As for the bumps and bangs? Well, these two are squaring off like fighters in a ring, so I either need to sell tickets to the show or get them to lay off each other.
I don’t know Wagner, or what makes him tick, so I start with my teammate. I guess they’re both technically my teammates, but if this animosity gets any worse, that might not be true much longer. “Take it easy, Mickey,” I soothe, trying to get him to look me in the eye.
“Yeah, listen to your buddy,” Wagner taunts, making a bad situation worse. “Take it easy. Better yet, calm the fuck down and focus, for Christ’s sake. If you weren’t bouncing off the walls, who knows, you might actually play a decent game of hockey.”
Mickey lets go of the counter and when I move to block him, he rounds the other corner.Shit.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, Wagner?” he asks, and I can tell he’s doing his best not to flip out. “You walk in here like you own the damn place, but this is our team. If you want a spot, if you want to be respected, you have to earn it.”
Wagner barks out a laugh. “Your team? Get the fuck out of here. This team has no ownership, no leadership, not anymore. And don’t think I give a shit, because I don’t. I’m a damn good hockey player and I don’t need anyone to pump me up in the locker room or remind me about conditioning, and I sure as fuck don’t want to sit around and make friendship bracelets or braid each other’s hair or what-the-fuck-ever. Blue and I are here to play hockey. We’re here to win games. Nothing else matters.”
Mickey’s already shaking his head before Dutton’s done with his little speech. “You need to act like a?—"
“No, Mouse, I don’t. My job is to score and in case you haven’t fucking noticed, that’s what I’ve been doing at every practice and every scrimmage. I’m not the problem,” Wagner declares. “You’re all so damn butthurt that Blue and I are here that you can’t even see how much you need us. You think two transfers from a community college could do what we’re doing? Two freshmen could own the ice the way we do? No, they fucking couldn’t. Face it, boys. You need us. And until you realize that, things are just gonna get worse.”
I can feel the anger vibrating off Mickey in waves. “That makes no sense. You’re the ones who need us. You wouldn’t have a team to play on if?—”
Wagner smirks. “It’s funny you think so, Mouse.”
I watch rage bloom in Mickey’s face as Wagner drops the nickname. He just stands there, hands at his sides,relaxed as anything. Like he’s looking out at the fucking ocean or something. But he isn’t. He’s baiting Mickey and it’s fucking working.
I brace my arm against Mickey’s chest, momentarily surprised by how much stronger he’s gotten. If I hadn’t intervened, there’s no doubt he’d have wiped that smug look off Wagner’s face and probably given him a shiner, too.
Chuckling, Wagner turns and walks out of the room. After a few tense seconds, Mickey’s breathing returns to normal as he bends to pick up the largest shards of porcelain. I head to the closet for a broom—because we have one of those now—and shake my head.
Coach was wrong. This team doesn’t need a captain. We need a damn referee.
7
Ollie
Ifind a space on the street and tap the app to pay for parking. It’s just a short walk to the restaurant, but I check my phone out of habit and see a text from Aven and a notification of fifty-two new messages on MyFans.
Aven: You feel like filming anything tonight? Laura’s coming over and it should be a good time.
I start texting back and then stall out, not quite sure what to say. Aven obviously sees those three little conversational dots, because he jumps right in.
Aven: Olls, you haven’t posted anything in weeks. Don’t tell me Silly Goose Productions is closing its doors?!
I honestly don’t have an answer for that. I haven’t really considered shutting the whole thing down, but Aven’s right. It’s been weeks since I posted anything new, andthat’s why my inbox fills up daily. My subscribers want new content, but I haven’t been in the mood.
Or, more accurately, I’ve been in the mood, but it feels wrong to record myself when all my sexual fantasies revolve around Fallon. The scorching session I recorded the other day is still in my drafts folder.
I really should join Aven and Laura tonight. The three of us have great chemistry and no matter what we’re doing, we all have a good time. Hanging out tonight tonight would give me a chance to catch up with them and to give my subscribers what they’ve been asking for.
But instead of answering Aven’s text, I pocket my phone as I approach my destination.
Despite its name, The Watering Hole is a classy place with a view of the bay. It’s a far cry from Wolfie’s, which is my usual go-to when I want a beer and some greasy food.
But my business today requires me to be off campus. If I held this little meeting of the minds at everybody’s favorite Bainbridge University hangout, we wouldn’t get anything done.
And I don’t have time for distractions or interruptions.
Wagner’s words from last week keep playing on a loop in my brain.This team has no ownership, no leadership, not anymore.His dig hit its mark, and I can’t even argue. He’s right. Coach hasn’t declared a captain and even though the season hasn’t officially started, it feels off. This isn’t like other years, and I hate it.
And it doesn’t help matters that my dad’s been up my ass about whether or not the team has voted yet. I keep telling him it won’t happen for a couple weeks, but that doesn’t stop him from making little jabs about how I’m not leadership material and that if Coach had any real faith in me, he’d have chosen me the minute we found out Will was called up and the spot was open.
I’m usually a laid back guy. Not a lot rattles me. But hearing my dad needle me about my biggest insecurity? Yeah, that hurts. I can’t lie.
