Chapter Six
Leo
The door between the coach’s office and the locker room flies open, slamming into the wall with a crack.
Ivan bursts through, only to then slam it shut just as hard. The sound bounces around the echoey locker room and also my skull.
Red in the face, he snatches his duffel bag, choking it in his fist without even bothering to put it on his shoulder. “Fuck. This.”
Completing the impromptu show, he storms out of the main exit, leaving a taut bubble of silence in his wake.
Callum breaks it from his perch on a wooden bench. “Oh wow, Ivan walking out in a fit of rage. Must be a day that ends with y.”
“Was he…crying? His face was red,” Lachlan says, a fearful bent to his tone. It’s as if he’s afraid Ivan might circle back just to slam one more thing—his face.
“Doubt it.” Nic hunches over to lace his sneakers. “But I am curious what that was about.”
Callum lazily pulls on a fresh pair of socks before inserting his feet into a pair of Nike slides. His desire to wear socks around the clock regardless of his shoe choice is one of the few things we have in common, since I don’t know anything about anime or manga, his favorite topics of discussion.
For looking like he does—and making the jokes and comments he does—the guy spends a surprising amount of time at home, making his own comics or watching television and not getting laid.
Or if he is, he’s not boasting about it, which is a refreshing change of pace.
The rest of the guys could learn a thing or two about discretion.
A doorbell rings, echoing loudly off the rusty lockers.
Several men exchange confused looks. A startled Lachlan hops to a stand, clutching his towel to his waist as he searches for an intruder in plain sight. “Wassthat?”
“It’s a doorbell, mate.” Callum shakes his head. “God must’ve spent a little less time on you.”
The irony of the statement is Lachlan should have a lot going for him.
The dumbass is young, plays my exact position, and is filled with raw talent and potential he’s nowhere near touching.
It’s just his personality, terrible work ethic, and general lack of anything interesting or insightful to say that ruins him.
“That’s the three-minute warning bell,” Nic clarifies for us all. “It means the coaches are coming in.”
The team springs into frenzied action. Lockers swing on rusty hinges and clothes are procured at record speeds.
All I have to do is put on a shirt, because I wasn’t sitting around in my towel blathering about using a puppy to scam women into dates (Nash) or how my ex-wife ruined my life but “credit where credit is due, fucks like a goddess in heat” (Mikael).
I wasn’t conversing at all, given the company.
“I’ve never seen you assholes move faster,” Callum says, yanking on his pants. “As if your entire lives aren’t dedicated to getting and staying shirtless, especially around women.”
“Those aren’t the women we want,” Lachlan says flatly. “They’re the enemy.”
Nic rolls his eyes. Not for nothing, you’ve got to be pretty terrible if our nicest dude finds you annoying.
“What?” Lachlan challenges, sounding every bit like a yappy little dog. “Well, they aren’t fuckable entities, are they? Not for lack of tits and ass, though.”
“Vivi’s got a great body,” Mikael chimes in. His Swedish accent clings to his rounded vowels and trilled Rs. “She’s a tiny thing but I bet she knows just what to do with it.”
“Too bad you don’t know shit-all about how to handle the body you were cursed with,” Callum says sharply. “Keeping it in your pants would be a great place to start.”
Mikael chuffs a laugh. “Aw, does Kiwi Cal have a thing for tight little blondes?”
“No, but we all know you do,” Callum retorts. “As does the whole staff at The Velvet Rail. Hence why your wife left your ass.”
That anyone married Mikael in the first place is the real shocker there.
“I left her,” Mikael argues. “And you can wank it to Vivi all you want. She’s not my type—tits are way too small. That Sadie, on the other hand? She’s stacked. And that ass? If she’d stop wasting our time on the ice, she’d be a dream.”
Adrenaline rages through me.
That Sadie.
It’s like they’re all standing at a meat counter. I’ll take a pound of this, two pounds of that, the biggest breast you’ve got…
Lachlan lets out a shrill wolf whistle. “You’re telling me. Sadie has an unreal body, dude. Hips you can hold on to but still toned. Can’t coach for shit, but the way she looks in those skirts—”
“Shut the hell up, would you?” I sound as irritated as I feel—at them, but mostly at myself for listening to this conversation in the first place.
Lachlan blinks twice, genuine confusion written on his face. “Why?”
Why? Is this kid serious? “She’s our coach. What part of that is confusing to you?”
“Coach. Right.” He makes the words sound like a wink and a nod. A technicality.
“Coach. Right,” I repeat slower, really spelling it out for him.
Understanding—however feeble—dawns on his face. “You’re serious?”
“Is there something in my tone right now that suggests I’m not?”
“Wow.” He shakes his head, incredulous. “You don’t speak to any of us for weeks, brooding like a dickhead twenty-four seven instead of making any effort whatsoever with your team, and now you want to jump in? To defend her?”
I exhale through my nose. Should’ve kept my mouth shut.
Because why exactly am I bothering? Why am I constantly plagued with the urge to protect her?
“C’mon, McLaren. You played for a coaching legend and you’re related to another one,” he says, attempting to level with me.
“You won a cup once, back when you weren’t old as shit.
You know what it takes to get there—better than any of us here, in fact.
And you’re defending Little Miss Muffins and Motivational Strippers? ”
“Strippers? That guy wasn’t…” I shake my head, because come to think of it, that dude might’ve been a stripper.
But that’s beside the point. “I’m just saying be respectful.
That’s it. My little sister looks up to both of the women in that office.
They’ve got the power. So maybe we don’t make our locker room dick-whacking central, that’s all I’m fucking saying. ”
Lachlan appears dumbfounded. “And what are we supposed to respect about her, exactly?”
I roll my neck side to side, choosing to believe it’s rhetorical so that I don’t have to answer.
Because the truth is, I don’t know Miss Muffins and Motivational Strippers.
I don’t understand what she’s trying to accomplish half the time.
I’d like to think Jax had a reason for hiring her, but since his reason for drafting me was likely related to the owner’s parasocial “friendship” with my father, maybe we shouldn’t put all that much stock into his choices.
“Cruz and Dom don’t even trust her to coach practice by herself, let alone a game,” Nash chimes in, his tone as critical as Lachlan’s. “You believe she has what it takes to get us anywhere, let alone the playoffs?”
Selfishly, I want the answer to be yes. Need it to be, given this one-year contract bullshit I’m stuck with.
But I’m not sure that it is. And the stress of not knowing is giving me an ulcer—one I should name Rivers.
Everyone is looking at me, apparently expecting an answer.
I throw my hands up. When did I become the only person in a locker room with something to say?
“If we want to go to the playoffs, we gotta take ourselves there. No one can do it for us. Not a coach, not the fans, not even the failures of another team. All those things help, sure, but our success is in our hands. So stop passing the fucking buck, all right?”
The door to the office opens again, slower this time.
“We’re coming in.” Sadie steps into the locker room, hands over her eyes. “Is everyone decent?”
“Yeah, we’re all decent,” Lachlan declares.
Yeah right. Decent in body, maybe. Unfortunately, I’m now way too aware of the way some of these guys look at her. Viscerally so.
Vivi hovers behind Sadie, lurking like a shadow but not stepping out. I hope for both their sakes they didn’t hear any of the discussion going on in here.
That’d be impossible, right? They can’t bug a locker room, and those windows have to be pretty thick, since I’ve never heard anything happening inside their office.
“I have a quick announcement, then you’re free to enjoy your much deserved day off tomorrow,” Sadie begins. Her voice holds a shake, strained. Something is off. “I hope you’ll use it for rest and recuperation and something that feeds your soul.”
“These guys would have to have a soul for that to be possible, Coach,” Callum says, offering her the shit-eating grin that seems to keep him out of trouble, even when he deserves it.
“Yes, well. All the same—rest up.” The humor doesn’t quite touch Sadie’s eyes. She clears her throat and pulls her shoulders back, even as her gaze falls to the toes of her shoes. They’re shiny and black today. “As you can see, Ivan is no longer with us.”
Babbles of confusion erupt at once.
“Like…at all?” Nic asks.
“No, no. Sorry—he’s still with us,” she says in a rush. “What I mean to say is, Ivan left for the day after receiving the news that he will no longer be serving as captain.”
Pin-drop silence descends over the team.
“Ivan and I had a discussion about the future of this team. He knows he’s a fantastic player and still a valued member of the Fury family.
And he led to the best of his ability—you all can attest to that, I’m sure.
” Sadie’s gaze flicks almost imperceptibly to the door before returning to survey the room head-on.
“But sometimes in pursuit of becoming the best, changes are necessary. And with that, we’d like to announce your new captain. ”
Lachlan elbows Anders and mouths is it you? It makes sense that it would be. Anders is a stable, if not mysterious, presence on this team. No one seems to hate him, which is really saying something.