Chapter 9 #2
“You literally just said I need to win some games. Do you know anything about hockey? Are you, one of thirty people in the world who coaches an NHL team, really that unaware that it’s a team sport?
” I shake my head at him and don’t bother hiding how unimpressed I am by him.
“You dug yourself into this hole, now you deal with the consequences.”
Since I’m sitting, I can see just how hairy his nostrils are when they flare with every breath.
I can tell he wants to shout more, that he probably wants to threaten me and maybe even punch me, just by the way his jaw flexes and twitches, but somehow he finds some common sense and turns to the rest of the room.
“Drink some fucking water. I expect better of all of you in the second period.”
Look at that, he remembered I’m not the only one here.
Once he’s gone, I can feel dozens of eyes on me, but I don’t meet their gazes. I stare straight ahead, at the space between Ewing and Girard’s heads, and wait for the break to be over and for all of them to leave.
When they do, I get my phone out of my duffel and see a text from Patrick just came in seconds ago. The transmission of the game must be back on.
Patrick:
Are you hurt?
I’m reminded yet again of how lucky I am that my cousins found Cindy and that she did Patrick the favor of marrying him.
Writing out everything that just happened takes some time, but I get it done and send it as a response to him, then get up and grab everything to shower off the one drop I sweated during the first period.
I think about my options while I shower, taking my time for once, and remember Michael’s message from yesterday.
The one commercial flight going directly to La Guardia tonight leaves four hours after the game is supposed to end, so he sent over the jet for me. I was planning on ordering a car from here to the private airfield anyway, so I already have all my stuff with me.
Once I finish and before I even put on underwear I ask Patrick if he thinks I need to stay until the game is over.
Patrick:
You do whatever the fuck you want. But maybe try to be invisible. We don’t need anyone taking pictures.
I already called the GM and told him it’s in their best interest to say you have a cold and that’s why you got benched.
Lex:
Awesome, thanks.
Another text pops up right after I answer.
Vinny:
What the actual fuck is going on?
Lex:
Too long to explain. Are you at Mom’s or the hotel?
He’s gonna be pissed that I’m not immediately telling him everything, and I know I would be too if I was in his place.
But I really don’t want to spend an hour typing, and since I’m going to be around people—in the car, on the plane, in the taxi when I get to the city—it’s not like I can send him a voice note.
Vinny:
Si and I are at Mom’s. I got special permission from Laney.
God, I’m so jealous that he has not only a competent and smart coach but a cool one too.
Some people’s greed . . .
Lex:
Good, see you there in two hours or so.
Vinny:
No seriously.
WHAT THE FUCK?
I smile when I see the black SUV twenty feet away from the jet’s stairs. I really have the best stepfather in the world.
“Thanks for picking me up, Troy,” I tell him while I jog the last ten feet.
“No problem,” he says, his tone easier than normal.
It is a problem, really. He was probably ready to get some sleep instead of driving all the way out here.
My phone is still turned off in my pocket, and now that I don’t have to figure out transportation, I don’t bother turning it on, and instead close my eyes on the drive.
I don’t want to know what fans are saying online. I don’t want to see if anyone from the team said anything about me during an intermission interview or post-game press conference.
All I want is to have a little while of peace before I finally come clean to Mom and Vinny.
And god, Si is going to freak the fuck out.
He’s going to call Patrick.
He’s going to call Lottie, which honestly might be worse.
I think I’m ready for it all when Troy puts the car in park in front of the big brownstone, but I’m really not prepared for Mom’s worried frown.
“I’m fine.” I try to placate her while I grab my bags from the back and wave Troy off. “Go to sleep, man. Thanks for picking me up.”
“Get in here.” Mom’s tone promises trouble, but I still bend down to kiss her cheek noisily when I climb up to the front door.
It’s ten thirty here, and since I’ve barely played this last week and since I never get used to the timezone on the East Coast, I’m wide awake.
Mom, on the other hand, is wearing an oversized white winter puffy coat that hits her ankles and thick socks, which really isn’t enough for the icy wind, so I take her hand and drag her in with me.
“Who’s around?”
She’s worried enough not to tease me about how I should ask directly about Eli.
“Everyone except Eli, he’s working on some big project.”
Well damn.
“He knows everything anyway,” I mumble, more to myself than anything, but I see it’s a big mistake when Mom drops her coat to the floor then snaps a hand to her waist and stares me down like she’s on a runway.
“Oh, does he?”
Shit.
“Of course he does, Mom. I needed to talk it through with someone who wouldn’t go off on a killing spree.”
She’s going to be so pissed when she finds out Dad and Uncle Paul know too.
“When you say everyone else . . .”
“I mean everyone else, Alexei.”
Now I’ve done it.
Still carrying my duffle and dragging my suitcase behind me, I follow her into the kitchen where . . .
Yeah, everyone except Lottie and her husband Colin are sitting at the long farm table set against the back window.
Right.
“You didn’t tell them anything?” I ask, looking Dad in the eyes then Uncle Paul.
“Only Elle,” Uncle Paul murmurs, nodding at his wife and Si’s mother.
“Okay.” I sigh and drop my bags before rounding the table, greeting everyone.
Wolf looks as grumpy as ever, so does Hawk’s husband, Derek, but they both accept quick hugs.
CJ, Wolf’s husband, holds on a bit longer, and Hawk clings to me for almost a full minute before I push him away gently and hug Michael.
I clap Vinny and Si each on the shoulder, then kiss Ally’s cheek, shake her son Corey’s hand, hug Uncle Paul and Aunt Elle, and finally collapse—even if only for a moment—against Dad’s shoulder.
“Is there anything I can eat? I’m starving.”
Is it a distraction tactic?
Yes.
Do I think it will work?
No.
It’s the truth, though, I am starving, and the result is Mom hurrying over to the fridge, so I don’t even feel bad.
“Sit down,” Mom says again, her tone unchanged.
I do as she says and suck in a fortifying breath.
“Before any of you react, I asked Dad, Ally, Eli, and Uncle Paul not to tell you anything because I wanted to tell everyone in person. So if you’re going to be mad at anyone, be mad at me.”
“I don’t think us being mad at you is what you should worry about,” Vinny says, his tone as dark as Dad’s was last week.
I look into his eyes, same green as mine, and I know that out of everyone here, he’s got the best chance of understanding why I haven’t said anything until recently.