“He’s the coach, but he’s so full of shit his eyes are brown.”
I laughed. Didn’t that sound poetic? Leave it to our goalie to scoff at anything someone in authority said.
“You sure seem pretty confident about that,” I said.
“Why shouldn’t I be? Think about it like this: if the whole team got into another bar-room scuffle, he would have to cut the players from team, right?”
“Uh yeah, I think he said that in plain English, bro.”
“Only it really isn’t that easy. He would have to cut every single player from the team, wouldn’t he?”
“Everyone except for Jimbo.”
“Come on, Jakob, you get my point. He’s saying that because the shit really hit the fan this time, and he has to say something to scare us straight.”
I did see his point. Problem was, Hardison’s eyes had landed on me, slicing me into little sections. Picture a banana being cut up into pieces before hitting the cereal bowl. Authority figures did that to me. I told you I’d never been in a fight, not even on the ice, before the Colter Bay Grill, and that was the truth. Forthat matter, I’d never been sent to the principal’s office or kept after school. I couldn’t help taking Hardison’s words to heart.
“So, we don’t have anything to worry about?” I asked.
“I didn’t say that. Technically, there’s always something to worry about if you let that shit in your head. Look, Hardison mightthinkhe’s on the level with these threats, but he hasn’t really thought it through because he had to act fast. Give him enough time and I bet this whole thing blows over.”
He had a point there. Like a parent or teacher, he really might’ve believed in his threats, but he didn’t really plan to implement them. In the meantime, it would be best to keep our heads down and mouths shut.
“You’ve got to admit, the whole thing was pretty fucking exciting, wasn’t it?” His enormous grin suggested memories of the Colter Bay Grill carnage had revisited his mind.
“It was scary, but?—”
“But?But?Come on, bro. Don’t give me a but. That’s where shit comes from, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know that. I just can’t help but feel a little worried about Zane Hirst.”
“Worried? Why the hell would you worry about that fucking toad?”
“I don’t know. I hit him pretty hard.”
“It was a brawl, dude. I think hitting him really hard is the name of the game.”
“Yeah, I know it is, but?—”
Woops. I saidbutagain, which would surely raise my teammates’ ire. I reflected on how that’d all gone down. I didn’t hate Zane or anything. He just played for the rival team. And I had no clue what I was doing. He hadn’t hit me first or even shoved me. I’d slugged him because the chaos had intensified, and he was the rival player in front of me.
I worried about Zane’s face. Yeah, that sounds pretty crazy, doesn’t it? I didn’t know why but couldn’t deny the thought had crossed my mind.
“Do you think I did any permanent damage?” I asked.
“Who cares? Zane and the rest of the asshole convention started it. Then we finished it, didn’t we?”
“I know what you’re saying, but?—”
“You gave him a shiner and must’ve broken his nose. I saw that during the game.”
“Yeah, but?—”
“And he still played in the game even after you laid him out flat. Now, come on, we’ve got better things to worry about.”
Detenbeck sped up as if to leave a flake like me behind, and I scrambled to catch up with him. Still, I couldn’t help thinking about Zane and feeling pangs of regret. I mean, seriously, why would anyone want to mess up a face like Zane’s?
5
