“I think I’ve got a meeting,” he said.
Later, Georgia would wonder why she intervened. “The training meeting isn’t until four,” she heard herself say.
Amy leapt on this bit of wisdom without even a spare glance to see who’d offered it. “So you’ve got an hour and a half!” she said, tugging on him.
“Leo,” Georgia added before the girl could succeed in either pulling him out the doors or dislocating his arm, “don’t forget you need a date for the Brooklyn Arts Benefit.”
The girl’s head whipped around then. “A benefit? Where?”
“Brooklyn Academy of Music. This coming Saturday.”
“Wow, I’m free on Saturday. I’ll have to get a new dress! This will be awesome.”
Finally, Georgia got a grip. She tore her eyes off the couple and headed back toward her office.
On the way it occurred to her to wonder what she was going to wear to the benefit. And she hated herself a little for worrying about it.
SIX
SUNDAY, JANUARY 31ST
29 DAYS BEFORE THE NHL TRADE DEADLINE
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
TOP TEAM HEADLINES:
Brooklyn Hosts Tampa at 7pm
—ESPN
It’s All in the Family on Team Bruisers.
Players Fight Over Coach’s Daughter
—Pucker Up Blog
Leo sat down for what felt like the first time in a year. Yet he only had a few minutes to relax before it would be time to head over to the stadium.
Installing himself in Silas’s apartment had been the easiest part of his week, though. All he’d brought to Brooklyn was his gear and some clothes. He didn’t even have sheets for the king-sized bed in the room he’d just rented. He’d had to borrow a set from Silas.
From his seat in the center of Silas’s giant L-shaped sofa, he admired the high ceilings and the hip, industrial look of the room. The goalie’s apartment was nicer than Leo had expected, and now he knew why the guy was so eager for a roommate. Leo’s half of the rent was double the rate he’d paid for his own place in Michigan.
“This neighborhood is pricey,” Silas had admitted when he told Leo the price. “But we’re a five minute walk from the practice rink, which is pretty sweet.”
And all that money bought a lofty interior and a sleek, modern kitchen. The place had floor-to-ceiling windows, great light, and a giant TV hung from one of the exposed-brick walls. He could get used to this place.
Leo’s room was a decent size, too, though rather empty. It needed a rug and a dresser. Maybe a desk. But Leo knew it would be foolish to run out and furnish the place. He’d told Silas he wasn’t superstitious, but it was hard to think of this pad as home when it was obvious that Brooklyn was still trying to eject him.
On the belt parkway there was a highway sign reading: Leaving Brooklyn. Fuhgeddaboudit. Every time he looked up into Coach Karl’s angry face, Leo felt like he should have that sign tattooed on his own ass.
What did that man want from him, anyway? Blood? Sweat? Tears? Whatever it was, Leo would give it for a chance to stay in the big house. He’d shown up at the rink both mornings for the workout of a lifetime. First there’d been an hour of yoga, which was just weird, but at least it had loosened him up. And then a long, sweaty practice.
“Good energy,” the trainer had said this afternoon. “You’re killing it,” the associate coach had added. “You have the fewest trouble spots of anyone on our roster,” the team therapist had said when Leo went to his office for a primary consultation.
Karl Worthington had said nothing at all.
Leo leaned back against the cushions and closed his eyes. He was tired. And it was hard to know which of his many issues to try to resolve first. He had to impress the coach. That was a given. But then there was a long list of loose threads in his life that needed his attention. Should he worry first about sending movers to clear out the apartment he no longer needed in Michigan? Even if Coach Karl demoted his ass to the minors, it would be to one of the East Coast teams that the Bruisers controlled. Or should he worry about Georgia, and the awful tension between them? Or—and this only compounded the other problem—the sudden appearance of his ex-girlfriend Amy?
Leo and Amy had dated for all of his senior year of college. But she’d lost interest when Leo moved to Michigan to play in the minors. That league apparently didn’t make the cut as far as she was concerned. And weirdly, Leo hadn’t spent any time missing her. He’d chalked it up to being busy. But now that she’d reappeared and seemed ready to pick up where she’d left off, he wasn’t feeling it. Not at all. Yesterday she’d dragged him to lunch, but all she wanted to talk about was herself and the clubs she hoped he could get her into. As if he had time to go clubbing.
He’d given her a polite kiss on the cheek good-bye, and then begun preparing his Dear Amy speech. You’re great, but I’m going to be really preoccupied settling in here for a while. And I just can’t be who you want right now. Or something like that.
But he’d forgotten about that fricking charity benefit Georgia had brought up and basically invited Amy to. And when Leo had turned on his phone today after his workout and two hours of watching tape of Tampa with the team, he’d found twenty texts from Amy, a quarter of them photos of dresses she’d tried on.
The last one was some kind of strapless shimmery thing, and she’d written, “I chose this one!”
So it looked like he’d be seeing her at least once more. But after the function he’d be sure to tell her that, sorry, it wasn’t going to be a regular thing. And wouldn’t that be a fun chat. Amy didn’t like hearing the word no.
Leo opened his eyes and checked his phone for messages. There were three hours left until the puck dropped on tonight’s home game against Tampa, and he had no idea whether he’d be suiting up for it. The past hour had found him checking his phone every three minutes like a teenager waiting for a girl to text him back.
It was pretty ridiculous.
There was one message that helped, though. He found an e-mail from his old college coach, the guy who’d seen him through his first trip to the Frozen Four junior year. Coach had retired after that season, and Leo had missed everything about him—his crusty exterior, which concealed an empathetic man, his rueful smile when they lost, and his speeches, which always quoted one or two dead presidents.
Leo—
Can’t believe I saw your name on the New York Times website yesterday. One of my guys in the NHL? I live for moments like this.
Whether your career is one game or a thousand, I’ll always be proud of you. Not only are you fast as blazes but you have a steady character and a good heart. Make sure you use all those gifts, and not just your slap shot. Congratulations, kid. You deserve this.