SLEW FOOT - TEASER

“Rafe, you had quite the journey from Minneapolis to Boston,” one man—whose name Rafe had already forgotten—asked. “How do you feel that impacted your play tonight?” 

“Uhh, well,” he said with a small laugh. “I’m definitely a lot more tired and jet lagged than I expected to be. I don’t know that tonight really showed what kind of player I can be, but I did what I could.” 

Another reporter—he’d also forgotten her name—said, “You were thrown out on the second PK unit tonight at one point, do you feel like you were prepared for that?” 

Rafe tugged at his cap. “I’ve been playing at the NHL level for seven years, so like, a penalty kill is a penalty kill. Every team has their own system, and I’ll have to learn the Harriers’ PK as I go, but the guys filled me in the best they could on the bench. I’m sure I’ll feel more ready and be better once I’ve gotten some sleep and had time to practice with the team.” 

He hadn’t really been trying to be funny, but everyone laughed anyway, and he was glad they’d gotten their little soundbite.  

There were a few more questions about his general game play tonight, and then someone asked how he felt about the trade.  

“Do you think you’ll play better here, without the distraction of your breakup with Logan Walker hanging over you?”  

Tyson stepped forward, holding up a hand. “Personal questions like that are not allowed in the locker room, you know that, Les.” 

The tension that had immediately tightened Rafe’s shoulders at the question went away.  

Les shrugged and shot both Rafe and the PR guy a half-hearted grin. “Had to try.” 

Looking unamused, Tyson snorted. “Try again and we’ll see how long you have media privileges.” 

The reporter—Les—didn’t seem particularly worried, like this was a long-standing argument or something. He turned back to Rafe. “Let me reword that. Do you have anything you’d like to say about the trade?” 

“I’m looking forward to playing here in Boston,” Rafe said, trying to be careful about how he worded things. “It’s a great franchise with an incredible history, and I’m excited about what I can learn from playing for an organization like this.” 

“What do you think you can contribute to this team going forward?” Les asked.  

“Well, I hope to be a strong presence around the net. I have the body size they’re looking for and Gavin has made it clear that he brought me here to use that to my advantage.” 

Mickey let out a little choking noise and Rafe glanced over to see him red-faced and sputtering into his arm, a water bottle in hand.  

Poor guy, Rafe thought, reaching out to pat his back. Water must have gone done the wrong pipe. 

“Not to mention teach this guy how to take it,” he joked, turning back to the reporters. “Apparently, he’s no good at swallowing.” 

It wasn’t until he saw several reporters’ eyes widen that he realized how that had come across. Shit. 

“I guess they don’t teach guys how to drink water in Germany,” he hastily added, then wondered if he’d made it worse by accidentally insulting an entire country.  

Mickey shot him a vaguely dirty look and past him, Tyson winced.  

Ahh fuck. Rafe wasn’t that bright to begin with. Why in the hell had anyone let him speak to the media when he’d had no sleep? 

“Uhh,” he said, scrambling to cover his mistake. “Look, that all came out wrong. What I was trying to say is that I plan to use my size and skill around the net. I’ve been an effective shutdown defenseman in the past and that’s the plan going forward.” 

He rattled off a few more things he knew were safe and was relieved when they thanked him and turned to someone else.  

Finally. 

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