Common Goal (Game Changers #4)- Rachel Reid Page 0,103
and shirtless from the waist up. “That was a tough one. But we fought really fucking hard and we don’t have to hang our heads about that, all right?” He pointed at one of the rookies. “Woody, that play you made in the second period to get us our third goal? Fucking incredible. One of the best I’ve ever seen.”
There were murmurs of agreement around the room, and even a few claps.
“Benny, I know you’re beating yourself up about those last two goals, but forty-eight saves? And there were at least five that were basically impossible. You stood on your head for us tonight.”
“Yeah, Benny!” Carter called. Other guys repeated it and clapped.
“Breezy,” Scott turned to Brisebois. “You blocked that shot from Kent.” That got some whistles and cheers from the guys. “Fearless, man. Fucking fearless. Love to see it. How’s your leg?”
“Bruised. But I’d tear my whole leg off and throw it if it stopped Kent from scoring.”
Laughter erupted, and even Eric was smiling.
Scott sat beside Eric and said in a low voice, “There. I warmed them up for you.”
Eric smiled gratefully at him. Scott and Carter were the only ones in the room who knew Eric was retiring. He’d told the coaches and management a week ago, but this part would be the hardest.
Eric stood up and waved, which made everyone go silent immediately. He rarely took the floor so this was unusual enough to get some attention. “Hi. I’ll keep this short, but I have something to tell you guys.”
The room was so quiet that Eric thought his teammates could probably hear his racing heart. He took a steadying breath. “This is going to be my last season.”
Shocked exclamations started, and Eric held up a hand to silence them. “Playing in the NHL, and especially playing here in New York, with all of you, has been such an honor. I never dreamed, growing up, that—” He had to pause to clear his throat, because it had gotten tight in a hurry. He tried again. “It’s been incredible. I wouldn’t trade a second of it. But it’s time to walk away.” He paused, and managed a wry smile. “While I can still walk.”
There was some quiet laughter, but he could see the shocked confusion on his teammates’ faces. Did they really think he would play forever? “Come on, boys,” he joked. “I’m forty-one. You had to see this coming.”
There was silence, and then someone—Prentice, it sounded like—said, “You’re only forty-one?”
Everyone laughed, and that opened the floodgates.
“I thought you were at least sixty.”
“Goalies didn’t even wear masks when you were a rookie.”
“My grandpa grew up watching you.”
Eric shook his head. “Fuck all of you. I can’t wait to never see you again.”
He sat back down, smiling, and Scott wrapped an arm around him. “They love you.”
“I know.” Eric watched the action in the room through damp eyes. “I’m really going to miss this.”
He removed the rest of his gear in the exact same order he’d been taking it off since high school. He laughed with his teammates when someone made a joke, and smiled when Carter teased him. He was still a part of this team. He wasn’t done yet.
* * *
Kyle hadn’t been expecting to see Eric at the Kingfisher that night. Especially not without Scott. The game against Toronto had been on the television at the bar, so Kyle had seen the brutal overtime loss. He hadn’t even had a chance to text Eric in an attempt to cheer him up.
But here he was. Tall and handsome in his wool coat and cashmere scarf, but his face was showing signs of exhaustion and misery. He spotted Kyle behind the bar and walked toward him.
“Hi,” Kyle said with a sympathetic smile.
“Hi.”
“I watched the game. Sorry about that.”
Eric nodded. “Yeah, it sucks.”
“I’d offer you a whiskey or something, but...”
Eric huffed. “Tonight, I’d almost take it.”
Those words were heartbreaking. “Have a seat.” Kyle gestured at the barstool next to Eric. “I’ll keep you plied with soda water and juice.”
“Thanks.” Eric removed his coat and scarf and hung them neatly on the back of the seat. When he sat down, he immediately slumped forward with his forearms on the bar. “What a fucking night.”
Kyle placed a soda water with lime in front of him. “Tell me all about it.”
“You don’t want to hear about it.”
“I’m a bartender. It’s my job to listen to sob stories.” He playfully tossed a bar towel on his shoulder and leaned in. “Lay it on me.”