“Can’t believe he’s such a hot-headed idiot that he’d jump you during a scrimmage. His own fucking teammate,” Hewitt added, still stuck on the previous conversation.
“Yeah, Mironov and I definitely don’t play for the same team.” I huffed. I could feel Gauthier’s stare boring into my head as if he was trying to reach in and pluck the thoughts straight out of my brain. I’d said too much; I’d given away too many hints. I needed to shut the hell up.
Gauthier didn’t break his stare, and I refused to look his way. If I did, he’d know. And he couldn’t have my thoughts. I didn’t give a fuck about Minns—not when he and Kam were happy to hang me out to dry—but I’d made a promise. No matter howshitty he was being, I wouldn’t lower myself to that level. I wouldn’t out Minns.
When it happened to me, I’d lost nearly everyone because of it.
I closed my eyes and clenched my fists tighter, hating being so powerless.
“Good play out there, you three,” Coach said from the doorway, breaking the silence. “You kept your cool.”
“Thank you,” I agreed, my voice too low to carry much past Hewitt and Gauthier.
Coach tilted his head, and Gauthier and Hewitt scrambled up and over to the showers, still fully dressed. It was clear Coach wanted a private word from the way he waited until they were out of earshot before he spoke again.
“Sawchuck is on the phone to Keeley. We’ve pulled Miranov from the team for the first game. I won’t have my players attacking one another, no matter how justified he might be.”
“Coach—” I started.
“I don’t want to hear it. I don’t need to know who is bedding who, but when the fallout bleeds onto my ice, it becomes my business.” His words cut deep, his withering glare trained directly on me.
My gut clenched. I was officially on his shit list, but that was no surprise.
“My… personal opinion is that you should take a leave of absence and deal with your shit away from the Seals so you don’t completely destroy this team.” He blew out a breath and rubbed his forehead. His age was evident, every wrinkle showing in sharp relief under the unforgiving lights in the changeroom. “However, as the team’s representative, my official position is that we are here for all our players, and you’ll be offered whatever support you need.” It sounded like he’d memorized the spiel that Keeley had written, regurgitating it back to me.
“Yeah, thanks,” I muttered, barely keeping the sarcasm from my voice. “Great talk, Coach.”
I turned away from him, wishing we were in San Diego. The cubbies weren’t much, but they gave us something we could bury our heads in if we decided to be ostriches. I desperately needed that right now.
I stripped off the rest of my uniform, then wrapped the towel around my waist. I wasn’t hanging around to sing “Kumbaya” with these guys—especially not when I’d seen enough of them standing behind Minns and Mironov to make me realize just how much the cards were stacked against me.
Not a single one of them wanted me there. If I was a better man, I would gladly oblige—leaving would be best for everyone—but I was going to be selfish.
I wanted that time Roe had promised Cara we had.
Our teammates began to file in, and not a single word was spoken. The rip of tape, the shuffle of skates, and padding being taken off were the only sounds in the room. A tense silence descended over us like a heavy fog, but it was brittle like glass. I followed Gauthier and Hewitt, escaping my teammates’ stares.
thirteen
Monroe
The team was gathered around at the tables in the ballroom. The conversation was heated. No one noticed me entering the room. They were too concerned with the woman standing at the front. If I remembered right, her name was Keeley. I’d met her at lunch today, and she seemed nice enough but took intensity up to a whole other level. She was a doer. She made things happen.
Keeley raised her hands in a stopping gesture, and the room quieted. “I understand your concerns, but Mironov behaved inappropriately. Coach made the decision to pull him from the team for the upcoming game. It’s his prerogative.”
“Hux pushed him,” someone said, and my ears pricked up.
What happened? I didn’t catch any more details, as the volume of the group rose again, men talking over the top of one another. Cara and I weren’t privy to the team’s practice—we were invited to the warm-up skate before the game, but the coach had banned anyone who didn’t need to be there from today’s session. Cara and I had taken the people supporting the team—Keeley, the PAto someone important, and a few others out to lunch at a swanky restaurant on the river instead.
“He did not,” another man snapped in an accent that sounded like an odd mix between French, Canadian, and Australian. He stood up, and the room quieted down again, until there were only whispered grumbles. He made his way over to stand with Keeley and pointed at them. “Every one of you were at that practice. Mironov attacked Hux. Simple as that.”
“Hux deserved—”
“You don’t know what happened,” he snapped. He flicked his gaze to me and held it, as if daring me to speak a word. When I remained silent, he dipped his chin. It was the barest of acknowledgements. I had no clue whether it was a thank you for keeping quiet, because he’d seen me getting friendly with Hux, or whether it was a dare to disagree with him. He continued, “Don’t assume the tabloids are telling the truth. We all know how much trash they make up.”
I made a quiet exit. It was clearly a private meeting that I shouldn’t have overheard, and I didn’t want to intrude any more than I already had. Whatever was going on, I had a feeling that Hux would want some distance from it all.
I dialled Cara’s number and waited for her to pick up.
