I grab my stick and skate to the box, throwing it down in frustration.Great.Another game ruined by my temper.
The rest of the third period goes disastrously. After a fumbled pass from Rourke to Lucian, one of the Wolves steals the puck and slaps it into the net for the game-winning goal. Coach drops his head.Game over.
The team trudges to the locker room, where the mood is sullen. Coach walks in last, clipboard in hand, his brow etched with deep lines. He rubs the back of his neck before launching into us. “Are you professional hockey players, or was that the peewee league out there?”
No one responds. Then he looks over at me. “What were you thinking out there, Anderson?”
“He hit Tate,” I say defensively.
“And you took the bait!” Coach says. “You’re not just a winger out there—you’re supposed to be a leader. Do you think the team can afford to be this reckless in a tight game?”
I press my lips together, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on me. I shouldn’t have snapped, but what other choice did I have? I couldn’t stand back and watch him hurt my teammate.
Coach exhales, shaking his head at me. “Meet me in my office after you’ve changed, Leo. We need to talk.”
When Coach exits the locker room, Rourke glances over at me. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Ego.”
“Rourke, shut up,” Brax mutters. “Leo doesn’t need your commentary.”
I change quickly and head to Coach’s office, already bracing for the worst. This is his first season as the Crushers’ coach, and unfortunately, our history together hasn’t put me on his good side. My only saving grace is that I’m one of his highest scorers.
Coach doesn’t look up when I knock—he’s too engrossed in a website with a list of athletes’ names.
I clear my throat. “Coach, I just want to apologize...”
“Sit down,” he interrupts, motioning to the chair across from his desk.
I sit, my stomach churning like I’m back in high school about to get grounded.
He leans on his desk, hands clasped. “We need to talk about what happened tonight. You’re one of the best players on this team. But you’ve got a problem—abigone.”
“Look, I know I messed up tonight,” I say. “It won’t happen again.”
Coach raises an eyebrow. “You’ve said that before. More than once. And yet, here we are.” He leans back, rubbing a hand over his face. “Your temper is a liability. It’s hurting the team, and it’s going to hurt you. That’s why I’m putting you on probation. Ten weeks.”
“Ten weeks? That’s the middle of February,” I say, my voice rising. “We’ve got a shot at playoffs this year. You bench me that long, and it’ll destroy our momentum.”
“You think I don’t know that?” he says. “You’re our best winger and the team needs you. But this isn’t just about the game—it’s about discipline. And you clearly need to learn some. You’ve got talent, Leo, but talent only gets you so far.”
I cross my arms. “What am I supposed to do for ten weeks?”
Coach leans back and studies me. “Community service.”
I groan. “Doing what? Picking up trash at the rink?”
“No,” he says slowly. His eyes shift to his computer screen, then back to me. “I want you to find out what it’s like to work with someone who’s difficult. Someone like you.”
“Who?”
He pauses. “A figure skater.”
I scoff. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious,” Coach says. My eyes shift over his shoulder. That’s when I notice the website behind him is a figure skating roster.
“This is ridiculous,” I say. “I’m a hockey player, not a babysitter.”
Coach lifts an eyebrow. “She’s an adult. That’s why it’s the perfect assignment.”
