Chapter Nineteen
Sadie
Practice today is something out of my Nyquil nightmares.
I split the team to scrimmage and the result has been a hot mess wrapped in a dumpster fire. Not a big, raging blaze, either. More like a pitiful, sputtering thing that barely sustains itself.
Our loss in Philly crushed their spirits more than it should’ve, and snowballed into losses in Denver and Spokane. Now they’re just going through the motions.
Losses can’t derail them like this. We need to bounce back, which is just as much a mental task as it is physical. But the question is, how do I communicate that to them in a way that’ll resonate?
“This blows,” Vivi declares rather unceremoniously. She crosses her arms, bundled to excess like she’s warding off a fever. “Did they all skip breakfast? Is it one giant shared hangover? Are they getting laid too frequently and have no pent-up aggression to fuel them? Something is weird here.”
“Bad energy all around,” I concede.
I can’t speak for most of the guys, but I know one who is definitely not getting laid enough.
Leo and I haven’t been together since the first and only night at my house, and assuming he isn’t sleeping with other people—an assumption I have to make for my own sanity—it’s been enough time to build up some… aggression.
I, too, am about to climb out of my skin. We need alone time together.
Not that kind of alone time, specifically (though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want his big hands back on my body). What I really want is to hide with him away from prying eyes so we can figure out what’s going on between us. I have no idea where we stand.
The whistle dangling around my neck and the players swirling in my periphery exist to remind me that Leo and I can’t technically stand anywhere.
It doesn’t help my anxiety around the topic that he had to postpone our dinner at his house last night for reasons he chalks up to “a long story, boring house repair stuff—it’s not safe for company, and I can’t risk you getting hurt.
” I believe him, but when you combine it with his withdrawn mood as of late, it’s all unsettling.
But I will continue reminding myself he’s a hockey player on a losing streak, so I shouldn’t take it too personally.
Of all the team members, he’s taking the losses hardest of all.
I don’t think any of the encouraging words I’ve said to him are really penetrating.
He played well in Spokane on the heels of Philly and Denver, proving he’s still very much the Leo McLaren you can count on in crunch time—but he still isn’t satisfied.
Probably because we lost in the end, despite what he brought to the table.
I can’t fault him for it. I’m never satisfied, either, which is why I’m trapped between being Coach Rivers, who wants to tell him to rub some dirt in that attitude and turn himself around because he’s getting in his own way, and being Sadie, who cares way too much about him and wants to protect him from his own mistakes. It’s a difficult line to straddle.
This is exactly why you don’t get involved with a player.
My lips turn down as I glance back at Vivi. “Bad energy all around.”
Nic loses the puck with an uncharacteristic display of clumsiness. Vivi winces. “Yikes.”
Mikael halts the scrimmage and points his stick at Nic. “Dude, you let Gabriel strip you like that? You’re supposed to be our best.”
“And you’re supposed to be on my team, so fuck off with your attitude,” Nic snaps.
Vivi and I exchanged wide-eyed looks of surprise.
“Are we going to play or are we going to bitch and moan?” Gabriel fires back, clearly huffy that his decent play was interrupted.
“I’m allowed to bitch and moan once a fucking year, don’t you think?” Nic argues.
“What’s gotten into our only sweet one?” Vivi whispers.
Beats the heck out of me.
Gabriel lets out a derisive laugh. “And you choose now? During a friendly scrimmage?”
“This isn’t friendly. This is hell on Earth,” Mikael checks his watch. “We’re fifteen minutes past when we’re supposed to be done.”
“Dramatic much?” Gabriel spits. “No wonder we’re losing steam. You people can’t even handle a little extra ice time. Where’s the endurance?”
A few voices clash, escalating this very stupid squabble into an actual issue.
Leo, who normally enjoys breaking up a fight before it can truly begin, appears completely checked out of practice today. He looks like he’s staring down a ghost somewhere beyond the rink.
I blow my whistle in bursts, signaling everyone on ice to gather closer. “Guys, enough. What’s the deal?”
“I’m the only one awake on my team, for starters,” Mikael yells back. “Nic’s giving away the puck for free.”
“Get off his dick, Bergstrom,” Callum interjects. “Everyone’s allowed a bad day. Some of you take several weeks.”
“All right, all right,” I say louder. “Do I need to start yelling cliches? It’s not about how you start, it’s about how you finish!”
Lachlan is just close enough that I hear him say, “This joke of a practice needs to finish.”
“Pardon?” I ask firmly.
He shrugs a bulky shoulder.
“I get it. You’re all miserable today,” I say. “And I understand that back-to-back losses were a blow. Sometimes the only thing worse than a losing streak is that glimmer of hope that comes from wins. You’ve had a few of those, and once you’ve tasted success, the losses hurt more.”
The rest of my pep talk is locked and loaded, but barely any of them are so much as looking my direction, and I highly doubt they’re listening.
I take a deep breath and look to Vivi. My voice is barely audible, even to her at close range. “Let’s pivot. Plan A or B?”
She chews the inside of her cheek as she regards the men. “B.”
B it is.
Plan A would’ve had them skating laps to remind them who’s boss, but since today’s animosity doesn’t feel targeted at me so much as the crushing weight of existence and the pressure of their jobs, I’m not surprised she chose B. The fun option.
“Something isn’t working this week. I assume you’re all tired of hearing me talk—”
Several men take that as an exit cue.
I raise my voice. “So instead of a speech, how about a challenge?”
Everyone goes still.
Leo shoots me a warning look. “You want to face off, Coach? They play dirty.”
His visible concern sends a secret thrill through me that I swiftly suppress. Not now, Sadie.
“Rude,” Callum inserts. “But accurate.”
As much as I wish I were in fighting shape to face off with one of these men in a real way, I will not be taking to the rink. “A different kind of face-off. Let me explain. It’ll still be one-on-one, me versus whichever forward wants to volunteer, but instead of—”
“I’ll do it,” Mikael blurts. “I’m already warmed up from carrying my team on my back. What do I get when I win?”
So much for letting me explain. Since he can’t keep his mouth shut long enough to listen, he gets to be surprised by the game.
“If I win,” I say, “everyone gives me thirty extra minutes of practice tomorrow, on the front end. Bright and early. If Mikael wins, everyone can take the entire morning off until you’re scheduled to practice with Cruz and Dom at one o’clock.”
Several of them perk up like meerkats.
If the promise of free time is what it takes to fire them up, then good. Mission accomplished. If they win, they’ll just have that much more energy for afternoon practice, and Cruz and Dom will get more out of them.
And if I win, they’ll have a long day—the kind that builds the discipline and fortitude they need.
Plus, I’ll get the satisfaction of humbling “Morally Corrupt Shithead Mikael,” as Leo calls him. Win-win. “You in, Mikael?”
He skates lazily toward the center line. “Sure.”
I drift backward toward the exit. “Great. Meet me in the game room in ten once you’ve lost the skates.”
“Wait, what?” His tone is like a record scratch.
I cut ice with my skates to stop my momentum before stepping onto the rubber mat. “Game room.”
“But I thought we were facing off.”
“We are. At air hockey.” I shrug. “You cut me off before I could finish explaining.”
“But air hockey is basically a game of chance. I don’t know that I’ll beat you.”
Vivi is right behind him as he exits the rink. “What, you only enter battles when you know you can win? No matter how noble the cause?”
He glares over his shoulder. “Yes. Because I’m normal.”
“Debatable,” Ivan drawls. “Stop being a pussy and play your coach.”
“You do it, if you’re so confident.”
Ivan’s amused smile makes me realize how rarely I’ve seen him happy. “Nah. I’m not going to be the reason we have extra practice. That’ll be your cross to bear.”
The team follows us off the ice, scraping their blades on the rubber and stripping off their helmets before trailing me down the hall.
They swap skates for shoes in the locker room and gather in the large game room, an amenity that gets a fair amount of use on days when there are holes in the guys’ schedules.
Jax has invited me to have management-related conversations over ping-pong on more than one occasion.
Mikael does a lap around the air hockey table. “Where’s the on button?”
Callum groans as he boots the table to life. “Please tell me you’ve played this before, because I’d rather not lose thirty extra minutes of my one wild and precious life tomorrow.”
“Is that relevant?” Mikael grouses.
Callum lifts a closed fist and begins to chant. “Swap him out! Swap him out!”
“Nuh-uh. Mikael volunteered,” Vivi insists, lowering Callum’s arm. “His agreement was binding. Better luck next time, Kiwi Cal.”
Ivan’s gaze slides between Callum and Vivi. “Easy with his equipment, Starling. We need that arm in top shape.”
Callum huffs a laugh. “Yeah, Starling. What would Fallon say if she knew you were manhandling me?”
Vivi rolls her eyes at the both of them. “Fallon would probably encourage it. She knows you deserve it.”