Chapter Sixteen
TOMMY
“Take a seat, Tommy.” Adrian Carney, otherwise known as the New York Blades GM—and pretty much the only person on the team who’s ever liked me—points to a soft black leather chair set on the opposite side of his desk.
He straightens his tie and pulls off his glasses, and I flop down, drawing a full breath into my lungs after an intense practice session.
Since I received the written warning, I’m not idiot enough to know that if I want to stay on the team, then I need to step up my performance.
Even if there was nothing wrong with my game in the first place.
Adrian rolls his lips together, lifting his eyes from the desk in front of him to mine.
I sit back in my chair and spread my legs, folding my arms in a protective stance.
“Curtis Freeman called you a dangerous thug on social media last night. He went on a long ramble about how you should be ejected from the league and stripped of your contract with us.”
When I was called up to his office ten minutes ago, I’m not sure exactly what I expected the GM to say. But it wasn’t that.
I clear my throat, my pulse picking up at the potential repercussions that could rain down on my career.
Pretty much the entire hockey community will side with Curtis Freeman after what went down.
Despite multiple protests from our PR team, I no longer have social media accounts since I fucking hate them and all the dirty laundry society is hell-bent to air online. I wash my shit in private.
“I haven’t been made aware of any statement he put out,” I reply, never more grateful for living offline.
Adrian shakes his head, making full eye contact with me.
“That’s because the post was taken down within seconds of it going live—and I mean seconds.
I don’t know if his agent got ahold of it or if he had second thoughts, but let’s just say, limited screenshots are doing the rounds, which our PR team is working to have removed where possible. ”
Feeling like he’s skating around the real reason he called me into his office, I scratch at my chin. “So, why am I here, talking to you?”
Adrian Carney is one of the most confident guys I’ve ever met.
He makes a decision and runs with it, no matter what anyone says.
When he did a deal with the Detroit Sting to trade me here, there were a ton of people fighting it.
I half expected the deal to fall through, but it didn’t.
Right now though, as he drums his fingers on the dark wooden desk in front of him, I know whatever is going to leave his mouth next is not in my favor.
My left foot bounces in anticipation as he opens his mouth, looks at me again, and then averts his gaze.
“The post might’ve been removed, but we, as a team, cannot ignore the truth in what Freeman had to say.
I feel like it would be remiss of us as an organization not to respond in some way.
The league isn’t taking action against you on this occasion, but that doesn’t mean to say we can turn a blind eye to your continued poor conduct. ”
I nod my head, already knowing exactly where this is going. “You want to go further than just the written warning you originally handed out.”
A sharp knock sounds on the GM’s door before Coach Morgan steps into the room and quickly takes a seat next to me. He knows I had a great practice, but you wouldn’t believe it with the way he can barely acknowledge my existence.
Like a petulant child, I throw my head back toward the ceiling and groan. “Can someone just come the fuck out with it so I can go home and punch something?”
The next voice belongs to Coach. “While we will include you on the roster for the next five games, your ice time will be limited, if at all.”
My jaw hangs open. “Five games?!”
Coach Morgan looks across at the GM for support.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I exclaim, pushing my chair out and standing.
The GM holds up a calming hand. “Sit down, Tommy.”
His condescending tone, like he’s trying to pacify a toddler having a tantrum, only enrages me further.
I point at my chest, heat flaming into my cheeks.
“I just put in the shift of my life out there, and now you’re telling me I have to sit out five games because some baby can’t take a beating for being a fucking brat to me?
!” I scoff at my GM. “I thought you were tougher than to yield to my haters. And you …” I turn to Coach.
“You need me on the first line, and you know it.”
My outburst is met with silence for what feels like an age.
Finally, Coach speaks as I pace the room like some kind of bull, hands shoved into the pockets of my gray sweats.
“I want to try out alternative lines too. The guys on the team see you as a loose cannon. Moreover, you can’t be a valuable asset to me if you aren’t a team player. You’re spending more and more time in the box when you’re paid to be on the ice.”
I pause on my pacing and stalk toward him, and all the while, he maintains a stoic expression. I might not particularly like Coach, but I’ll give him one thing—the guy isn’t intimidated by shit.
“Give me a chance.” I hold up a single finger in front of him. “One more chance.”
“Chance at what, Tommy?” Adrian asks. “I’ve got a stack of complaints about you from your teammates. Rebuilding relationships with them is going to require a lot more than ‘one more chance.’ ”
Dropping my finger, I dump myself back down into the black leather seat, bracing my elbows on my knees.
“You used to support me. Back when I got traded here, you said I was what the team needed, and at the start of preseason, you told me to give you ‘more of the same.’ ” Just like Adrian did a second earlier, I quote his words back to him.
His face softens the slightest fraction. “I know I did, Tommy. But Coach Morgan is right on this occasion; the Blades are at risk of regaining the reputation they fought hard to shake off after what your …” He pauses and looks off to the side.
“What my dad did?” I finish for him. “You’re referring to the hit he put on Zach Evans several seasons back, aren’t you?” My voice is incredulous. “I’m way more skilled than Alex ever was, way more valuable.”
Adrian doesn’t respond initially, instead rising from his chair.
He looms over me, both palms planted firmly on his desk.
“Son, I don’t know what kind of relationship you have with your father, and I don’t need to know either.
But let me tell you something. I believe in the enforcer—you know I’ve always felt that there is a place for them in this league.
What I don’t believe in is the kind of shit Alex Schneider used to hand out to the opposition.
” He rises to his full height, steely gaze still locked on me.
“That shit you pulled in the penalty box after the fight with Curtis Freeman stunk of your father’s attitude. You’re an enforcer, not a killer.”
Emotions sting my senses, and I bite the inside of my cheek so hard that I can taste the metallic sensation as it trickles down my throat. “I’m better than him.”
The voice sounds foreign, and I look across at Coach to see if the response belonged to him or me. In truth, I know it was my own.
My GM just nods his head softly and turns his attention to Coach. “The five-match restriction still applies.” He then refocuses back on me. “I backed your trade when no one else would, and I need you to prove to me that my faith in you wasn’t misplaced.”
“I’m the better Schneider.” I repeat my sentiment.
“Words are cheap, Tommy.” He thumbs behind him to nothing.
“I’ve got a bunch of players wanting to know when I’m going to trade you.
Another minor infraction, whether it be on the ice or in the locker room, and best believe I’m going to start making calls to your agent to discuss your imminent departure. ”
Like a sitting duck, I nod once and push up to stand. Done with the conversation and this entire fucking team.
“Jenna Miller …” Coach says, stopping me in my tracks, and I spin a one-eighty and come back to face him.
I swear to God, if she has had a hand in any of this, I’ll lose my shit completely.
“What about her?” I ask, keeping my tone light.
Coach quirks an obvious brow, like I should know exactly what he’s insinuating. “Did the altercation with Freeman have anything to do with Jenna Miller?”
I cast my eyes to Adrian, who looks on, waiting for me to answer Coach’s question.
“No. I haven’t spoken to her in a while.” It’s a lie, and I know it. I spoke with her two days ago on my birthday, when she declined my invitation to come over and fuck.
Of its own accord, my dick twitches in my pants.
Jesus Christ, this isn’t the time to get horny over thoughts of my hellion, naked and sprawled out beneath me.
“You sure about that?” Coach pushes me further.
I throw my arms out to the sides. “Why does it matter to you? I told you I haven’t seen her.
Freeman was giving me shit over the game, and Jenna Miller isn’t that important.
She fucked a veteran hockey player who’s past his best and then decided to spread shit about me.
” A wry smile pulls at my lips. “Trust me when I say that she won’t be doing that again. ”
Coach probably thinks I’m referring to her talking about me when, actually, I’m referring to her climbing into bed with any guy other than me.
She might hate my guts, but her body is dying for me to put my hands on it again.
Only me.
“Good. Keep it that way,” Coach replies, pulling his baseball cap off and swiveling it forward. He nods at the office door. “Go ahead and join the others for conditioning. I’ve got a few things I need to discuss with Adrian.”
I look at my GM, feeling like I lost my only ally.
“I don’t know any other way to be. You knew what you were getting when you signed me.” My words are wrapped in frustration.
He runs his tongue across his bottom lip, considering an appropriate response. “Stay out of trouble and in control of your temper, and we won’t have a problem, Tommy.”