Another Uncle Jasper original. I hate that it came from him, but it feels good to use his vitriol for something good.
Can’t wait to see today’s major headline as I open my email app. The team was pitching ideas to Ace about running a dryland off-season hockey camp for youths, and Ace said something else to me the other day—a wish.
“Mom would have loved to see a women’s hockey team at her college. Maybe we could find someone to make an ultra-generous lead donation. I bet we could do it…”
I read today’s headline. Blink. Read it again and then check the author.
Freshman Andy.
First of all, it’s kind of odd that he signs his name like that. I thought it was just a nickname, but now I’m starting to think it’ssomething else. Second, how the fuck did he get on the first page again?
Ace McKinnon’s Fall From Grace: Drunken Arena Incident Raises Questions About Hockey Captain’s Character
The same player who once honored his late mother’s legacy with community work, is now at the center of a controversy involving alcohol, unsanctioned facility use, and troubling on-campus behavior.
Shadowridge University’s rising hockey star, Ace McKinnon, is arguably an on-campus celebrity with his adoring fan club and hockey entourage. Now, the same name being celebrated as the face of several legacy-building initiatives and making headlines for leadership is making them for the wrong reasons.
According to a source close to the university’s athletic department, McKinnon was found intoxicated and unconscious in the team’s home arena after hours—alone, disoriented, and with open alcohol containers visible in the seating area.
“It’s not the first time those hockey yahoos came in here drunk,” said the Zamboni driver. “McKinnon and his cronies came in here drunk last season and would’ve driven the Zamboni into the boards if I hadn’t stopped them. We’re just lucky they didn’t run someone over. Coach lets them do whatever they want.”
McKinnon has frequently spoken about channeling his mother’s memory into service and discipline on and off the ice—a narrative that now stands in stark contrast to recent events.
The picture is of Ace passed out in the arena, not quite how I found him—maybe sometime during the night?—with the bottle of tequila in his hand. It’s an old photo, but only Ace, Tate, and I will know that.
I check the time; he won’t be out of practice yet. He hasn’t seen this. He’s going to be fucking crushed.
And then I’m gonna hunt down that little fucker Freshman Andy and crush him.
Preemptively, I send off an email to my students, telling them they have the day off classes—but not off homework—and assign readings. Then, I toss on my clothes and head down to the rink.
Ace slouches in his seat, eyes red and glassy, holding back the tears he’ll release later, his fury forward. We’re in Tate’s office at the ice rink. Tate’s behind his desk. He hasn’t said a whole lot.
Ace punches his right hand into his palm. “This means war. I’m gonna kill that little freshman bitch.”
Not if I do first, but I don’t say that out loud.
“You didn’t see him on the security footage you checked?” I ask Tate.
“I told McKinnon that day—I saw one of his friends check on him. All of you wear the same fucking thing. Your letter jackets with black hoodies underneath.”
“You didn’t think to ask who checked on you, McKinnon?” I say a lot sharper than I mean to. I’m not upset with Ace, but I am upset—with the situation and Freshman Andy.
“Why would I? It checked out with my, uh, vague memory, and,” he winces, “the Zamboni story is mostly true. We weren’t drunk, but I can see why he thought we were. I told you we get rowdy pre-season. And off-season?—”
“Not anymore, you don’t,” I tell him in no uncertain terms. He would drive a Zamboni after hours with his troublemakingfriends, and Tate would cover it up for the sake of the team. “You two are morons.”
“Hey!” they complain at the same time, but they’ve got nothing to prove otherwise, so they stay quiet and take their medicine.
“That explains fucking jacketgate between Shep and Bender. Bet it was that fucker Andy playing musical jackets,” Ace huffs. “What are the chances this just blows over? I didn’t commit a crime. I was just … an idiot.”
There’s that vulnerability in his eyes again. We know why he was there like that. I want to pull him into my arms, but it feels too risky right now. Tate knows about us, but there are a lot of people in the arena.
“Yeah,” Tate agrees. “It’s not a good look for the captain of the hockey team when we’re asking for money. But so long as we can hit back with more good shit, spin this as an isolated incident, we shouldn’t take too many hits. Some of the donors are alumni, no chance they can’t say they’ve never had a night like that.”
“Mrs. Chamberlain’s gonna be so disappointed in me,” Ace says, scrubbing his hands over his face. “She believed in me.”
“Mrs. Chamberlain?” I raise a brow.
