so get your skates on and deliver the Cup.”
Noah purses his lips. “I never thought about it like that. I mean, hockey is his life. Same as me. He can’t wait to be back out on the ice with his stick in hand.”
“That may be true. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t any anxiety or pressure associated with it either. How would you feel? If you were in East’s position right now?”
He’s quiet for a long moment, thinking over my question. “I wouldn’t want to let the team down.”
“Exactly. Maybe if the team is performing well, it’s less pressure on Easton too. Less of a need for him to come back and be a superstar right out of the gate. His recovery is a lifelong journey. He’s going to have hiccups and tough days. The most important thing he can do is manage his stress, know what his capabilities are, and settle into a routine.”
“But what if he loses his spot?” Noah cringes, as if the thought alone is painful.
“What if he doesn’t and takes the ice when he’s truly ready to perform?” I counter. “You just don’t know, Noah. But you have to do what’s best for Easton and what’s best for the team. You’re thinking of this as an if/or scenario but really it may just be a both.”