Chapter Four #3
Vivi lifts a glittery white sash out of the trash can, pinched between her forefinger and thumb. “Hey, if he’s good, I’ll book him for your bachelorette party someday.”
“No need for all that.”
“You’re right. We’ll be busy at the strip club.”
“Viv, shh,” Sadie all but hisses.
Vivi’s tone turns contrite. “Sorry. I’ll be professional while at”—she lowers the sash into the garbage—“work. Are you good? You feeling…”
I don’t need to know how that sentence ends, or how Sadie is feeling, or whether she’ll be in need of a bachelorette party any time soon, so I set the boxes on a chair and step away, intent on putting as much distance between myself and these chatterbox coaches as possible—just the two of them, since none of the others are here yet.
If they come at all, which I wouldn’t bet on. The invitation to this thing was so shrouded in mystery I wouldn’t be surprised if they decided it was beneath them.
And since no one knew the plan today, no one knew how to dress, so most of the team opted for meeting attire—some variation of button-ups and nice pants. A select few seem to have anticipated being photographed.
In their defense, teams like ours tend to get attention when we go anywhere as a group, so the image conscious among us tend to dress nicer.
I’ve found wearing all black, all the time is generally the safest move.
“Lachlan, how are you?” Sadie asks cheerfully. “Was that a Rolls-Royce I saw in the lot?”
Lachlan does a double take before returning to his phone.
Kind of a dick move, but all right.
Sadie moves on to the nearest team members, undeterred. “Henri, Gabriel, I like the coordinating jackets.”
“We’re not coordinating,” Gabriel replies coolly before switching to French, presumably so no one can understand what he’s saying to Henri.
“Fair enough.” Sadie blinks twice and pivots to her left. “Nash, Anders, good morning! Sleep well?”
They nod uncomfortably.
Watching Sadie try to talk to these men is like watching a car that’s already been in a wreck reverse and plow itself into a different wall. Why does she bother?
“Oh, what’ve we got here?” Callum asks. He makes a show of observing the pastry boxes, each boasting the bakery’s logo. “Looks like food.”
What a brilliant observation from one of our finest minds.
“It is! I brought breakfast. Eat up.” Sadie claps her hand, unmistakable pride dawning across her features. It makes my stomach pull uncomfortably tight to see her this happy in the lion’s den.
Outwardly cheerful people make me nervous, because when you don’t guard your enthusiasm, the world feels entitled to swoop in and steal it.
Like when asshole adults tell kids to grow up for laughing too hard, or when people make fun of others for loving things too much.
Or when you’re a hockey player who doesn’t dare retire when everyone claims you should’ve, and now the fandom world is betting on your failure.
I feel a strange, overpowering urge to put my hands on Sadie’s shoulders, look her dead in the eye, and tell her to slap on her game face and hide all that earnestness, because when the guys don’t appreciate her effort—today and beyond—it’s going to sting.
But she’s a grown adult who doesn’t need lessons on how to protect herself. She made the choice to bring us here and do something random, and frankly weird as hell, when we should be on the ice. This is a risk she’s choosing to take. The fallout is not my problem.
I’ve got enough of those on my own.
“Hell yeah.” Callum reaches for the top box.
A sharp voice calls to us from the check-in window embedded in the wall. “No food in the lobby.”
Callum’s arm and Sadie’s face both fall, but Sadie quickly rallies. “No problem. We’ll eat after—”
“They can’t stay here,” Window Woman chides. “We’ve got a bug problem as it is.”
Callum lifts his sunglasses off his face and gives the ground a critical scan.
“Bugs?” Lachlan looks up from his phone and jerks his arm like something already bit him. “What is this dump?”
“A place that will waste our time, I’m sure,” Gabriel mutters to the man on his left. “Why exactly is this mandatory?”
“I don’t know, but it’s bullshit,” Nash, his linemate, replies. His voice is so loud it’s as though he wants to be overheard. “We can’t afford this time off the ice. And if Cruz and Dom didn’t bother to show up, you know this is going to be dumb.”
Gabriel scratches his short beard. “Yeah. Though they treat her like shit, so that could just be to prove a point.”
“Can you blame them?” Nash’s gaze wanders toward Sadie. “The girl has no idea what she’s doing and we’re going to pay the price.”
I massage my right temple as a headache creeps up. The mingling of different pitches of voices seems to be setting it off, though my triggers change by the day so it’s hard to know for sure.
Or maybe the triggers are just increasing in number.
I try to shake off the thought, my frustration swelling.
Part of me is afraid these idiots are correct—that our season is in jeopardy. And I really don’t want to have to agree with these guys on anything after observing their behavior on and off the ice for almost two weeks now.
I’m doubly frustrated because even if I do agree with them, I at least have the good sense to keep my mouth shut. They seem incapable of doing so, and it makes every single practice uncomfortable for everyone involved.
And I’m the most frustrated that this is the lot I was dealt. A terrible season with a terrible team, and a coach who’s approaching things all wrong—or at least unlike any elite hockey coach I’ve ever worked with.
Until last spring, the Grizzlies were a stable force in my life. Other players respected me, and I respected them.
At present, the only guy on the Fury whose face I don’t want to punch is our goalie Anders, and that’s because he almost never speaks. He’s a human boulder with tats.
“The food, please!” the woman nearly shrieks.
And what of it? We’re supposed to just trash all these muffins? It feels like a waste.
I briefly shut my eyes. Not your fucking problem, Leo.
“Here, I’ll just”—Vivi scoops up the boxes, lunging sideways with great skill to save the top one from sliding off—“get these out of here.”
“Jesus.” Callum takes the whole load from her like it’s weightless. And while they don’t weigh much, my shoulder twinges with the memory of how awkward it felt to balance the boxes. “You’re going to get us yelled at if these go tumbling. Where do you want them?”
Sadie presses her lips together for a few seconds, clearly pained by her options.
I’m about to open my mouth to suggest we just eat them in the damn parking lot when Sadie says, “Viv, your car’s in the shade, right? Maybe crack a window?”
Callum jerks his head toward the door. “After you.”
Nic smacks his back between his shoulder blades. “Good on you, Kiwi Cal. I knew you were secretly a gentleman.”
“Shut up. I’m only helping so I can eat one in the parking lot.”
“Not sure you’re allowed to eat her muffin in the lot, either,” Lachlan pipes in snidely. “Unless her windows are tinted and she keeps real quiet for you.”
A few weak laughs float through the lobby.
More dumb comments from the guy who sounds like he perpetually huffs helium. Just what this day needs.
Callum just shakes his head and sighs. “You’re an idiot, Lach.”
Vivi rolls her eyes and snatches her keys from her pocket, cheeks a faint pink as she moves for the door. “C’mon.”
As soon as they’re out of earshot, Sadie turns on Lachlan. Her blue eyes shine with steely determination.
“What?” Lachlan, the shortest on the team, still has a few inches on her. He rolls his shoulders back as if bracing for a blow. “It was a joke.”
“Laps. Tomorrow, thirty minutes before practice. You can joke all you want, just not about your coaches.” She’s really mastered that I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed tone of voice.
If anything, I’d expect her to go harder. What he said was stupid, and wrong, and probably not funny to anyone over the age of, say, fifteen. Why doesn’t she make an example of him? Give him worse than laps, or flaunt her power?
Her choices are baffling.
A chill moves through the room. All eyes are on Lachlan, awaiting his reaction.
He sucks his teeth, shoulders slumping as he backs down. It’s probably the smartest thing he could’ve done.
Sadie turns to regard the rest of the group, her expression all business. “Who are we missing?”
I don’t need to scan the room to know at least one person is missing. Ivan’s absence is just as loud as his presence.
I, for one, didn’t realize this thing was optional. Especially for a team captain.
But judging by Lachlan’s attitude and the way no one bothers to answer Sadie’s question, it’s clear the ones who have shown up don’t plan to make this pleasant for anyone.
That’s when a random dude wielding an axe opens the door to invite us back for a “presentation.” I can’t say I blame the guys for being put off.
I wish I could understand what Sadie is thinking with this, or anything else. And more to the point, I wish I didn’t have to worry about anything other than my own game.
But my entire season, and therefore future, is in this woman’s hands.
Not worrying is not an option.