Chapter 17 – Zane
seventeen
Zane
“You guys have twenty more minutes out there to turn this thing around,” I declare, my hand gripping the paper with the lines I made today, and then remade on the bench and then re-fucking-made during the first intermission and again the second intermission.
“We are only down by two.” I look at the guys, none of them looking at me.
“You guys are fucking better than this.” I point to the closed door.
“Let’s get our heads out of our fucking asses and score a fucking goal for fuck’s sake.
” I stand here waiting for one of them to look at me but not one fucking person does.
It’s day four of the road trip and our third game.
If we don’t score two goals to at least tie it, it’ll be our third consecutive loss on the road.
When none of them look at me, I turn and storm out of the room, going to the video room we set up.
I walk in seeing Claire, who is in charge of our video footage through the game, with Eric going over a couple of the plays that we had on the ice.
“I want to watch the second period,” I tell her. “What do you have for me?”
She nods her head as she pulls up the plays she thinks that went badly for us, but in reality the whole fucking game has gone badly.
Their passes weren’t executed. They weren’t winning the battles in the corner.
They weren’t even trying to shoot the fucking puck to even get a rebound.
I watch the two plays and then look at Eric.
“Go get Jaxon and Kirby,” I tell him, and he nods, leaving the room as Cam comes in.
“Well, this road trip is a bust.” He sits down in the chair, putting his hands behind his head. “Horrible. They haven’t played this bad since—”
“I got it,” I snap at him as Jaxon comes in first then Kirby.
“What?” Jaxon questions, and I know I don’t even have to tell him what he did wrong. He knows, but he also knows he can’t be everywhere on the fucking ice.
“You want to watch the second period?”
“For you to point out where I fucked up?”
“You aren’t the only one fucking up out there,” I tell him, and he looks up at me, and the look isn’t a friendly one.
“I know what I have to do, and I didn’t do it.”
“I want to see,” Kirby says, and Claire plays the two goals again for us, and then they both nod their heads and walk out of the room.
“He needs to lead the team better,” Cam states to me of Jaxon, and I slowly look over at him.
“Let’s lay off at pointing fingers at the players and instead think about what we can do better instead,” I counter, turning to walk out of the room.
We start the third period, and we end up scoring two more goals, the only thing is, so does the other team, and we end up losing six to four. I walk out onto the ice and head across it to go to our locker room.
The press is there, all lined up, waiting to get into the locker room.
I usually go in and give a speech, but everyone is just as pissed as I am.
So instead, I look at the media, hoping they get what they want from me and don’t bother sticking around to interview any of the players.
“Okay, whatcha got for me?” I ask and the first reporter comes up and sticks his phone in my face to voice record it.
“We get the sense that it was just one of those games, that the first forty minutes you couldn’t get anything going for you. No one was generating anything.”
“I wouldn’t say no one.” I put my hands on my hips.
“I think the last three lines were going well. I think when you start a game and you take the two penalties we took, um, you haven’t learned enough yet about playing on the road.
It was a disastrous way to have to start the game and it feels like it was downhill after that.
We just kept chasing it, instead of playing our game. ”
“How do you get past that?” he asks, and I look up at him.
“You’ll know when I know.” I glare at him.
“You think if I knew the answer, I wouldn’t give it to my team?
” He doesn’t say anything. “The other team played a great game. They had solid sticks on the ice tonight. They took the shots and, unfortunately, it didn’t go the way we wanted.
No one goes out on the ice and says tonight I’m going to lose.
” I shrug. “At least no one on my team.”
“There has been some talk about a break in communication.” I look over at the veteran reporter who has had it out for me since day one. “On and off the ice.”
“Yeah.” I motion with my chin. “Who said this?” I ask him and he gives a one-shoulder shrug. “Come on, Timothy, if you are going to ask a question like that, are you going to say who said it or is this you speculating?”
“I’ve heard it from a couple of people,” he replies, goading me, and I know I shouldn’t fucking bite.
"Yeah? I’d like to meet these people.” All the other reporters look around.
“If you are going to stand here in front of me and expect me to throw any of my players under the bus and point fingers, I’m going to tell you that you are wasting your fucking time, Timothy.
So take that for communication,” I snap.
I turn and head into the locker room. “I want to say good game out there,” I tell the room as they are getting undressed and tossing their gear in the bags in front of them, “but not one of you are going to think it’s true.
We came back and showed a little bit more fight.
We just have to remember that it’s three periods out there and not just one. ”
I turn and head out while the reporters head in to talk to a couple of guys.
An hour and a half later, we are gearing up to head to the plane.
No one says much on the flight and even I don’t watch the fucking replays.
We land back in LA at 1:00 a.m. local time and everyone silently makes their way to their own vehicles.
I get home and all the lights are off. The house is dead as I wheel my luggage and my carry-on to my room. I toss my shit on the floor of my closet before sliding into bed. Setting my alarm for eight, even though it’s an off day tomorrow, I want to head into the office.
I wake up the next morning, opting to not even check my phone before getting dressed in my track suit and then grabbing a coffee before leaving. I’m at my desk when I open up the iPad and read the sports headline.
“LA Warriors’ Cracks Keep Widening with New Coach.”
I shake my head as I read the piece written by Timothy, making it clear my age is a disadvantage for the game since apparently I’m too young to actually do this job right.
My phone vibrates on my desk, and I look down to see Ken has sent me a message.
Ken:
Meeting today in your office at noon. Brad will be phoning in.
“Great,” I mutter, “another meeting.” Before we left on the road trip, they made it clear that all eyes were on me. There was no room for mistakes and now that we just lost three games in a row, I can bet those eyes are getting bigger and bigger.
I scroll through the text messages I didn’t have the energy to look at yesterday and see father and Victoria texted me last night. I know I shouldn’t text her. My life is slowly becoming a disaster, and the last thing I should be doing is getting involved with anyone, especially my player’s sister.
Dad:
You can’t win them all.
I look at the words trying to tell myself the same thing.
Me:
Easier said than done.
I reply then read the one from Victoria.
Victoria:
Thanks for the number. I spoke with Jill and she is on board with it.
My brain knows I shouldn’t respond. My brain is well aware. But something, and I don’t know what that something is, has me texting her back.
Me:
You’re welcome. Want to come over to my place tonight for dinner?
I press send and then wonder if I should just tell her I was texting the wrong person. But then it’s going to look as if I was texting someone else and that would be very fucking uncool.
Victoria:
I was going to have dinner at Buckingham Palace, but my flight got cancelled, so I guess I’m free.
I can’t help the laughter that comes out of me.
Me:
Here is my address, come any time after five thirty.
Victoria:
I shall Zillow this right now and see where you live.
Me:
I don’t even know what that means.
Victoria:
Then it’s a good thing you have me to guide you. I’ll show you tonight.
I don’t answer her, instead I put the phone down and then go over the plays we should have executed last night, but fell flat, to see if maybe we can practice another drill.
Ken walks into my office at noon on the nose, as if he set a timer to arrive without a minute to spare. He closes the door behind him, not many staff members are in today. It’s mostly the equipment team who is unloading the bags and making sure everything is good for the game tomorrow.
He sits down and pulls out his phone. “How are you doing?” he quickly asks me before Brad picks up the line. My look should tell him how I’m doing. My hands are folded into each other and on top of my desk as I tell myself to remain calm.
“Hey,” Brad says, picking up the phone. “I’m here with Scott and Dewey,” he mentions the team owners, “and we were going over a couple of things.”
“I’m here with Zane,” Ken tells him.
“Listen,” Brad starts, and I immediately want to tell him to fucking fuck off, but I sit here, my eyes on the phone, watching the time go by.
“You need to start rethinking how you are calling plays and changing the lines,” he advises, and I lean back in my chair, both hands holding the armrests to stop from throwing the fucking phone across the room.
“I know you’ve said that there is a learning curve coming into a head coaching position. ”
“He’s been at it for three months.” Ken takes my side. “It is a learning curve.”