Chapter 22
PEYTON
In the locker room before our morning skate the next day, and with the press outside, Coach Tabakov broke the news to the team. When he said out loud that Avery was going into the player assistance program, it was like a shockwave going through the locker room.
“Holy shit,” Baddy said. “I didn’t even know he was…” He trailed off, looking dazed.
“It’s because of everything with Early, isn’t it?” Willie sounded pained. “Calisse, I should’ve known he was struggling.”
“He’s coming back, though, right?” Eminem asked. “They’re not going to put him through rehab and then waive him or something, are they?”
Coach shook his head. “He’s not going anywhere. The front office has been very clear that he will not be traded or waived, and they still have every intention of negotiating an extension when that time comes.”
The response to that was a collective sigh of relief that I wished Avery could’ve heard.
“His captaincy is up to the team.” Coach sent a sweeping look around the room. “We can have three alternates, or we can choose a new cap—”
“Like hell,” Eminem said. “Calds is our captain. Full stop.”
Nods and a murmur of “yeah” and “damn right” went through the room, which brought a small smile to Coach’s lips. I had a feeling he’d known that would be the response.
Admittedly, I wanted to argue that maybe we should pick a new captain. Not to punish Avery, but to take off the pressure we never should have piled on his shoulders.
I kept that to myself, though.
“He’ll stay the captain, then,” Coach said.
“During his time in the program, though, he won’t be playing or practicing with the team.
” Faces fell and expressions shifted to dismay and anger, but Coach put up a hand.
“It’s a requirement, and it’s also to make sure he can focus on taking care of himself.
But no one—not him, not the team, no one—is making any noise about him leaving the Whiskey Rebels. ”
“Good,” Ziggy said emphatically. “Because we’d fucking riot.”
More nods and sounds of agreement went around the room, and I couldn’t help smiling. I wished Avery could’ve been a fly on the wall for this.
Eminem glanced around before looking at Coach. “Is this like when Ricky went through the program a few years ago and he couldn’t come to games and we couldn’t talk to him?”
“Absolutely not,” Coach said without hesitation.
“Calds is not suspended. He hasn’t broken any rules.
None of this is disciplinary from the League or from the club.
This is a player asking for help, and he’s getting that help.
He can’t practice or play with the team until he’s reactivated, but he can still come to games and team events, and you’re all welcome and encouraged to keep in contact with him. ”
That seemed to be exactly what everyone needed to hear, and the collective relief was palpable.
I’d already known that part from being there when Avery discussed the situation with Coach and the club, but it was still comforting to hear it.
It was even more comforting to realize the rest of the team wanted that contact with him.
Do you have any idea how much support you have, Avery?
Probably not. He’d been so far down, so lost in his own grief and his growing addiction that he’d likely felt completely alone and isolated. Hopefully by the time he came out of this, he’d understand just how loved and supported he really was.
“While Calds is out,” Coach went on, “it’s our job to hold down the fort.
Keep playing. Keep collecting points and aiming for the playoffs.
It’s been a difficult year for this team, and both the fans and the front office know what we’re up against. But we can still take it one game at a time.
Keep playing. Keep doing what we do best. We can carry Early’s memory with us, and we can stay strong as a team while Calds is getting help. ”
Everyone nodded solemnly.
“We can win for Calds,” Eminem said. “Win tonight and break our losing streak—the better we can do while he’s out, the less pressure there will be on him.”
I actually choked up a little as my teammates nodded and murmured “yeah” and “we’ve got this.” For all Avery had convinced himself he had to carry the entire team, they were rallying around him, ready to play like hell so he wouldn’t feel like he had to rush back before he was ready.
“That’s the attitude we need.” Coach gestured over his shoulder at the locker room door. “Step one, practicing before tonight’s game. We’re going to keep it light this morning. Let everyone process. But we’ve got a game tonight, and we need to focus. Got it?”
Nods all around.
He was true to his word, too—we did practice, but he didn’t work us hard.
Light drills. Some special teams, which was crucial today because Toronto had the number two power play in the League.
Their penalty kill was nothing to sneeze at either; our best bet was to stay out of the box and keep the game five-on-five as much as possible.
After about thirty-five minutes instead of the usual hour, he dismissed us to cool down and head for the locker room.
On the way up the tunnel, I heard Baddy telling Eminem, “We should hit Calds up to go golfing. When the weather’s not shit.”
Eminem nodded. “Good call.”
I didn’t hear the rest of their conversation, but it was a relief that they were already trying to keep Avery close.
“Hey. Halls.” Davis appeared beside me. When he stopped, I did, too.
“What’s up?” I asked.
He glanced around, then looked up at me. “This was you, wasn’t it? Getting Calds into rehab?”
I chewed my lip, not sure how much to divulge.
Sighing, Davis shook his head. “You don’t have to say yes Just—whatever you did, I’m glad you did it. Because I was worried about him.”
“Me too,” I admitted quietly. “I was afraid he’d…” I trailed off, not sure how to word it, and a little afraid that saying it out loud would manifest the worst.
He’s in good hands now. He’s in rehab. He’ll be fine.
Davis glanced toward the locker room again, then met my gaze.
“Listen, I was really happy when they signed you over the off season, man, but—” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat before he tried again.
“Now that I know you saved our captain?” He swallowed hard as he clapped my shoulder.
Then he continued into the locker room without another word.
I was grateful he hadn’t said anything more.
The guys had been through enough today without seeing me fall apart too.
Avery sat on his couch and studied me as I took a seat in one of the recliners. Grimacing, he asked, “So… How did they take it?”
“Honestly?” I smiled. “I wish you could’ve seen it.”
His eyebrows climbed almost to his hairline.
I told him what our teammates had said, and the parts they’d been most concerned about. “As soon as Coach said you’re not suspended and we’re encouraged to keep in contact with you, everyone started talking about going golfing with you or dragging you out to eat.”
Avery wrinkled his nose. “Oh God. Don’t tell me I’m going to have to fend off Baddy and Eminem trying to take me golfing.”
“What? I thought you liked golfing.”
“I do, but those two…” He groaned theatrically and flailed a hand before letting it fall to the cushion beside him. “Oh my God.”
“Yeah? Do tell?”
“Eh.” He shook his head and managed to laugh. “There’s a lot of stories to tell.”
I shrugged. “I’ve got time.” I’d need to head home at some point for my pregame nap, then to the arena, but I still had a couple of hours yet.
Something told me that stories about golf course shenanigans would be easier for Avery to handle right now; he was still brittle and ashamed after his talk with the brass.
He pursed his lips, gaze turning distant for a moment. Then he chuckled. “There was one time we were golfing in—I want to say Vegas? Might’ve been Arizona. All the dry states look alike after a while.”
I snorted. “Yeah, they kinda do.”
“Right? Anyway, wherever the hell we were, Eminem brought a box of those prank golf balls?” He groaned and rolled his eyes. “The ones that explode when you hit them, or they’re weighted weird so they don’t go where they should.”
“Wait, those are a thing?” I laughed. “Really?”
“Ugh. Yes. And the ones he got—they’re almost impossible to tell apart from the real thing.” He picked up his drink and muttered, “That was the longest eighteen holes I’ve ever played.”
“Yeah, I bet. Did they bring the real balls too?”
“Oh, they did. Though…” He snickered. “Baddy thought it would be funny to mix them all into the same bucket, so then they were getting the prank ones, too. Eminem was doing pretty well that day, but then he got one of the exploders, and it fucked him all up.”
“You know, I never could quite reconcile hockey players with golf,” I mused. “Because it just seems so sedate and mellow, and every hockey player I know gets bored if he has to sit still for two minutes.”
Avery chuckled. “I know, right? But put a bunch of pranksters and shit-talkers out there, and it ends up being a lot of fun.”
“I believe that.”
He laughed again, but it faded, and from the shift in his expression, some less pleasant thoughts were creeping in.
Eyes distant, he whispered, “Leif got his best ever score that game. The prank balls didn’t throw him off at all, and even without his handicap, he blew all of us out of the water.
” Watching his fingers play with the hem of his shorts, he said more to himself than me, “Golfing without him has been really weird.”
“I’m sure it has,” I said softly.
He shifted his gaze in the general direction of his garage, and he sighed. “His clubs are still in my trunk.”
I jumped. “They are?”