right. Then, he needed to find a quiet place, close his eyes, and picture the whole game in his head. The ritual didn’t always work, but it helped focus him so intensely that by the time he hit the ice, all his mental energy was centered on one thing and one thing alone: winning.
Tonight, however, as he readied himself for a Blades home game against Los Angeles, Sinead O’Brien kept intruding on his thoughts, his mind going over their conversation at the Wild Hart. Polite talk had given way to banter, and then to personal info. He was shocked at her willingness to drop her guard for even a minute. Shocked at his own willingness to drop his guard, too. It was more than a professional exchange of information, though maybe he was wrong.
He couldn’t help wondering about the circumstances of her split from her husband. Was it because she was a workaholic? She’d said he was a jerk; maybe he didn’t like a wife with such a high-powered career. He wanted to know more.
But what right did he have to info if he wouldn’t open up more to her—which he wouldn’t. This wasn’t good. He was brought here to win, not make friends or think about the life his attorney led outside her office. He’d have to watch himself.
Adam headed into the locker room, nodding curtly in acknowledgment to whichever teammates made eye contact with him. Michael and Ty were pleased with the way things were going. The Blades were battling Jersey for first in the division, and they were playing tough, defensive hockey. Their offense wasn’t great, but the sense on the team was that it was just a matter of time before they started scoring more and took control of the division. Adam hadn’t changed his game in the least and was as much a physical presence on the ice as ever before. Following his lead, the Blades were finishing more of their checks and not missing any opportunity to hit.
As always, Michael handled the pregame talk, with Adam adding a short comment here and there when needed. Finally, it was time to hit the ice to warm up. Adam was pumped, until he walked out of the locker room to find the hockey commissioner waiting in the hall, motioning him over.
“What’s up?” Adam asked.
“Blades are doing well,” Welsh noted.
“You called me over to compliment me?”
Welsh chuckled. “No. I just wanted to remind you of what we talked about in the Kidco meeting.”
“Refresh my memory.”
“We’ve been watching you, just like I told you we would. I’m still seeing a lot of mid-ice hitting. It’s amazing you didn’t concuss Toronto’s Gil the other night. And dropping the gloves with Fraccia in the third period—did you really think that was going to help your case?”
Adam shrugged unapologetically. “I play the way I play.”
“That’s certainly true. But the league needs to change, and its players need to change along with it. You know the deal, Adam. We want a faster, higher-scoring, less violent game. The future is coming, and it looks a lot more like your teammate Saari than it does you,” Welsh said icily.
Adam took a very small, almost imperceptible step toward the commissioner. It was so subtle that no one would think it premeditated, just an effort to maintain his balance, standing on skate blades on a carpeted floor. But it was intentional. Welsh was less than half Adam’s size, especially with Adam in pads and on skates. He could tell the smaller man was intimidated. That was the point. Adam was using personal space to send a very clear message : don’t screw with me . But since Welsh wasn’t a player, he might need it spelled out for him more explicitly.
“I play the way I play,” Adam repeated. “End of story. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a game to play.”
Adam left Welsh and headed down the hall to join his teammates on the ice. The future looks like Saari? Then to hell with the future. All that matters is today. At least his conversation with the commissioner had one positive side
Tonight, however, as he readied himself for a Blades home game against Los Angeles, Sinead O’Brien kept intruding on his thoughts, his mind going over their conversation at the Wild Hart. Polite talk had given way to banter, and then to personal info. He was shocked at her willingness to drop her guard for even a minute. Shocked at his own willingness to drop his guard, too. It was more than a professional exchange of information, though maybe he was wrong.
He couldn’t help wondering about the circumstances of her split from her husband. Was it because she was a workaholic? She’d said he was a jerk; maybe he didn’t like a wife with such a high-powered career. He wanted to know more.
But what right did he have to info if he wouldn’t open up more to her—which he wouldn’t. This wasn’t good. He was brought here to win, not make friends or think about the life his attorney led outside her office. He’d have to watch himself.
Adam headed into the locker room, nodding curtly in acknowledgment to whichever teammates made eye contact with him. Michael and Ty were pleased with the way things were going. The Blades were battling Jersey for first in the division, and they were playing tough, defensive hockey. Their offense wasn’t great, but the sense on the team was that it was just a matter of time before they started scoring more and took control of the division. Adam hadn’t changed his game in the least and was as much a physical presence on the ice as ever before. Following his lead, the Blades were finishing more of their checks and not missing any opportunity to hit.
As always, Michael handled the pregame talk, with Adam adding a short comment here and there when needed. Finally, it was time to hit the ice to warm up. Adam was pumped, until he walked out of the locker room to find the hockey commissioner waiting in the hall, motioning him over.
“What’s up?” Adam asked.
“Blades are doing well,” Welsh noted.
“You called me over to compliment me?”
Welsh chuckled. “No. I just wanted to remind you of what we talked about in the Kidco meeting.”
“Refresh my memory.”
“We’ve been watching you, just like I told you we would. I’m still seeing a lot of mid-ice hitting. It’s amazing you didn’t concuss Toronto’s Gil the other night. And dropping the gloves with Fraccia in the third period—did you really think that was going to help your case?”
Adam shrugged unapologetically. “I play the way I play.”
“That’s certainly true. But the league needs to change, and its players need to change along with it. You know the deal, Adam. We want a faster, higher-scoring, less violent game. The future is coming, and it looks a lot more like your teammate Saari than it does you,” Welsh said icily.
Adam took a very small, almost imperceptible step toward the commissioner. It was so subtle that no one would think it premeditated, just an effort to maintain his balance, standing on skate blades on a carpeted floor. But it was intentional. Welsh was less than half Adam’s size, especially with Adam in pads and on skates. He could tell the smaller man was intimidated. That was the point. Adam was using personal space to send a very clear message : don’t screw with me . But since Welsh wasn’t a player, he might need it spelled out for him more explicitly.
“I play the way I play,” Adam repeated. “End of story. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a game to play.”
Adam left Welsh and headed down the hall to join his teammates on the ice. The future looks like Saari? Then to hell with the future. All that matters is today. At least his conversation with the commissioner had one positive side
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