Chapter 20 Lincoln
LINCOLN
We lose our next game. Badly.
It was embarrassing.
But no matter what I said to Coach, he wouldn’t go against Parker’s recommendation to bench me.
Instead, I was forced to sit there and watch as Colorado annihilated us.
I’ve had plenty of bad games in my career, and I know I’ve got plenty more in me. But while being a part of a loss is devastating, watching one from the sidelines is fucking torturous.
By the time the final buzzer sounds, the guys out on the ice lower their heads and move toward the tunnel, utterly defeated.
We’ve had injury after injury tonight. And while our opponents might have spent plenty of time in the box for it, we still couldn’t pull out even a single goal.
It fucking hurts.
If I’d have been allowed out there, maybe, just maybe, I could have helped turn things around.
We’re heading toward the second half of the season; we can’t afford to have games like this if we want to secure our playoff position.
The second Monroe is off the ice, Parker is on him, checking his shoulder, while the others pass by, ready to put this whole night behind us.
I want to say something encouraging as I step up beside Kodie, but there are no words, and anyway, he isn’t exactly giving off, “please talk to me about how I fucked up tonight” vibes.
So, like the others, I keep my gaze locked on the ground and prepare myself for the impending dressing down.
The air is thick with disappointment as we come to a stop at our stalls and begin stripping out of our uniform.
There are mumbled curses and more than a few thrown pieces of athletic equipment as everyone battles to restrain their frustration.
As Coach steps into the room, silence descends. We might have disappointed ourselves tonight, but I know I’m not the only one who feels worse about disappointing James Watson.
He’s done incredible things since becoming our head coach. Not only is the man a fucking legend in his own right, but he’s an incredible coach. Our respect for him is endless. As much as we want to win games for ourselves, we want to win for him more.
“I’m not going to stand here and bleat on about where we fell down tonight,” he starts. “You all already know where your weaknesses were. You all know what you need to work on.
“But what I will say is that winning doesn’t make a top-class athlete. Of course, it’s a part of it, but it’s how we deal with the losing that really makes us.
“It sucks. I get it. It hurts.
“But I urge you to let tonight go. What’s done is done. Focus on the future. Focus on our next game and how incredible it’s going to feel when we get back out there and show the world what we’re really made of.”
Agreement ripples around the room.
“We’re having our best season in years, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be lows. Use this loss to fuel everything that comes next.
“Now, we’ve got an afternoon flight home tomorrow, followed by two days off. Use this time to let your hair down, put this loss behind you, and come back to training ready to lift that cup.”
Cheers sound out, and the atmosphere in the dressing room shifts.
“Onwards and upwards, right?” Kodie says, making Coach’s solemn expression soften.
“Go out tonight, blow off some steam. But hear this…you miss the flight tomorrow, you’ll walk your sorry asses back to LA. Got it?”
“Yes, Coach,” we all agree.
He looks around the room, meeting each of our eyes, silently reassuring us, before he pauses on Fletch.
“Let’s go, Ferguson. The press waits for no man.”
We all watch as the two of them disappear, each of us grateful not to be the ones trying to put a positive spin on tonight’s game for the press.
“We’re going out tonight, right?” Marilyn asks.
“After that monstrosity? Hell yes,” Killer agrees.
“I could drink,” Handsy mutters, although there’s no excitement on his face.
Everyone might have sucked tonight, but Handsy always takes it worse when he’s the one letting the opponents get pucks past him.
“On us, man,” Killer says, slapping him on the shoulder.
“You coming, Big D?” I ask, turning to Kodie, who’s unlacing his skates beside me.
“Nah, I’m not feeling it.”
“Fuck that,” Killer barks. “Those who lose together, party together.”
“And I know exactly where to go,” Brit pipes up.
“Oh Christ,” Handsy mutters. “It better not be like the last place you dragged us to.”
Brit holds his hands up. “It’s not a country bar, I swear. No line dancing.”
I can’t help but laugh as I recall the night in question.
“We need a do-over because Kodie didn’t come. I think he’d look killer in a cowboy hat and boots.”
“Fuck off, Storm,” Kodie grunts.
“If we can promise no cowboys or dancing, will you come?” Killer asks with a pathetic pout.
“If your girl was here, you know she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“She would if I promised to make a night in my hotel room worthwhile.”
“Our hotel room,” I point out.
“Not when Casey is here,” Kodie mutters.
“Whatever. You’re coming, end of.”
Kodie shakes his head before stripping down and heading toward the showers.
“Well, I think he’s excited,” I state once he’s disappeared.
It’s almost three hours later when I’m dragging Kodie out of our hotel room, on the promise that he can leave early to have phone sex with Casey before I get back and ruin his game.
“I hate nightclubs,” he mutters as the elevator descends.
“Oh, really? You’ve never mentioned it before,” I quip.
When we spill out into the hotel lobby, we find the team waiting for us. Killer and Monroe have done a solid job at stopping them all from moping in their rooms tonight.
“What are we waiting for?” I ask, more than ready to put today—hell, this whole trip—behind me.
If it weren’t for Parker, then it could have ended very differently.
So could the season, if your injury got worse…
“Ubers are outside; we’re just waiting for our last few,” Killer announces.
“Who?” I ask. Everyone’s here.
But then, behind me, the elevator dings and the doors open.
“Oh fuck,” I gasp as a limping Parker and Brooke move our way, both looking like freaking models.
“Oh, hell yes,” someone—probably Monroe—cheers, and the girls’ faces light up.
“I thought it was just the guys tonight?” I mutter.
“What’s wrong, Storm? Against partying with our new trainer?” Kodie asks, a knowing smirk playing on his lips that I desperately want to wipe off.
“I want to let my hair down.”
“And Parker being here stops you from doing that how exactly?”
Lifting my hand, I rub the back of my neck as Parker and Brooke join us.
I have no idea what Brooke is wearing; I’ve barely spared her a second glance.
But Parker…Parker is wearing a white tank that is thin enough to show the lace pattern of her bra beneath, and a navy skirt that is so short I’m not even sure it can be classified as a skirt.
“Damn, did Donnelly’s legs get longer?” Monroe asks.
Reaching out, I smack him upside the head.
“Aw, what was that for?”
“For looking. Parker is your colleague. Show her some respect.”
Kodie snorts beside me but doesn’t say anything else.
“Where are we going then, boys?” Brooke asks as she marches through the middle of us like she’s suddenly the leader, with Parker’s hand clutched in hers.
Multiple sets of eyes follow them. Horny fucking bastards.
“This is a bad idea,” I mutter under my breath.
“Oh no, you got me to agree to this. You’re not backing out now,” Kodie says, throwing his arm around my shoulder and moving us toward the exit and the row of waiting cars.
Thankfully, Parker is already in the first car by the time we get outside and climb into another.
The conversation is kept light during the short drive to the club. We talk work, but we don’t mention our game tonight; instead, we focus on how others in the league have done.
Before long, we’re pulling up out front of a club we’ve been to before. I’m pretty sure I hooked up with two bunnies the last time we were here.
I shake my head as I climb out of the car. I’d been excited—buzzing to find some girls to spend the night with. We had come off a win, and I was ready to celebrate the best way I knew how.
How things have changed.
Not only are we suffering the pain of a loss, but the thought of hooking up with one, let alone two, bunnies really doesn’t appeal.
Somewhere over the last few months, something has broken inside me.
Things that used to fuel me into action no longer appeal.
I just wish I could put my finger on what it is so I could get rid of it and go back to those days.
The line to get in wraps around the building, but the second I step onto the pavement, I see those ahead of us being allowed through the rope, each member of the team thanking the bouncer with fist bumps.
I remain frozen on the spot as the others disappear into the building.
“Are you okay?” Fletch asks, coming to stop beside me.
I give myself a second before turning toward him and forcing a smile on my face.
“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
I expect him to mention something about being benched, but he doesn’t.
“I don’t know. You just…seem different.”
“Just tired, I guess,” I admit quietly.
“Ah, it happens to the best of us,” he says, understanding in his tone. “Next thing you know, you’ll have found a girl and settled down.”
I almost choke on my own spit.
“I don’t think that’ll be happening anytime soon.”
Fletch laughs. “We’ll see,” he says before marching forward.
I follow, not wanting to be left out here alone.
The second I step inside, the deep bass of the music hits my ears, and some of my previous worries melt away.
“This way,” Fletch shouts, moving toward the sectioned-off VIP area.
“Brit really pulled out all the stops, huh?” I mutter as we climb the stairs, the music getting quieter with each step we take.
No sooner do we get to the top than a tray of shots is thrust in front of us.
Needing something to take the edge off, I take a glass and swallow the bright pink liquid in one go.
“Ugh, the fuck was that?” I ask.
“Toxic,” Fletch agrees.
Thankfully, another server follows with beer, and we both take a glass, immediately drinking half of it to wash away the taste of the shot.
The team quickly separates and finds seats, and I follow Fletch toward a cluster of couches and sit with him, Killer, Handsy, Brit, and Monroe.
“This place is sweet,” Monroe says, his eyes wide in awe.
It’s easy to forget sometimes that he’s only a rookie and hasn’t experienced life on the road like we all have.
“And did you see the girls as we came in?” He bites down on his knuckles.
“Just wait until someone drops our location on socials and the bunnies descend.”
“Can’t fucking wait, man.”
“Aw, is Marilyn going through a dry spell?” Handsy teases.
“Fuck you,” Marilyn snaps while I scan the VIP section, looking for the girls who travelled with us.
I shouldn’t care. Parker is a grown woman who can look after herself.
But despite telling myself that, I still search for her.
“Where did Brooke and Parker go?” I ask, interrupting Killer as he attempts to get details out of Monroe about his love life.
“They stayed downstairs. Said they wanted to dance,” Handsy states.
Instantly, my eyes dart toward the balcony that looks over the dance floor below.
Don’t do it, Storm.
Just stay where you are.