Chapter 7
SEVEN
tate
“Parker’s starting tomorrow night.”
I stare at Coach Enver across his desk, wondering if I landed in an alternate reality. But I know this is my current and completely fucked reality.
Liam Parker, the backup goalie who’s barely played twenty games in the NHL. The kid who was drafted three rounds later than expected and has been riding the bench for two seasons.
“What?”
“You heard me.” Enver doesn’t even have the courtesy to look uncomfortable. “Parker gets the net tomorrow in Phoenix.”
My mouth goes dry. In four years with this team, I’ve never been benched. Not once. Injured, yes. Rested on the second night of back-to-backs, sometimes. But never benched for performance.
“Coach, I know the last couple weeks have been rough, but... ”
“Rough?” He leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers, studying me like a problem he can’t solve. “Barnes, you’ve let in twelve goals in the last three practices. Twelve. My eight-year-old nephew could have stopped half of them.”
The words sting because they’re true. My game’s been slipping for weeks. And when Zane showed up, everything just exploded.
“I know I’ve been off, but I’m working on it. I can do my job.”
“Can you? Because what I see is a goalie who can’t focus long enough to track a puck from the blue line to the net.
” Enver leans forward, his voice dropping.
“I don’t know what’s eating at you but I can’t keep putting you in the net when you’re playing like someone who’s never seen a hockey stick before. ”
The humiliation burns my chest. Four years of being the backbone of this team, and now I’m getting benched for a kid who’s probably texting his parents right now about getting his first start.
“How long?” I ask.
“How long what?”
“How long am I riding the bench?”
Enver shrugs. “Until you figure out whatever’s broken and fix it. Could be one game, could be the rest of the season. That’s up to you.”
The rest of the season. Christ. It’s my contract year. I could be finished before Christmas. My career in Oakland could be over before I turn twenty-seven.
“The team flies out at noon,” Enver continues, like he hasn’t just dropped a bomb on my life. “You’re still traveling. Backup goalies don’t sit in the press box at home while their team’s on the road.”
Right. I get to travel with the team, suit up in my gear, and watch from the bench while Parker plays my position. In front of a national television audience that will speculate about why Oakland’s starting goalie is on the bench.
“Okay,” I manage to croak out.
“Good. And Barnes? Use this time to get your head straight. Figure out what’s more important - your pride or your career.”
I walk out of his office, my stomach churning. By the time I reach the locker room, word has already started to spread. I can tell by the way conversations die a quick death when I walk in, by the way my teammates avoid making eye contact as I pass.
Nothing travels faster in a hockey locker room than bad news.
Masterson looks up from packing his gear bag. “Hey.”
I drop onto the bench in front of my stall and shake my head, hoping he gets the message that I don’t want to talk.
He nods and goes back to his packing, watching me out of the corner of his eye. The whole room’s watching me. Trying to figure out how their starting goalie went from solid veteran to total crap .
If only I could tell them.
Parker walks in twenty minutes later, trying to look casual but failing. He can’t help the smile spreading across his face. His first NHL start, and it’s because the guy he’s replacing fell apart so spectacularly that the coach had no choice.
“Tate,” he says quietly, stopping by my locker. “I just wanted to say... ”
“It’s fine, Parker.” I look up at him, this kid who’s about to live his dream because I can’t handle mine. “You earned this. Play your game.”
He nods and walks away, but I can see the relief in his shoulders. Whatever he thought I was going to say, it sure as hell wasn’t that.
I can’t be mad at the kid. He’s worked his ass off for two years, never complained about riding the bench, always ready to go. This is his shot, and he deserves it.
I’m the one who fucked up my own career.
I finish packing my gear bag, trying to ignore everyone’s stares. By the time the bus leaves for the airport, the whole team knows I’m benched. The conversations are quiet, and nobody talks to me.
Nothing kills team morale like watching your starting goalie self-destruct.
The flight to Phoenix is torture.
I’m stuck in the middle section of the plane while Parker gets moved up to sit with the other starters. The backup goalie who’s barely seen ice time is now getting treated like the starter, while I’m stuck sitting with the press and equipment staff.
And of course, because the universe has a sick sense of humor, Zane’s sitting three rows ahead of me.
I can see the back of his head, the way he keeps his shoulders and spine still like he’s expecting an attack from behind. Every few minutes, he adjusts his position or reaches up to touch his neck, and I catch a glimpse of his profile.
It pisses me off how good he still looks. How put-together and professional, like nothing can touch him. I try to block out the memory of his hands on me, his biceps wrapped tight around me, the way his hair felt between my fingers, the way his fingers felt on my—
No. Fuck no, I’m not going there. Haven’t I learned my damn lesson? I let my emotions take over once and I’ve been picking up the pieces ever since.
The flight attendant comes by with drinks, and I order a Coke just to have something to do with my hands. I grip the can, rubbing my fingers up and down the side. Makes me think of how I nursed that beer in Vegas right before I met Zane.
Fuck. I can’t even drink a Coke without thinking about that night.
I gulp it down fast and squeeze my eyes shut. My phone was blowing up before we took off so I know once we land all hell will break loose.
Word travels fast in this league. By the time we land in Phoenix, every hockey blog and social media account will be talking about what’s wrong with Tate Barnes. They’ll come up with all kinds of reasons, the fucking vultures.
Cam catches up with me before we board the bus and plants himself next to me. “So, Mark and Tessa are pretty serious, yeah? They’re great together. I know Ethan loves him.”
I look at him. “Yeah, she’s awesome. It’s funny, after playing with Logan for so long, I only really got to meet her when she started dating Mark.”
“Yeah, well, you know how locked down Logan was. He hated mixing his private life with hockey.” Cam pauses. “I get that. People like to pry into celebrities’ lives and make judgments about how they live. It’s hard to balance expectations with personal happiness.”
And suddenly I understand what he’s doing.
But instead of shutting him down, I keep talking because I know the skeletons he’s hidden and how they almost destroyed him.
And because I don’t want to be a dick. Cam’s a good guy and my friend.
He can’t help me work out my personal shit but it’s a good reminder that we all have things to deal with.
Maybe I can figure this shit out after all. Cam went through a real rough patch last season and came out with his golden boy image still intact. It can happen for me, too, right? I can fix this. I can fix me.
We talk for the entire bus ride. It’s not deep, but it reassures me that I’m not on my own, that I have a support network around me.
Ironically, Carter and Cam are gay, so I shouldn’t have a hard time talking to them about this.
But until I come to terms with it myself, I’m just not ready to share it with anyone else.
“Logan really helped me get through all of my issues last season,” he says as the bus pulls into the back parking lot of the hotel.
“I didn’t like having to cling to a lifeline because I’d always figured things out on my own.
” He stares at me for a long minute. “But that was a lonely way to live. I didn’t like not having anyone to trust. And I sure as hell didn’t want to use him as a crutch for my own bad choices. ”
With a shrug, he stands up and runs a hand through his hair. “In the end, it made me stronger, knowing that he’d accept me for who I was, not the decisions I’d made.”
I nod slowly. “You guys are lucky to have each other.”
“Yeah. I’m thankful for him every day.” Cam’s lips quirk upward and he claps me on the shoulder. “I’ll see ya at dinner.”
Then he turns and walks up the aisle, leaving me to weigh his words. They land hard and for the first time, I actually feel better when I walk into the hotel.
It doesn’t last long.
I’m with the guys, waiting for my room key, when I spot Zane by the elevators. He’s got a cup of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other, his face tight, forehead creased.
Our eyes meet across the lobby, and for a second, neither of us looks away. Then he turns away when the elevator door opens, and I’m left standing with a knot in my chest.
“Barnes,” one of the team managers says, handing me a key card. “Room 847.”
“Thanks,” I say.
The elevator climbs to the eighth floor. I tap my toe against the floor, anxious to take a hot shower and process my conversation with Cam. When I find room 847, I slide the key card and push open the door.
I reach for the light switch and realize it’s already on. My fingers freeze.
Zane sits on one of the two beds, his laptop open, his eyes wide.
For a few seconds, neither of us moves. Neither of us speaks. We just stare at each other.
“What the hell are you doing in my room?” I say, gripping the strap of my duffel bag.
“This is my room,” he says in that even voice that makes me want to throttle him.
The calm that had settled over me after talking to Cam dissipates like a fart in the wind.
“No.” I shake my head. “No fucking way. There’s been a mistake.”
He shrugs. “Maybe they’re short on space.”
My heart pounds against my ribs. This can’t be happening. Not after what happened today…getting benched, humiliated in front of the team, watching Parker take my spot. Now I have to spend the night in the same room as the man who started my downward spiral?
“I’ll just sleep in the lobby.” I turn back toward the door.
“Tate, wait.” He gets up from the bed and steps toward me. “We’re adults. We can handle one night in the same room.”
My blood burns, anger and exhaustion clawing at my chest. “I just got benched for the first time in my career, which is hanging by a thread. And now I’m stuck in a hotel room with the one person on earth I can’t stand the thought of being alone with. I’m not as confident.”
“We’ll make it work. We’re professional colleagues,” he says, but his voice sounds as shaky as I feel. “Nothing more.”
“Right.” I snort. “Professional colleagues.”
One night. In a room with two beds and enough unresolved tension to light up Phoenix.
This is going to be a fucking disaster.