Chapter 7
AVERY
Baddy
Hey, man – you good?
Eminem
Check in and let us know if you’re okay.
Davis
You want a lift to practice?
I exhaled into the silence of my bedroom. My face burned with embarrassment as I read message after message from my teammates. I’d just had to let them see me fall apart, hadn’t I? Right there in the locker room, in front of God and everyone, after my first game as their captain… I’d lost it.
Oh, yeah. Captain material, right here.
Never again. Last night was a fluke. There is no way in hell I’m going to let them see me like that again. Ever.
Well. At least there hadn’t been any cameras in the room except for the team reporter’s crew, and they’d been summarily warned to shut it off and delete the footage.
Even as I’d pulled myself together, I’d been aware that the rest of the reporters hadn’t come in like they usually had.
From the murmurs of conversation around me, I gathered that a couple of my teammates had gone out into the hall to talk to the press rather than letting them in.
I appreciated that, but holy fuck, I hated myself for making it necessary.
I should’ve been able to face the cameras and microphones myself.
I definitely shouldn’t have needed my teammates to step out and, well, take one for the team.
I was their captain, for God’s sake. They were supposed to lean on me, not the other way around.
Never. Again.
Swallowing against the bile in my throat, I wrote out a message in the Whiskey Rebels group chat rather than responding to everyone individually.
Hey guys, thanks for the messages this morning. Last night was hard, but I’m okay. I’ll see you all at practice.
Then I tossed my phone onto the nightstand, closed my eyes, and swore aloud as I kneaded my throbbing temples.
My phone chirped several times with incoming texts, and I checked just in case I needed to answer any of them, but it was just teammates replying with things like “glad to hear it, man” and “see you at the rink.”
Okay. That was dealt with. Now all I had to do was put my money where my mouth was.
Step one, get my ass out of bed. Step two, shower.
Then there’d be coffee, breakfast, and all the other parts of my pre-practice routine.
I’d just have to deal with the looks of pity and concern at the rink, at least until I convinced everyone that last night was a one-time thing.
Once they realized I had my shit together, everything would feel like normal again.
So just… had to get there. Put on the normal face. Be the player. Be the captain. Be okay.
Step one, get my ass out of bed.
I was just sitting up when my phone chirped again.
I groaned. It was going to be like this all day, wasn’t it?
Or at least until I showed my face at practice in…
what time was it again? I didn’t even know.
Probably long past time for me to be up and moving in the direction of the training facility, though.
I fumbled around for my phone, found it, then peered at the screen to see who’d texted this time.
Rachel
Hey, hon. You okay?
Oh God. Ouch. Leif’s widow had had to be strong for her kids last night and get through that entire memorial ceremony with all those cameras in her face, and now she was trying to comfort my stupid ass?
Fuck’s sake. I needed to get it together, didn’t I?
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, then started typing out a response.
I’m good. Last night was more emotional than I expected. How are you doing?
Rachel
Good as can be expected. Do you want to come by after practice? The kids would love to see you.
I closed my eyes and pushed out a breath. Anything she and the kids needed, the answer was always a resounding yes. Was I strong enough for that today?
Probably not, but I was going to be, because Leif’s family and our team needed me to be that strong.
Sure. I’ll text you when I’m on my way.
There. Now I was committed.
I made myself get up and into the shower.
It helped, if only because the routine was familiar and comfortable.
Afterward, my mind and body were both simultaneously numb and aching.
I’d felt that way the morning after Leif’s funeral, too, and I clung to the fact that I’d eventually broken through it.
One foot in front of the other. One day at a time. One minute at a time.
I’d done it then. I could do it now.
In the bathroom, I flattened my palms on the cold marble and stared myself down in the mirror.
I looked like hell. The heat of the shower had only given my skin a little extra color, so I was still too pale, especially in the unforgiving vanity light.
A few strands of wet hair fell over my eyes, which were surprisingly red.
Had I been crying? Hell, maybe. I’d felt a little raw in the shower, so yeah, I might’ve done some crying.
Good. Then it’s out of my system. Time to be a goddamned grownup.
Or at least look like one.
Still holding my own gaze, I exhaled. I had to pull it together for my team’s benefit.
The worst part of last night was when I’d started to regain my composure, and I’d realized how many of the other guys had red, wet eyes.
They’d been fine through the ceremony. They’d powered through the game.
But when I’d fallen apart, I’d dragged them all down with me.
Christ. I was the most useless captain this League—this whole damn sport—had ever had.
I shouldn’t be captain.
But if I’m not…
I closed my eyes and sighed. If I asked to be stripped of my captaincy, I’d be failing them again.
Someone else would have to step up—someone else who was also struggling with grief and this new normal.
Or one of the new guys, like Peyton or Laramie, who’d have to figure out how to step into the skates of someone we were all grieving.
That wouldn’t be fair to them or to the team.
The C was on my jersey, and that was where it needed to stay. The Whiskey Rebels needed someone to fill Leif’s role, and I was the one they’d asked to step up. So I would. I had to.
I took a deep breath. Held it. Let it out slowly.
I’d watched Leif lead this team through tough moments.
Even when he himself had been struggling, he’d never let it show.
Not in the locker room. Not where any camera or teammate (besides me) could see it.
He’d get emotional, of course—hockey wasn’t hockey if it was played without emotion—but he was always controlled and composed.
“We’re all hoping for the best news about Howie,” he’d told the whole team in the locker room during one intermission.
“We’re all worried. But we owe it to him, to our fans, and to ourselves, to keep going.
Stay focused on the game, then we can all tell Howie he owes us beers for slacking off like this. ”
The laugh that had sent rippling through the room had broken the tension.
As if to prove his point, Leif had gone out his very next shift and scored, giving us a lead in a tight game.
We’d all been rattled after watching our teammate land badly on his head and neck, and after watching the paramedics wheel him off the ice in a C-collar, but because Leif had rallied, so had the rest of us.
He’d been exactly the leader we’d needed that night.
It was only hours later—after a hard-fought win, media availability, and driving himself and me to visit Howie in the hospital—that he’d finally let the cracks show.
After we’d left Howie’s room, Leif had paused outside for a few deep breaths.
I’d thought for a moment he might break down or start shaking or something, but no—he’d rolled his shoulders, cleared his throat, and said, “How about we get out of here?”
We’d gone back to my place for a couple of beers, and after he’d gotten a little bit lit, Leif had shakily admitted, “The way he went down? That was the scariest thing I ever saw.”
And the next morning, he’d been back on the ice, practicing and chirping like nothing had happened.
I needed to be like him. Strong. Stoic. Someone the whole team could lean on.
How do I become the strongest person I ever knew when he’s the person I’m missing?
A fresh wave of emotion threatened, but I tamped it down. Not now. Not when I had to get to practice and start showing this stoic side I’d never needed before.
I could grieve later. Behind closed doors. Away from the cameras, the fans, and—most importantly—my teammates. They needed a strong leader right now. They needed me. No one needed to know what was really going on beneath the surface.
Last night had been awful, and I hated myself for falling apart like that in front of the guys.
It wasn’t going to happen again.
Convincing my teammates, coaches, and everyone else that I was okay took some serious work, but I was pretty sure I pulled it off.
There were a lot of concerned looks and questions when I got to the training facility that morning.
Offers of support. People asking if I was okay to practice and to play.
By the time we’d hit the ice for practice, I had everyone more or less convinced I was fine. Last night had been rough on all of us, but today was a new day. I had this.
I didn’t feel like I had this, but I could fake it.
My other teammates were mostly falling back into the normal practice vibe.
Serious focus during drills and scrimmages, but chirping and laughing in between.
Concentrating on the task at hand, working hard, and all the while enjoying what we did.
This was the best job in the world, and even at its most frustrating, I loved it.
Or, well, I had loved it.
During training camp, when everything had been new and raw, hockey had pulled my focus and kept my head above water. Over time, though, as I’d gotten back into the swing of playing, everything else had crept in again, and it didn’t go away while I was skating. Not completely.