Authors: Catherine Gayle
Time to get on with it. I closed the door behind the coaches and locked it.
When I turned around, Wheels caught my eye and nodded, similar to the look Bergy had given me. I glanced over at Burnzie, who gave me a get-on-with-it wave, and then I caught the eye of Marc “Danger” d’Aragon. Danger was another older guy, like Wheels, who’d been with the Storm for a few seasons now. He’d been wearing the other
A
since we’d found out Soupy had definitely torn his ACL and wouldn’t be back the rest of the season. Danger’s face was an expressionless mask right now, which I knew meant he felt exactly how I did about the shitty way we’d played this game. He was always joking and smiling, unless things weren’t going well. Checking him for a grin was the easiest way to tell where he stood.
I cleared my throat, and the boys all focused in on me. Once the guys realized the door was closed and it was just us, all the talk and laughter died off pretty fast. Everyone took a seat at their stalls, still stripping off their gear but doing it without the usual chatter. Some of the guys looked sheepish, probably because they recognized their own shitty play. Others looked rebellious. Koz, in particular, looked like he wanted to blame someone else even though he’d been one of the biggest problems out there tonight. Yes, he had a ton of offensive skill, but he’d completely ignored the idea of helping out on defense.
“We won tonight,” I finally said, choosing my words carefully. “But we shouldn’t have, and I think every guy in this room fucking knows it.”
Koz let out a snort, and a few guys, including Levi, shot him looks from all around the room. I kept going, doing my best to ignore his interruption.
“The whole fucking season so far, we’ve been playing sloppy hockey. We’re making stupid passing through the middle without looking up to see the forward from the other team who’s streaking in. We’re trying to make pretty plays with the puck instead of just dumping and chasing or trying to get a greasy goal. We’re getting completely away from Bergy’s system. We’re putting too much pressure on our goaltenders, and we’re forgetting the idea of five guys playing as a unit in every zone. Turnovers in the neutral zone. Forwards hanging out up high waiting on the
D
to get the puck out of the zone instead of backchecking.
D
giving the other team too much time and space instead of playing them hard. And there’s no fucking excuse for any of it. It ends now. Everybody pulls his fucking weight. We’re going to forget all about playing a
pretty
game and just focus on the basics. Anyone who can’t do that, who tries to get too fucking fancy and screws things up for the rest of us, is going to have to answer to the room.”
“Answer how?” Koz demanded, as surly as I’d ever heard him. Probably because he knew he was one of the biggest offenders. At least half the things I’d listed, he’d been guilty of tonight. “You might be captain, but you’re not God. You can’t make us do shit.”
“If you were paying more attention to what’s happening on the ice than flirting with that girl in the front row, maybe we wouldn’t be having this talk,” Burnzie shot back at him. “If Babs says you’re going to answer to us, you’re going to fucking answer.”
“Says who?” Koz demanded. “You? Yeah, let’s see you make me.”
“Come on over here. I’ll be happy to.” Burnzie cracked his knuckles.
Jonny stood up, slowly taking off his gear. He could have done that sitting down, but I got the sense that he was trying to send a message. I wasn’t sure who he was sending it to, though—Burnzie or Koz.
I should have thought this through better before speaking up, and I needed to figure things out fast, before animosity completely took over the room. Should I have guys put money in a till? A set amount would hurt some more than others because of the huge differences in contracts from one player to the next. Extra reps in the gym? That could end up helping the team even if it sucked for the guy having to do them, I supposed. But no matter what I settled on, how was I going to enforce any of it? The whole thing was going to fall on my shoulders, since I was the one instituting it. I was still racking my brain for the best solution when Wheels spoke up.
“Suicides after practice, ten percent of your earnings for that game to the charity of your choice, and taking over rookie duties for a week sounds fair. Maybe on a sliding scale, depending on how many times you fuck up in a game.”
Sounded brutal to me, but maybe something brutal was called for before our season went down the drain. Suicides—skating from one line to another and back repeatedly—were guaranteed to make your thighs and lungs burn. Ten percent of a guy’s pay for a game, no matter what kind of salary he earned, was enough to make a dent in his wallet. And most guys were glad to be done with being a rookie as soon as possible because of how much they got razzed. When it came right down to it, we put them through a bit of hazing. Nothing horrible. They had to carry bags for the veterans, pick up pucks after practice, things like that. Once a guy got past his rookie season, though, he never wanted to be stuck handling those tasks again. In fact, the idea that Wheels was the one suggesting it made me do a double take. He had to be willing to do those things himself or he would never have suggested it as a blanket rule. He wasn’t perfect; he fucked up in games just as much as the rest of us.
“No fucking chance I’ll do any of that,” Koz said. He laughed, too, and nodded at Levi with a cocky grin. “Right, 501? That’s bullshit.”
“What’s bullshit is the way you played tonight,” Burnzie said. “If you would stop prancing around out there—”
Koz jumped to his feet and was halfway across the room, eyes bulging. “Who the fuck is prancing?”
Burnzie was on his feet in a flash. Fists flew before I knew what was happening. I rushed in to break them up, but everyone else had the same thought and someone landed a punch right on my nose. Well, not quite everyone. Wheels and Danger grabbed me and dragged me back, with Wheels saying, “Let them go at it. Koz needs to have his ass whipped.”
I put a hand to my nose. No blood, at least, but it was fucking sore.
Everyone was shouting over each other to be heard. A few more guys than just those two started throwing punches. This was absolutely not what I’d had in mind. Not even close.
But then someone whistled, high and loud, and guys started to back off. Jonny was in the middle of the room, standing over the Storm logo, with both Burnzie and Koz trapped in headlocks, one under each arm. They were still trying to get at each other, but Jonny wouldn’t let go until he was good and ready to. “You two dipshits want me to crack your skulls together? There’s nothing I would enjoy more, I can promise you that. Cool your fucking jets.”
The rest of the guys helped him separate the two, and everyone gradually settled back into their stalls. Koz had a red welt over one eye that was bound to leave him with a nasty shiner. Burnzie was holding his hand funny like maybe he’d hurt it when he’d busted Koz’s face.
I turned to Wheels and Danger, hoping for some wisdom. “Now what do I do?” I asked, keeping my voice down.
Danger grinned. He fucking grinned, like he was enjoying this. “Let it work itself out. Teams need something to bring them together. Sometimes it’s bonding on road trips. Sometimes it’s overcoming a bunch of injuries. And then there are the times like this.”
“This doesn’t seem like something that’ll bring anyone together,” I muttered. “Seems like something that’ll drive a wedge in the middle of us. Guys’ll pick sides. I don’t know.”
Wheels just crossed his arms in front of him and nodded. “Maybe. There’s always that risk. But I’ve seen it happen. Let things settle down, and we’ll see where we’re at.” He reached overhead and tugged his shirt up and off from behind. “I bet that was all it’ll take to keep from having guys skate suicides and all, though.”
My stomach soured. Maybe he was right, but I had a strong sense that he was wrong and I’d just fucked everything up for the whole team. I should have just kept my damn mouth shut.
Jim and Bergy never should have made me the captain. The guys deserved better than what I was able to give them.
I’d been lying
in bed, thoughts racing through my mind, for almost an hour when my phone dinged. When I shifted to grab it off the nightstand, I dislodged Blackbeard. He gave me an irritated meow and a sleepy scowl before circling his spot three or four times and resettling on my pillow. Even when he slept, he liked to be curled up on my shoulder, or more specifically, on the pillow, nestled in the space where my neck and shoulder met. I waited until he was cozy again and then unlocked my phone screen to see who was texting me at this hour.
It was from Ray “Razor” Chambers, a guy who had been my best friend since our rookie season, even though he could be an ass. We’d been nearly inseparable in the early part of our careers. After two years, though, he’d been traded for a draft pick—the same pick that Jim Sutter had used to select Levi. Razor had gone off to play for the Sabres, and over this past summer, he’d been picked up by the Thunderbirds in the expansion draft. The only reason he would be up this late was that the T-Birds were on the road right now, playing on the West Coast. They’d be here in Portland in a few days. I had promised to buy him dinner when they got to town.
I debated ignoring his message until morning, because it was probably just about that dinner, but decided against it. With everything that had happened after the game tonight, plus the fact that I couldn’t get Katie and the way she’d kissed me out of my mind, there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d be sleeping any time soon. I opened his message.
What the fuck kind of captain are you to call a meeting and then let the guys come to blows?
I’d hoped that we would be able to keep all of that in the room. Bergy and the other coaches hadn’t said anything when they’d come in, although there was no doubt they knew
something
was up. But the media had been just outside that door, waiting for it to be opened up for their scrum. They must have heard.
Me:
What do you know about it?
Razor:
Polanski and a dozen other reporters were live-tweeting while it went down, whatever it was. It’s bad, Babs. It’s all over the blogs. Mom said TSN talked about it on-air tonight. What the fuck is going on in there?
Me:
You know I’m not going to tell you. These things stay in the room.
Razor:
It’s me, Babs. You know I won’t say a fucking word to anyone.
Me:
Exactly. It’s you, and you’re not part of this team anymore. No fucking chance.
Razor:
Fine. But if there’s anyone you want me to go a round with when we get to Portland, you just say the word. I’ll gladly bash someone’s face in for you.
Me:
You’re my fucking hero.
Razor:
Apparently you need someone to play the hero. Can’t keep your team in line. Jim should have tried harder to keep Zee around. No chance anyone would pull that shit with Zee as the captain, and then I wouldn’t have to deal with him here.
Me:
Ha fucking ha.
Razor:
Seriously, I will break someone’s face for you. Just say the word. It’d be my pleasure to sort out your team’s personality issues since you can’t seem to do it. Think about it.
Me:
Yeah, playing the martyr. Shocker.
Razor:
Hey, it’s not like anyone’ll think anything’s out of the ordinary. Since we can’t seem to fucking score, let alone keep anyone else from scoring, guys are fighting every game. Trying to prove their worth or some shit. Hunter’s about to go ballistic.
Me:
I’m sure all that fighting’s helping you score more.
Razor:
I’m scoring more with the ladies.
Me:
Never would have thought that was an issue for you.
Razor:
Because I’m not fucking hung up on a girl? One who isn’t just as hung up on me as I am on her?
Me:
You don’t know anywhere near as much as you think you do.
Razor:
You going to deny the fact that Katie Weber has you completely pussy whipped? I bet you still haven’t been laid. Jamie Fucking Babcock, the millionaire fucking virgin All-Star who all the girls are ga-ga over. They don’t even know they’d be breaking you in.
Me:
Like I’d tell you if I was? Besides, I meant you don’t know as much about Katie as you think.
Razor:
You think Katie’s still a virgin? Not fucking likely. Anyone with an Internet connection or a smart phone has seen her plastered all over TMZ with all sorts of douchebags, and I promise you, she’s been tapped. Multiple times. Who the fuck do you think you’re saving yourself for?