Shutout

Chapter 6 - Logan

August Toivanen, or Toi as he's called by most, is the well-seasoned captain of the Indianapolis Cardinals. A man picked from Finland to play for the Colorado Yetis nearly 12 years ago, I grew up watching him as a rookie. Although I wasn't happy about my trade, I saw it coming the moment I decided to come out against the GM's wishes. I was beyond shocked to get to play under Toi. Even though we played two different positions, every time I get to see him on the ice, I'm watching Aves games with my dad and brothers back to when I wasn't even in juniors yet.

As a non-playable trade past the trade deadline, I didn't get to play or really interact with much of the team during their short season last year. There was really no point in me being there, which the Cardinals seemingly agreed with, so I stayed in Maine until this summer. Because of that, I have had little interaction with most of the men I know how to call my teammates.

Therefore going to Toi's Fourth of July spectacular is more nervewracking than exciting.

Of course, the veteran lives in a giant fucking mansion on the outskirts of town where there is really only land around and few houses. Perfect space for a whole hockey team to gather. As far as I know, Toi has three kids with his wife, Danica, but I sort of doubt that they'll be here for this. I ended up parking behind a trail of cars, less than I thought, though, so people must have carpooled.

I crack my knuckles in step with the sound of the rocks moving under my shoes as I walk up the gravel-paved driveway. I can hear loud conversations and booming laughs and can smell charcoal and meat cooking. I may have had burgers with Kane literally yesterday, but they still smell good. However, I can't see anyone, so I'm not entirely sure where to go or how.

I settle for ringing the doorbell and standing like a boy scout on the front porch. The place is almost overwhelming to stand in front of.

I jolt when the large wooden door behind the glass one is pulled open, a beautiful short woman standing there in light confusion. When she opens the glass door, too, I try to offer a polite smile.

"Hello. Um, I'm Logan Klicker...um, Toi—August Toivanen invited me for the barbeque?" It shouldn't have ended in a question, but it did.

Instantly, her face transforms from confusion to a bright, almost excited smile, "Logan! One of our new trades, of course. Come in!" She herds me inside, the interior of the house so much more intimidating than the front, "It's nice to meet you; I'm Danica Toivanen, and I'm glad you could make it."

"Thank you for inviting me," I try to keep up with her steps, but she moves surprisingly fast for her height as she leads us through the fucking mansion.

"Of course we would. You're a Cardinal!" I almost want to wince but stop myself, "Well, only us Wives are inside right now, so unless you would rather gossip with us, all the men are outside. There is plenty of beer, and August just started the grill."

She stops us in front of a large glass sliding door that clearly leads into the backyard. From the door, I can see at least a dozen men spread out around the spacious backyard (the part that is real grass and not the dead prairie grass that exists this far out of town). Some of the faces I am acutely familiar with, but others I have only seen in passing at games. Toi stands at a pretty massive black grill, wearing an apron that looks small on him and joking with massive defenseman Oliver Hayden.

"Um, okay, thank you for showing me where to go," I say to Danica.

She just beams brightly at pats my arm, "Of course. Welcome to the family, Logan." Then she scurries away to wherever the rest of the wives are hiding from their husbands.

I peer out the door a little longer since no one is paying attention, trying to take deep breaths. It's like I'm 20 again, being pulled up from my AHL team to replace Maine's backup goal after his knee got blown out. Walking into a locker room of strangers who I know all the names and lives of. Still not quite into my body yet against a sea of muscles and man. Terrified to offend someone or look too weak. Just wanting to do a good enough job, I don't have to go back down.