28. Anthony
TWENTY-EIGHT
ANTHONY
S ome guys play worse mad, but not Logan. He uses his emotions to fuel his play on the ice. He’s dominating it as soon as the whistle blows, but the Monsters play dirty. They come onto the ice exactly like I’d expect a team coached by Cox Sr.: ruthless and ready to fight. Cox Sr. will make them a better team, but at what cost? The injury toll would be high, and I know we need to take advantage of their time in the box.
We get our first power play fifty seconds into the first period because of the Monsters’ dirty play, and I want to call a time out, but it’s too early to use my only one, so I hesitate. It can fuck up momentum in a team, and I don’t want to do that to mine. Used right, it can change the course of games. An early lead will piss off Cox Sr., and I have to coach to my opponent as much as my team.
Instead, I yell for them to slow things down. It can take players completely out of their heads.
Not many coaches take advantage of time when it’s one of our biggest assets.
They take their places, and Ridgeway makes eye contact with his brother. Those two could become the best duo in the NHL if they keep it up. They start their play, working the puck around to move the goalie, waiting for the opportunity to catch him on the wrong side of the net.
Their handling is so much better than when I took over the team. They’re defensive with the puck, keeping possession. The twins make eye contact again, and I bite my thumb to not say a word. But instead of passing to his brother, Ridgeway fakes and shoots it across to Logan. He doesn’t hesitate, not even fully taking possession, merely redirecting it into the net. The alarm goes off, and it takes everything in me not to jump into the air while making eye contact with Cox. I keep myself to clapping.
The first period ends, and we are still up 1-0. I know Cox Sr. is irate, so we need to keep that energy going.
“We cannot get complacent,” I say to the team when I go into the locker room with five minutes left in our break. “Cox Sr. is fuming. He’s going to be screaming at his players, and, as I’m sure Logan can attest, the Monsters will come out playing dirtier than ever.”
“They will. He’s going to be threatening them at this point. He will hate being down,” Logan agrees.
I look at each one of them. “Let’s destroy them.”
As I predicted, the Monsters come out with vengeance, and this period, they’re getting away with more of it, almost like the refs decided to sleep through the second period.
They get a point and then a second, and my team just cannot get back on their feet. They are so down by the time we hit the next break, I don’t know what to say to them. I need to come up with something to get them out of their damn heads.
“The Monsters are only out-skating you because you’re letting them. You are a faster team and even better with the puck than they are. You’re giving into their violence. I need you guys to find the energy you had in the first period.”
I leave them to it while I go to strategize with the coaching staff. We move some guys around and change up our plays for the final period. We come out strong and score another goal, evening it up. They slip but fight, and it’s a fucking grudge match.
One of the Monsters’ players takes a pot shot, hitting Wolfe with his stick when he doesn’t even have the puck. The ref ignores it, so Wolfe takes it into his own hands, coming out of the goal to fight.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” I throw my hands up.
Both of them are put in the box, and we are left without a fucking goalie.
“Archangel, get in the goal.” As our biggest defensemen, he’ll at least fill up most of the net.
He gets in there, but he’s not quick enough. They score, and I switch out a few guys, going back to our primary offensive line. They’re still in a power play, and if they can use this twenty seconds to score, we can even it up for overtime.
My gaze is glued to the puck. They move the goalie, keeping the puck in play. I grind my teeth, waiting for them to shoot. I hold my breath.
“Come on, guys.”
Logan passes it to Ridgeway, who funnels it into his brother, and he shoots.
The goalie lifts his hand.
My heart stops.
He stops the puck.
Time runs out on the clock.
Fuck.
Cox Sr. doesn’t even try to hide his celebration. He whoops and grins over at me. It takes everything I have not to give him the bird.
We make it back to the locker room, and I’m at a loss for words. It takes me a minute to formulate something to say. “You guys played a good game. A really good game. That’s not why we lost. You can beat them. I know you can beat them. We play them again in six weeks. I don’t want any one of you to think they’re better than us. I know they’re not.” That’s all I say. I want it to sink in as I leave them to change.
I know it’s going to be a solemn night at the hotel, and I’m sure most of them will be drunk. I want to catch Logan before he’s half gone, so I don’t spend long in with the other coaches.
When I walk out, I hear something that makes me stop.
“Play stupid games win stupid prizes,” Cox Sr. says, glee filling his tone. Cox Sr.’s attention switches to me, and he squares his shoulders. “This is a private conversation.”
“What are you talking about?” Logan asks.
“Your games with Hawke and your mother.”
Logan’s lips twitch. “It’s none of your business what she does anymore.”
“It’s my business. We’re taking a break, but she’ll come back,” Cox Sr. sneers.
“Whatever you have to tell yourself. I have to go.” Logan meets my gaze.
“He’s right. We have a schedule to keep, and I need Logan. Plus, I’m not going to allow my players to have private conversations with opposing coaches.” I step between them.
“He’s my son,” Cox Sr. spits.
“Not while you’re acting as a coach for a rival team. I’m sure you can understand boundaries.” I almost laugh. He knows the difference.
“This is different,” Cox Sr. snaps. The madder he gets, the calmer I become.
“But it’s not. If you continue to speak to my player, I will have to file a complaint with the league.” I look at my nails, not giving him an inch. He doesn’t scare me anymore. I feel nothing, which is freeing, more than I imagined it would be.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
I lift a brow. “Wouldn’t I? You’re interfering with my team, and I won’t have it. You cannot make him an offer or hound him unless Logan expresses interest, let alone dress him down after a game. It’s inappropriate. If you can’t refrain, I won’t have a choice.”
Cox Sr.’s lips press into a hard line, but he is smart enough to not say anything else to me. His cold gaze instead fixes on Logan. “We’ll speak later.”
“No, I don’t think we will,” Logan manages. “There is nothing to talk about.”
Before Cox Sr. can say anything else to his son, I steer him away.
He turns from his father easier than I expected. “Sorry,” he says, very unlike himself.
I wait until we’re back in the locker room before I say anything. Thankfully, it’s empty. “Come here.”
He lets me take him in my arms. “I hate him.”
“I do too.”
“I can’t let him win again.”
“I know.” I rub a hand down his back.
“We need to go. I want to get the fuck out of this arena.” He doesn’t bother to shower, just putting his clothes back on.
“Come to my room later?”
“I’ll have to see what the guys are doing first.”
Selfishly, I hate that he needs to do that, and suddenly, I’m torn between what I know he needs and what I know will be better for him.