8. Ethan #2
“You don’t belong here,” Reed hisses. I can feel the eyes of everyone on the team—including Coach—on the back of my neck.
The tension on the ice is suffocating, everyone having stopped to watch the ongoing train wreck.
I’m not sure whether to intervene or let Reed get it out of his system.
Maybe then he’ll calm down and stop running his mouth.
“You’re a joke.” Reed’s gaze slowly drops over her, lips curling in a sneer. “You think Coach is gonna pick you over me? ”
“He will if you keep playing like that ,” Dylan shoots back without hesitation, her eyes blazing.
Sliding right into his space, their helmets nearly touch as she pokes him in the chest. “Maybe if you put as much effort into your plays as you do bitching about me, you wouldn’t feel so threatened by a girl. ”
I can see the venom in Reed’s eyes. The way his hands twitch at his sides. I know that look. I’ve seen it right before he’s slammed someone into the boards. Right before the gloves come off.
Shit .
I shoot forward, wedging myself between them before things can boil over. I shove them apart, one hand on Reed’s chest, the other pressing against Dylan’s shoulder.
“Enough!” My voice is sharp, cutting through the escalating chaos.
Reed glares at me, his chest heaving, but I don’t let up. I point a finger in his face, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Skate it off. Now.”
For a moment, he doesn’t move, his jaw working like he’s biting back every curse word in his arsenal. Then he finally turns, muttering loud enough for me to catch as he skates away, “Traitorous teammates.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, but I don’t react. I can’t. Not here, not now. I exhale through my nose, forcing myself to focus on Dylan, who’s still glaring at Reed’s retreating form.
“You good?” I ask her, my voice quieter but still firm.
She blinks, dragging her gaze back to me, then nods. “Yeah. I’m good.”
I nod once and skate toward the bench, my mind already racing. Reed’s temper is bad enough in normal circumstances, but this is something else entirely.
Coach meets me at the gate. His expression is like stone as he stares me down, one eyebrow arched in a way that tells me he’s not impressed.
He tilts his chin toward Reed, who’s at the far end of the rink, still fuming. His voice is low, meant solely for me. “Can you handle that, or do I need to?”
The words hit harder than they should. My jaw tightens, and I force myself to meet his gaze without flinching. It pisses me off, the implication that Reed’s inability to keep his temper—or just play the damn game—is making Coach question my leadership. My ability to keep this team in line.
My ability to captain this team.
“I can handle it.” My voice is steady, sure, even though my pulse pounds in my ears.
Coach studies me for a moment, his eyes hard, before he questions, “This ignore rule you’ve put in place regarding Carter, do you feel that’s the best approach?”
I bite down on my tongue to keep my initial response from leaking out. Why is everyone questioning me about this? What the hell else do they suggest I do?
Feeling defensive, I cross my arms over my chest as I shuffle back and forth on my skates. “What’s the point in instigating World War Three when she could be riding the bench all season?”
He cocks a brow, and his expression is eerily similar to the one Dylan used on me the other night. “Do you truly think she will be?”
Once again, I have to resist the urge to grind my teeth.
That’s the fucking problem, isn’t it? Because, no. I do not believe she’s going to be sitting on the bench all season. I don’t think she’s going to be on the bench at all. And I haven’t the first fucking clue what to do about that.
I don’t know if he can read the answer in my expression, or if he doesn’t feel he needs one, but he doesn’t wait for a verbal response from me. With a clap of my shoulder, he moves past me, and I turn to watch him stride toward his office.
An itch prickles at my skin. Not having Coach’s unwavering trust. Not having my players’ respect. Having people thwart the rules I put in place…
The itching grows incessant. Nope. No, can’t have it. I need to be in control. I need to be the one calling the shots. The one they all listen to—abide by.
A player marches past me toward the locker room, the name printed on the back of their jersey catching my eye. “Carter!” I call.
She stops in her skates, helmet clutched in her hand. Her shoulders tense before she slowly turns to face me.
“Captain.” There’s a stiffness to her tone that I don’t like, but I don’t call her out on it as I wave her over. She cautiously approaches.
“If Reed baits you like that again,” I begin, voice low but firm, “ignore him.”
She reels back, mouth dropping open as her eyes widen. “Ignore him?” she repeats, as though double-checking she heard me right.
“He’s looking for a reaction out of you. He wants you to do something that will mess up your game.”
“And your solution is for me to ignore him . Not to tell him to stop acting like a petulant three-year-old or give him consequences for starting shit during practice? Have I got that right, Captain ?”
My teeth grind. Goddamn this woman .
“Are you going to do as I say or not, Carter?” I snap, straightening to my full height.
She taps her finger against her chin as though thinking about it.
The action alone sends my blood pressure through the roof.
This fucking woman . A goddamn thorn in my side.
I don’t have the same issues with her as Kyle, but my God, is she starting to get under my skin.
Her absolute lack of respect for authority.
For the chain of command. For my command.
“I am the captain of this team,” I remind her sternly. “I am your captain.”
Dylan drops her act, staring me straight in the eye.
The flecks of gold in her irises spark to life beneath the bright lights of the arena, burning with a raw intensity.
“Until you earn my respect, you’re not my anything.
I value you as a player, as a teammate, but, so far, you haven’t done anything as a captain that I find worth respecting. ”
With that, she stomps off in her skates, leaving me practically billowing steam in her wake. My hands clench at my sides, and I close my eyes, forcing myself to take a breath. To calm the blood pumping through my system. To just breathe.
Snapping them open, I look up to find Griffin staring at me. Jesus, how long has he been doing that for? “Got a problem, Price?”
He smirks, shaking his head. I get the strange sense he’s laughing at me, but you never quite know with Griffin. He’s a bit of an oddball. Shoots the shit, plays the part, but I’ve always sensed something…off about him.
“Nope.”
Before I can ask him what the hell he’s looking at then, he walks off.
Jesus, what a shitshow of a day.
“Everyone hit the showers!” I bark, rounding up the stragglers still hanging around the rink.
I follow them down the tunnel, yanking off my helmet and running my fingers through my sweat-slicked hair as I push it out of my face.
Before I step into the locker room, I force out a breath, trying to regain control over my emotions. To find some semblance of control.
I’m pissed at Coach for putting me in this situation. At Reed for being a grade-A asshole. At Dylan for choosing my team to make her stand. Why the hell couldn’t she just have stayed at her old college?
This is a complete disaster, and I fear it’s only going to get worse.
Reed’s already teetering on the edge, and if Friday doesn’t go the way he expects, he’s going to blow.
I’m not the only one who realizes that. I can feel the rest of the team exchanging glances as I step into the locker room, wondering the same thing I am—what the hell is going to happen come Roster Day?
And how the hell do I keep this team from blowing up with him?