Page 3 of Offside

Griffin had said, “You’ve always been the guy. Someone finally noticed.”

Well over a decade of friendship and he still said things like that without effort, like it was obvious. I had hung up and stared at my apartment ceiling for a long time, deciding.

I’d said yes because I wanted it. That was the whole reason, and it was enough. I wanted to be the guy.

By the time the roster filtered in, I was off the ice and in the locker room, tape in hand, watching. Reading a room was half the job when you were supposed to be running it.

Eli Kovac came in first, which told me something. He was enormous, six-three, carrying two twenty-five on a frame built for contact, and he moved through the locker room with a quiet economy I recognized immediately as someone who didn’t perform anything. Found his stall, sat down, started getting dressed. Didn’t introduce himself to anyone. Didn’t need to. Eli Kovac had been a physical force in this league for six years and his reputation walked in right beside him.

I caught his eye across the room and nodded. Eli nodded back. That was probably going to be the extent of our relationship for the first two weeks and I was fine with it.

Cole Westbrook came in second and worked the room like it was a job he'd been hired for. He walked through the door talking and within four minutes he’d positioned himself as the social one. Twenty-five, dark hair, and exactly the pretty boy I’d expected, and not in a bad way. Names, handshakes, a compliment for the locker room layout that he somehow made sound sincere. By the time he got to me he'd been to everyone else. I watched him with equal parts amusement and exhaustion.

“Lindqvist.” Cole appeared at my stall with his hand extended, grinning. “Cole Westbrook. Huge fan of the whole stoic captain thing you’ve got going. Very intimidating. I respect it.”

I shook his hand. He had a grip like he’d been practicing it, which I was fairly certain he had. Cole Westbrook already had endorsement deals in Phoenix. He was a California guy, had played for two California teams, and was now with the Sidewinders. Never missed an opportunity to be on the red carpet with a pretty model, never the same one, and yet still had a total golden retriever reputation. He was the pretty boy of the group by a mile.

I let out a dry chuckle before he moved on to his stall.

Theo Marquis came in without fanfare, which was its own statement. Twenty-seven, French Canadian, compact, built to convert himself into useful force. He found his stall without looking for it, sat down, started taping his stick. Didn’t announce himself. Didn’t need to. When his eyes landed on me across the room, they held a beat longer than necessary, not hostile, just taking inventory. I had the impression Theo Marquis intended to outwork everyone in the building and had already started. I gave him the same nod I’d given Eli. Theo’s chin dipped, fractionally. Understood on both ends.

The rest of the room filtered in over the next twenty minutes. Kasperi Mäkinen, twenty-two, Finnish, who arrived with earbuds in and confident the way players were before the league had a chance to test them. Danny Hart, twenty-one, with the earnest face of someone’s kid brother, who immediately asked Cole where the best tacos in Glendale were. A defenseman named Novak who was built like a filing cabinet and said nothing, which I respected.

The chirping started before warm-ups. It started with Kasperi, who made the mistake of walking past Cole’s stall in a shirt Cole felt strongly about.

“What is that,” Cole said, pointing. Not a question. A statement of disbelief.

“A shirt,” Kasperi said.

“That’s not a shirt. That’s a decision you made.”

“It’s from Finland.”

“Finland should want it back.”

Kasperi glanced at me. I kept my eyes on my tape. This was not my problem and I knew it.

“Kovac,” Cole said, pivoting. “You have to see this shirt.”

Eli, across the room, turned his head. Took his time about it. He studied the shirt. Turned back to Cole. Returned to his pads. “No,” he said.

“That’s all? Just no?”

“Yes.”

Cole pointed at Eli. “I have no idea what that means and I respect it completely.”

Theo, from the far end of the room, didn’t look up from his stick tape. “It means he agrees with me about the shirt and chooses not to elaborate.”

“You haven’t said anything about the shirt.”

“I don’t need to.”

Cole spread his hands to the room. “This team,” he said to no one in particular, “is incredible.”

I shook my head. “You’ve been here six minutes.”

“I work fast.” Cole moved on, seemingly satisfied.