Alternate captain Gavin Korowski, or Gav-o, was indeed not on the forecheck, the backcheck, or any check whatsoever other than checking the clock to see when his shift was up.
I ignored Dottie and stood in front of Gavin where he was folded over his legs, head in his hands.
“You good, man? Anything bugging you?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”
I lowered my voice. “Your knee?”
He pursed his lips. “It’s fine. It was feeling better toward the end.”
I said what I was supposed to say, and what we both knewwas advice neither of us would take. I tapped his shoulder. “You don’t have to play through it. Rookie can move up.”
“Nah, I’m good,” he mumbled. “Thanks, Cap.”
We were down 4-0 at home. This one should have been a breeze. St. Louis’s only standout player was their goalie, but we weren’t even getting shots off. Watching the guys when I wasn’t on shift was like watching a caterpillar with half its legs.
If we lost this one, it’d be our fifth in a row. Zero wins since the season started. We went from an optimistic end to the last season to this rock bottom start.
Thank god Violet wasn’t there to watch us crash and burn. I knew she would be kind, but I almost couldn’t bear the sympathy.
Now, every sports outlet was covering the Rusties’ losing streak, including my frenemies at Slapped Shot.
Fuckin’ dicks.
But were they really dicks if they were right?
Gav-o endedup scoring our sole goal, taking home a 6-1 loss. Even though it was breaking a scoring slump since last season for him, Gav-o couldn’t scare up a good mood. My refrain the last season had been, “We’ll get ‘em next time, guys.”
I must have looked like hell, because Jack Leroy took pity on me. I got a tap on my shoulder and a side hug with an aggressive back slap. “We’ll get ‘em next time, bud. It’s early still.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
“Stop by my office before you leave, Cap,” Coach said, breezing past me.
“Sure thing.” I stripped my base layer over my head and tossed it in the gear bin.
My phone stared at me from inside my locker. I knewexactly what messages would be there. Something to console me from Violet. Some stupid meme from Mikey. And finally, something to overanalyze my performance both as captain and as a player from my dad.
And sure enough, I had one.
DAD
call me.
All lowercase. A period. That was never a good sign. This meant one of two things: one of the farm border collies that he obsessed over had died, or he had some “serious pointers” that deserved more than a stray text. Those dogs are, as Violet said, crazy, but I didn’t want them dead. But I also didn’t hope for the latter.
I headed for the showers to wash off the foul stench of defeat before hitting Coach’s office.
THIRTY-EIGHT
COLTON
OCTOBER | COLUMBUS, OHIO
“I know.”It was the refrain of every phone call with my dad.
“You’re not hitting your edges,” Dad went on. The call switched from the car speakers to the phone as I got out. I was so fucking worn out, and I’d been receiving “advice” since I left the arena fifteen minutes ago.
