But that night in Vancouver, there was something weird in the air. Ty didn’t believe all that much in being jinxed. Sure, he always skated past the face-off circle twice before entering it, but he really wasn’t a superstitious guy. He believed in skill more than some intangible bad luck. He was one of only a handful of players who shaved during the playoffs.
There was definitely something hinky about this game though. From the drop of the first bouncing puck, things did not turn in the Chinooks’ favor. The defense had a hard time moving the puck up to the offense, and like the rest of the team, Ty couldn’t find a cohesive rhythm. He crashed the net but had difficulty getting the puck into scoring position.
Shots ricocheted off the pipes and the game deteriorated into old-time hockey by the middle of the second period. Sam Leclaire and enforcer Andre Courture spent most of their time in the penalty box for “innocently” tripping, elbowing, slashing, and roughing in the corners.
In the last seconds of the game, Ty finally felt in his zone and tore across ice with the puck in the curve of his stick. He knew the Vancouver goalie caught left and he deked right. The
A half hour later, Ty sat in the guest locker room staring at the carpet between his bare feet. He had one towel wrapped around his waist and one around his neck. His teammates stood in front of their lockers, toweling off and getting dressed for the flight home. The only good thing to come out of that night was that Coach Nystrom had banned the press from the locker room.
“We’re going to put that game behind us,” Coach Nystrom said as he walked into the room. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his dress pants. “The other coaches and I will take a look at the game tapes and try to figure out what the hell happened tonight. When we meet Vancouver again Saturday, we’ll be better prepared.”
“Game waz jinx,” Vlad “The Impaler” Fetisov said as he stepped into his pants.
Forward rookie Logan Dumont crossed himself. “Felt like it to me, too.”
Ty stood up and pulled the towel from around his neck. It was too early in the playoffs to get spooked. “One bad game doesn’t make a bad playoffs season, and it doesn’t mean we’re jinxed.” In practice they worked like a well-oiled, unbeatable machine. On game nights, they didn’t jell quite so well, and Ty could think of only one way to turn that around. “Poker night,” he said. “I’ll get back to you all on the time and place. Bring cash and be prepared to lose.” The Chinooks loved poker and there was nothing like their love of poker to inspire a little male bonding. When Ty was a rookie, the guys had taken him to a strip club to initiate him. When he was traded to Vancouver, they’d bonded at Mugs and Jugs. Ty had never particularly liked strip clubs. Ironic, given the current owner of the Chinooks.
He dropped the towel and ran his fingers through his damp hair. He had heard that morning that the Widow was planning to sell the team to Virgil’s son, Landon. The little Ty knew of Virgil’s son, he pretty much figured that Landon was a massive tool. But he also figured it was better to be owned by a tool than a clueless trophy wife.
“Who’s gonna bring the cigars?” defenseman Alexander Devereaux asked as he buttoned his dress shirt.
“Logan,” Ty answered and lowered his hands to the towel knotted at his waist. “And make ’em Cuban, eh?” The thick cotton fell to his feet and he opened his sports bag sitting on the bench. He pushed aside an old issue of
“Me?” Logan shook his head. “Why me?”
“’Cause you’re a rookie,” Sam answered the obvious.
Ty pulled on his black boxer briefs and adjusted his junk. The Vancouver press would be waiting for him and he wasn’t looking forward to the walk from the locker room to the bus. The sportswriters had been brutal when he was traded. He didn’t expect that they’d go easier on him tonight.
And he was right. He got three steps out of the locker room before the first question was fired at him.
“The Chinooks only had sixteen shots on goal tonight. What happened to ’The Firing Squad’?” a reporter from the
Ty shook his head and kept on walking. “It wasn’t our night.”
“With the organization in so much turmoil and up for sale,” another reporter commented, “that has to affect your play and your chances at the cup.”
“It’s early in the playoffs season.” He shoved up one corner of his mouth and didn’t miss a beat. “I’m not worried about it,” he lied.
“Savage! You traitor. How does it feel to be owned by a woman?”
He kept walking.
“I hear she’s going to paint your locker room pink.”
“No. Salmon,” another reporter added. “And put bunny ears on your fishy.”
“Does she sign your check wearing her tail?” That got them all laughing.
Even though they weren’t the least bit funny, Ty smiled and laughed along with the reporters. “I don’t care what Miss January wears when she signs my check. Just as long as she signs.”
“What about the announcement that she’s in talks to sell the team?”
“Don’t know anything about it.” Except that he hoped it was all wrapped up soon. Protracted negotiations would affect the team. He held up one hand and walked out the back door of the arena. “Good night, gentlemen.”
It was Miss July. She’d been Miss July.
“It wasn’t enough that you are a shameless gold digger. You’ve turned my father’s team into a laughingstock. You’re an embarrassment.”
Faith looked up from the sports section on the table in front of her. If Ty Savage was going to make a derogatory comment about her, he could have at least gotten the month right. “Your father gave me the team,” she pointed out. “He wasn’t embarrassed by me.”
Landon Duffy frowned across the table from her. He looked so much like his father it was disconcerting, but while Virgil’s icy blue-gray eyes could be shrewd, Landon’s were cold. And today they were downright frozen over, letting her know just exactly how much he resented having to pay 170 million for a team he considered his. “He was a senile old man and easily manipulated.”
“Not so easily, or we wouldn’t be here. You’d already have the team instead of me.” Landon was one of the few people who intimidated her. A lot, but that didn’t mean she had to show it. She looked to the left at her attorney. She didn’t have to be here today. Her lawyers could have handled everything, but she didn’t want Landon to know he scared her. “Let’s get this over with.”
Her attorney slid a letter of intent across the table to Landon and his team of lawyers. As they looked it over, Faith thought about her own lawyer’s advice that they should entertain other offers. He’d said something about long-term tax advantages, operating-cost certainties, salary caps, and cross merchandising that would attract other potential owners and drive up the price.
Faith wasn’t interested in the money. Just that she end any future dealings with the Duffys.
If Landon had been a different man, a nicer man, she probably would have just given the team to him. The 50 million Virgil had left her was more than enough money. But, she supposed, if Landon had been a different man, a nice man, his father would have left him the Chinooks in the first place. And if Virgil had been a different man, a more forgiving man, he would not have seen to it that his son pay dearly for their contentious relationship.
Faith stood and smoothed the creases out of her camel hair skirt. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to discuss the details.” She grabbed her red wool coat from the chair beside her. She turned to her lawyer and said, “I’ll be at the Chinooks offices in a meeting with management to let them know of my decision.” She didn’t know the coaches or any of the management, but she figured they deserved to know what was going on. And she figured it was her place to tell them rather than let them hear it from her lawyers or from the media. She’d tell them how much the organization had meant to Virgil, and reassure them that they’d be in capable hands with Landon. As much as she hated Landon, that much was true. “Call me when you’re finished here.”
