Chapter 43
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
JULIAN
“Fuck.” I closed my eyes through the pain.
“Breathe through it,” the trainer said, forcing my hip to rotate. “I’m going to recommend you take a couple of days off. How’re your shoulder and ribs?”
“Shoulder is fine.” That was a lie. “And yes, I have ribs.” And they hurt. “I’m fine. Go again.” This time, I swallowed the dull ache that radiated into the marrow of my bones. I held my breath as he rotated my hip again and brought my knee up to my chest.
“Julian.” The trainer shook his head, letting go of my leg. “I’m worried. There is swelling in your knee, and I can tell your hip is bothering you. You need to get them imaged so we can see what’s going on.”
I could add a bad hip to my long list of things that I should get looked at. If I started complaining about my hip, I could start planning my own retirement party. “I said I was fine. It’s just a little tight.” I sat up, waiting for the world to stop spinning.
“Are you dizzy?” The trainer eyed me.
“No.” I didn’t need the concussion discussion. “I’m dehydrated and tired of everyone thinking there is something wrong with me.” Murry thought he should scratch me for a couple games to give me time to rest. He said I looked tired. Whatever that fucking meant.
“If he’s tired, it’s because of his extracurricular activities.” Anders walked in and threw his towel at me. “You okay, old man?
“You should talk, Anders.” The trainer glared at him.
“You took a couple of good hits tonight. We’ll see how you feel in the morning.
And if you don’t keep working that ankle, you’ll be sitting next to him on the IRL.
Jules, I’ll clear you for Friday, but I think you need to take a few games off.
You’re not twenty anymore. And after sixteen years of doing this, your body is breaking down. ”
“Thanks for the pep talk.” I rotated my shoulder, biting through the pain to prove I was okay. And I would be after some ice and sleep.
“If you want a pep talk, go see a therapist. And Anders, do your stretches. Or you’ll both need a walker by the time you’re forty.”
Anders waited for the trainer to leave. “Jules, maybe he’s right. Take a couple of games. No one is going to think any less of you.”
“I said I’m fine. The All-Star break is a few weeks away.” And the week we had off would be enough time to heal.
“Yeah, except there are whispers that you’ll be invited.”
“I’m not going. I’ll take the one game suspension.
” I didn’t look at him. Not only did my body need the break, but my head did.
My agent had called, wanting to discuss next season and where I wanted my career to go.
He also heard rumors that Emily was going to go on some podcast to tell her side of the story.
He was worried. I wasn’t. There was no side to tell.
“Can you stop this ‘I’m fine’ bullshit? I know you’re not. Your head wasn’t in the game. There is no way you’d let someone as slow as Berg tangle with you in the corner. You really should take some—”
“I said I’m fine,” I cut him off, slipping from the table. I bent my knee twice. It was fine, nothing new hurt, so it was fine. “I had a couple late nights, that’s all that was.”
“Maybe you should pick up a different hobby than fucking Wyatt at your age. Maybe stamp collecting or watching reruns of Cheers.” Anders shifted his weight from one hip to another.
“Are you my mother now?”
“No, because I actually give a shit about you.” Anders narrowed his gaze at me. “I knew this was going to happen.”
“You knew what was going to happen? My sex life has nothing to do with my game.” Wyatt was the only thing that wasn’t fucking with my head. She and I were fine.
“Don’t fucking lie to me, man. She’s messing with your head.” Anders stepped closer to me. “I know this is none of my business, but is Wyatt still—”
“You’re right, it’s not your business, and it’s not her. It’s Emily and my contract and everyone thinking there is something wrong with me.”
“Then why are you yelling at me?” Anders crossed his arms over his chest.
“Because I am fucking tired of this shit.” And I was. Everywhere I turned, someone was telling me how I should be. What I should think. How I should react. I couldn’t keep it all straight.
“Then take some time.” Anders rubbed his face. “No one is going to replace you, Jules. Especially not after tonight.”
I wasn’t sure I believed that. No teams had shown any real interest. There were lots of rumors, and the Coyotes hadn’t hinted at what they would do. Which, according to my agent, was a tactic they liked to use.
“Julian, we need to talk. Now,” Coach Murry called.
I waved off Anders’s concern. “This has nothing to do with Wyatt. Don’t put this on her.” I limped into the locker room to see Cole also being pulled out.
“Now what?” Cole grumbled, slipping on a shirt. I followed the younger defenseman into the office.
I was surprised to see GM McGrath standing next to Murry.
“Sit down.” Murry pointed to two chairs.
“Tonight’s game was a fucking mess. Four minors in the o-zone.
One during a goddamn power play.” Murry didn’t bother to hide his irritation as he turned to me.
“Hooking, Julian? You got called for hooking. That’s a rookie penalty, not a penalty for a player of your caliber.
And Cole. A high stick on a power play. Ten feet from the goddamn goal with a goalie out of place on a power play, and you decide that was the time for a high stick.
And don’t even get me started on the fighting.
You two singlehandedly took any momentum we could find and flushed it down the fucking toilet. ”
“Both those calls were shitty,” I pointed out. Because they were. If we were in the playoffs, the refs would have let them go. “The only reason Cole got called was because Marshall had his face in the way. It was a freak accident.”
“Marshall had to have stitches. And the hooking?” Murry yelled. “Or the tripping? Were those ‘shitty’ calls?”
“Tate was on a breakaway.” I either took a minor or Tate could have scored. To anyone in the stands or on the bench, we were two players fighting over the puck. But the refs were out to prove something tonight. To prove they hated the Coyotes.
“Enough!” McGrath shouted. “You two cost us the game. You’re both a liability.”
“Really?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “What am I sitting at for points right now? What’s my plus or minus?”
“What are your penalty minutes?” McGrath threw back.
“You first.”
“Julian,” Murry said, exhaling. “These minor penalties have to stop. The fighting has to stop. You both need to start playing a cleaner game.”
“Or you’ll be facing some hefty fines,” McGrath bit out. “The NHL doesn’t want the reputation of being a violent sport. And blood on the ice makes it look like a violent sport. They are on our asses about player safety. The commissioner wants a safer sport.”
“Then maybe the commissioner should go watch basketball.” Hockey was a physical sport, and we knew that. Everyone in that locker room had a scar, a missing tooth, or a busted bone to prove they had paid the price to be on the ice. I had all three.
“Jesus fucking Christ. You think this is a joke. You have three majors, Silver. One more and you’ll be out for four games.
” McGrath pointed at me. “We are paying you a lot of money to not sit in the fucking penalty box. And so help me god, you get your ass suspended before the playoffs again, and you can kiss your career goodbye.”
“Is that a promise?” I shouted back at him.
“Yes!” McGrath yelled. “No team is going to want to deal with you. You were suspended for six games, Silver. Six fucking games last season! Not only was that a franchise record, but it cost us the wildcard spot.” McGrath stabbed a finger in Murry’s direction.
“You said he changed. You said he cleaned up his fucking act. He has three majors, and it’s only January,” he yelled at Murry before turning to me.
“For thirty minutes you have been in the locker room because you couldn’t keep your fucking mouth shut and your nose clean.
We should have kicked you off the team for that. ”
“Brian,” Murry warned.
“Do it!” I shouted back at him. The players’ association and my agent would have a field day with that.
“You brought the two of us here because your centers were getting the shit beat out of them. Walker was out for ten games because of a hit from Novak. This team had the worst power play in the league, and your o-zone time was shit. You needed me more than I needed this team.”
“That hit on Hanson was an accident. Novak made a public apology.” McGrath crossed his arms over his chest.
“Because the league made him. You think that fucking asshat Novak cares he ruined Walker’s career? You can’t be that—”
“Silver,” Coach Murry warned.
“What?” I threw my hands up. Novak knew what he was doing.
He took the four-game suspension, and we lost our top center for an entire season.
“You agree with this?” I couldn’t believe it.
Murry had wanted Cole because he would keep Anders protected.
He wanted me because I could skate hard and fast. I could take the hits and put pucks in the net.
“He has no choice. I’ve spoken with the owners. They agree. If you two can’t play a clean game, you’re gone. Do. You. Understand.” McGrath bent to look me in the eye. “The trade deadline is around the corner, and neither of you is safe.” McGrath straightened.
Cole shifted in his chair. He had been the most penalized player in the AHL. That was why McGrath agreed to sign him.
“Julian. Cole. It’s the league. They are cracking down,” Murry said.
“The league? I haven’t seen the league cracking down on Shaw or Host.” This had nothing to do with the league.
I hadn’t seen any changes, nor had my agent warned me.
This was a way to pay me less. I could guarantee this would come up during the contract negotiations.
McGrath would probably have a PowerPoint and handouts with every little thing I had ever done wrong clearly written out.
And each one of those would have a dollar amount attached to them.
McGrath would try to make me pay them for the right to play.
“Oh, they will, believe me,” McGrath snapped. “If they don’t, LA and Florida will face hefty fines. Fines we will assess to you.”
“You can’t do that.” I shot out of my chair, regretting it as my hip screamed in protest. I gripped the back of the chair.
“Brian, I got this, okay?” Murry held up his hand. “Cole, do you have any questions?” Murry asked the younger defenseman.
“Nope.” Cole stood. “I’ll be talking to my agent.” He glared at McGrath before he left. “I hear it’s beautiful in Vancouver this time of year.”
“Julian, please sit.” Coach Murry nodded to the chair. I did only because my fucking hip hurt. “You are the captain. The team looks at you for guidance.”
“You’re also the oldest fucking player on this fucking team. Your father didn’t play this way. He played a clean game and was respected for it.” McGrath nodded.
“Good news. I hear he’s looking to come out of retirement. Maybe you could draft a sixty-one-year-old man. I’m sure the fans would love that.”
“You got all the answers, don’t you?” McGrath threw up his hands. “I can’t deal with him. He’s your problem child. Get him reeled in or else.” McGrath slammed the door on his way out.
Murry scrubbed his face. “Do you have to be my problem child?”
“You really want me to listen to him? You want me to stop?”
Murry sat back in his chair. “My hands are tied, Julian. I tried. I warned them what would happen. But they won’t listen. The team is changing. The owners want a cup, and they will get it any way possible. Besides, it looks like you could use a little break.”
“Don’t you start too. I’m fine.” I stretched my legs out in front of me, hoping for some relief.
“Julian, you are a great player. I would argue a better player than your father. That’s why I wanted you on this team. We are finally where we should be, and this could be our year.”
“But?” There was always something.
“I can’t do it if you’re suspended or injured.
And if we don’t bring the cup home this year…
” Murry exhaled, looking around the perfectly curated office.
Photos of players, past and present. “You and I will both be looking for new teams. And I don’t need to remind you, at thirty-four there are very few teams that are going to want you.
Fewer if you’re hurt. And even fewer if you’re a liability when it comes to penalties. ”
“Anything else?”
“No. I suggest an ice bath after the game you had.” Murry went back to the papers on his desk.
This game always took. It had taken sixteen years of my life. It was the reason my knee and shoulder were shot. The reason my marriage failed. I gave it so much, and in return I got nothing.