Sugar and Ice - RJ Scott Page 0,43
head “Probably best not to. Dwight has non-disclosure paperwork for her to sign. The Raptors want this done.”
“I want this done,” I agreed.
“Okay.” Mark held out his hand to shake. “Meeting adjourned.” He opened the door and the three of us stepped out, just as Colorado passed. He frowned, looked at me, then Mark, and then at poor Dwight.
“Dwight, dude, did you just come out of the closet?”
“No, I—”
Colorado ignored him. “Welcome to the rainbow, my man!” he said and enthusiastically pumped Dwight’s hand, before leaving and cackling.
Hell, at least there was no emu trailing him, or a single sign of a groupie. That was one thing I suppose. I stopped off at Will-Call, because I wanted to keep a promise I’d made, added the name Lucas Bowyer to the list, plus three others, and said it was good for any game, then I jogged to the locker room, now just under five minutes from practice time.
Vlad was already in the locker room, suited up, head bent, tying his laces, murmuring to himself in Russian as he always did when he was lacing. Probably blessing the skates, or something. Henry was also here, but he was pacing, and only stopped when he caught sight of me. The tension in him eased in an instant.
“Thought you might not be here,” he said, and a couple of the other guys glanced up and nodded at me. Last they’d heard I was taken in for questioning, and this was the point where the team either believed me without reservation or I explained the situation.
“It’s all bullshit,” Ryker began.
“Total fucking bullshit,” Colorado elaborated.
I heard a few more guys say the same thing, agreeing, supporting me.
“She’s fully retracted the statement,” I said during a lull in the conversation, and got a succession of high fives, and a bro-hug from Henry.
“What are we? Fisherwomen?” Vlad snapped. “Gossiping like children. Ice, now.”
I wasn’t even kitted up. Hell, I hadn’t even opened my bag, and he glared at me. “Collins, get your ass changed and out on the ice.”
I exchanged glances with Coach Carmichael, who sent me a look of confusion, but as the guys left, and Vlad was last, I said in my loudest clearest voice to Coach.
“Our captain must have got out of the wrong side of bed.”
Coach raised an eyebrow, I concentrated on getting into my gear, taping, and lacing, and Coach thrust a gray jersey at me. I’d be playing with my line, against the JAR line, and when I spotted Vlad’s white jersey, I thought that today, the shit was going to hit the fan.
The first time he locked me in the corner, his body weight pinning mine, I used my ass, and the muscles in my legs to heave him off, shuffled the puck between his legs, hefted it to Sam who shot on Andre, and the gray team had the first goal of the practice session.
The second time he had me in the corner he’d learned to steady himself to the point he was immoveable. So I went limp, loosened every muscle, and he fell forward, and again I shuttled the puck, this time to Henry, who did this awesome tape-to-tape pass to Sam, who then passed it back, and Henry got the gray team’s second goal.
Meanwhile I was floundering in the corner, stuck under a fallen Vlad, who rolled free. Thank fuck it was Eli, Vlad’s D-partner, who focused on me next, but he was easy to get away from, only of course that left Vlad to intercept my pass, and it was the white team who got the next shot, although we had Colorado in net and he swatted it away like he would a fly.
We switched to line changes, moved some things around, and the two hours seemed to rush by. Through every moment of it Vlad wasn’t the consummate professional where nothing touched him. He was edgy and crabby, and wouldn’t meet my eye, and temper snapped in his icy eyes. It wasn’t only me that noticed the change in him today.
“What crawled up Vlad’s ass and died?” Ryker faux-whispered to Sam.
“Maybe his parrot is ill,” Sam suggested with a shrug.
“Frank is fine,” I defended, and Sam sent me a look that spoke volumes.
“So he’s just in a mood for no reason,” Sam pushed.
“You’re up!” Coach called, and when no one else moved, I assumed it was me. “I want to see you get past Vlad to Colorado, work the edges.”
I got past him easily; he wasn’t