Chapter Twenty-Three
TOMMY
We’re destroying Colorado, dismantling their defense and outplaying them on every inch of the ice.
The team player in me should be happy to see the Blades dominate strong opposition and especially on an away series.
Fuck. That.
With every goal and shutout the Blades secure, it feels like any reason or previous justification the GM might have had for keeping me gradually fades into nothing.
I should consider my place on the bench a privilege compared to my incoming fate—aka the farm team in Connecticut or the trade list by March.
And who the fuck is going to want me? While I’m warming this plank of goddamn wood beneath my ass, I’m not out there, proving to other teams that I’m worth taking a chance on.
“Penny for your thoughts.” Sawyer takes a seat next to me at the next line change.
He’s so fucking annoying, mainly because there’s actually very little to dislike about him. At least Jack and Archer give me a reason to hate their guts. This guy is as pure as the freshly driven snow.
He’s also got over ten years of life and playing experience on me, which means I should probably listen to what he has to say. I can sense that he wants me to.
Twisting my hands in my lap, I turn my neck and deliberately look the other way.
“I doubt I’ll get called back onto the ice, so that means I have all the time in the world for your response.”
I continue to ignore him, closing my eyes and swallowing thickly. It’s been five days since Jenna asked me to open up to her, and suddenly, after years of no one apparently giving a shit, there are two people trying to coax me into talking.
“Hoping that the burger joint I used to work at back home might still have a job for me.” I tag on a sarcastic laugh to the end of my statement.
Maybe Sawyer will think I’m joking when I’m really not.
He clears his throat and takes a second, which feels like a fucking lifetime.
“It isn’t too late, you know? When the GM sealed the deal and traded you here, I got to sit in on some of the post-deal discussions between him and Coach.
Call it captain privileges.” He chuckles.
“Anyway … when I initially found out you were headed for the team, I was pissed off with the GM, convinced that he’d just made the biggest mistake of his career. ”
I turn to look at my teammate, one unimpressed brow raised in question. “I’d say you were right, wouldn’t you?” I drop my eyes to the bench beneath me.
Sawyer just shrugs, doubtful and dismissive of my self-flagellation. “I’d say I will be if you carry on the way you are.”
“I’ve tried everything I fucking can,” I tell him, just as Jack sinks the puck, putting us three goals ahead in the third.
Sawyer stands to bump fists with him as he skates past the boards. I remain seated, head down and anything but happy for my asshole of a captain.
When Sawyer takes a seat next to me again, he motions toward Jack. “You see, that’s what I’m talking about. You should’ve been up on your feet for the team regardless of how fucking shit you’re feeling about your own game.”
He’s only stating the obvious. As if I haven’t already worked that one out.
“They hate me, and there’s nothing I can do to fix that.”
My veteran teammate releases a frustrated grumble, chewing on the corner of his mouth shield.
“That’s your default setting talking. If you had the same faith in other people as you do in your own hockey ability, then we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.
” He turns to look at me then, eyes boring into my own.
“Stop waiting for something to go wrong in relationships and start giving them the benefit of the doubt.”
“Says the guy who’s happily married with a perfect family bubble.” I drop my head between my shoulders, shame creeping up my spine. “Shit. I’m sorry, man. I know your first wife passed away. I shouldn’t have—”
Sawyer raises a hand to halt my apology, and when I swivel my head to look at him, he’s actually smiling directly at me.
He should be so fucking pissed at what I just said; he has every right to be.
“Seriously, Tommy, you’re fine. I’ve had way worse said to me over the years, trust me. In fact, I’m kind of glad you did say it, to be honest.”
I throw him a puzzled look before he continues talking.
“You overstepped with what you said and immediately apologized. I haven’t seen that from you before, and I know, for a fact, that your teammates haven’t either.
Beneath the bravado and dickhead attitude you bring, there’s actually a good person in there.
I’ve thought it for a while, and I’ve been praying you would turn your attitude around before it’s too late.
Now I feel like I need to step in because, clearly, you aren’t going to change your ways. ”
He points to the center of his chest, and I’m ready to leap over the boards and make a run for it.
“Can I ask you something?”
I get the feeling he’s going to whether I want him to or not.
“Shoot,” I reply, eyes pinned ahead.
Sawyer pulls his mouth shield away and begins chewing on his bottom lip instead.
Fuck, this isn’t good.
“What’s the deal with you and Alex? I get this is none of my goddamn business, and you can tell me to go take a fucking leap if you want, but … what’s the deal?”
I shrug and watch the game as it plays out the final two minutes. “I don’t get why you’re asking. It’s just a regular father-son relationship.”
Sawyer shakes his head. “Nah, what I have with my son is a regular father-son relationship. Why isn’t he here?
Alex was an asshole through and through, but one thing he did love was hockey.
So, why isn’t he here, cheering on his son?
You’re a carbon copy of him, and I figured his ego would love that. ”
“I’m nothing like him.” Just like that time with Jenna, my subconscious controls my mouth. My words are cold and callous and serve as a window to the truth of why Alex Schneider is never seen at his son’s games.
Only the noise in the arena sits between us for what feels like an eternity.
“He isn’t really your dad, is he?”
My eyes snap to Sawyer. “Are you calling me a liar?”
He shakes his head slowly, one hand raised in surrender.
“No. You’re jumping to conclusions and assuming the worst in people again.
What I’m saying is, he isn’t actually a dad.
He didn’t take on responsibility for you, did he?
You might wear his name and possess his DNA, but that’s as far as your connection runs. ”
I’m ready to empty the contents of my stomach out onto the floor beneath me.
“You’re wrong,” I lie. “He just has a lot going on in his life, and with the way his career ended, he doesn’t love hockey anymore.” I blow out a breath. “And I can’t say that I blame him. He was cast out of the NHL for doing his job on the ice.”
“He nearly killed someone.” Sawyer’s voice is incredulous. “And why are you defending him when you don’t really mean a word you’re saying?”
Yeah, why are you defending him, Tommy?
I look up at the Jumbotron, desperate for the game to end and the buzzer to save me. Thirty seconds feels like the longest time.
“And why are you trying to be him, Tommy? Trying to fool everyone into thinking that you’re the same beyond the way you skate and look?”
The final question from Sawyer hits me like the punch I threw at Ethan that night.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I bite out. “I’m more talented than he could ever be. My name will be remembered long after my career is finished.”
At this point, I’m spouting shit and contradicting myself at every turn. Sawyer has me wrapped around his finger and cornered like a wild animal being hunted.
He just chuckles at that. Although it’s dark and not at all amused. “You want to know how you’re going to save your career and stay on the team?”
I don’t respond.
“Accept the fact that you are nothing like your estranged dad and everything like the Tommy Williams you used to be.”
I guess it wasn’t hard to find my former last name—the press reported my name change when I signed for Detroit.
“I’m done talking now,” I croak out. Swiping the fastest hand across my eyes.
Jesus Christ, I hope nobody caught that shit on camera.
Sawyer rests a strong palm on my shoulder just as the buzzer finally fucking goes.
“Yeah, Tommy, I know you are. Just … give what I said some thought instead, okay?”