Stick Side (The Chicago Challengers #1)

Chapter 1

Ben

“What the fuck is the matter with you boys?” Jimmy Dodds, head coach of the Challengers, bellowed at the players scattered around the locker room.

“When I tell you to hustle, you hustle. And when I tell you to pass the puck, you better fucking well pass . . . the . . . puck. If you want to revisit your peewee days, do it on your own goddamn time!”

Ben stiffened when Coach Dodds pivoted to face him, his nostrils flaring. “What the hell was that out there, Logan? How did you miss that interception in the first period? Your mishandle set the tone for the whole shitty game!”

Ben’s eyes widened. He felt like he’d played well considering he was still finding his footing with a new team, but Coach Dodds’ words struck him like fists, nonetheless.

Eric Cassidy, a tall blond defenseman who bore a striking resemblance to Captain America, snickered. “I would’ve liked to have seen any player in the league touch that puck dump.”

Ben watched as Dodds’ already-ruddy complexion darkened to an angry red before he spun around, ready to confront the defiance his player had just exhibited.

“What was that, Cassidy?” Dodds growled. “Because, if it wasn’t an explanation for the clumsy way you played out there, I don’t want to hear it. For a defenseman, you did a pathetic job of defending your goalie.”

Ben noted the tense lines of Cassidy’s body. It was apparent he took umbrage at the comment, but he held his tongue. Given the way the two men were staring each other down, Ben wondered how often Cassidy had spoken up to their coach only to be further criticized.

Ben sucked in his cheeks as a sour taste entered his mouth.

He was no stranger to criticism. Hockey players didn’t make it to the NHL without experiencing their fair share of dressing down, but after what he’d just witnessed, he’d guess Coach Dodds took faultfinding to the extreme.

It was little wonder the room was silent save for the uncomfortable shuffling of feet and the irate huffs of their coach’s breathing.

Ben noticed the way a few guys flinched when Coach Dodds swung back around to face them. Looking at his teammates, Ben could see he wasn’t the only one wondering what their coach might say next.

Dodds pulled his lips back into an angry sneer as he addressed the room at large.

“Unless you want to finish your careers in Bulgaria,” he raged, “you’d better pull your sorry asses together.

If I didn’t need you to play on Friday night, I’d let you all cry off just so we could save ourselves more of the same humiliation. ”

Dodds threw his clipboard across the room with a vehemence that made a few players jump. He marched over to his office and wrenched open the door before slamming it with a resounding bang.

Silence greeted his exodus.

The seconds ticked by painfully until John Richards, a friend and once-again teammate, hit Ben with a gentle elbow to the ribs and joked, “Welcome to Chicago, buddy.”

Cassidy pressed his lips together in sympathy and mimed a cheers.

Welcome to Chicago, indeed.

Drayton McGuire, the assistant coach, coughed in order to gain the players’ attention before stepping into the space the head coach had just vacated.

“I think what Coach Dodds meant to say”—Coach McGuire’s voice was in no way soft, but it was a great deal gentler than Dodds’ had been—“is that tonight’s game didn’t demonstrate the level of play we’ve grown accustomed to seeing from you during the preseason. ”

McGuire’s sentiments regarding the head coach’s outburst were hidden behind a mask of inscrutability so potent Ben couldn’t hope to guess what he truly felt. He was the consummate professional.

Coach McGuire turned to face Eric Cassidy. “Cassidy, you have the heart of a lion and the agility of a gazelle,” McGuire praised. “You’re so nimble that you could have made a fortune as a Hollywood action star if you weren’t such a damn fine hockey player.”

“Look out, Daniel Craig!” someone called out.

Ben could feel the tension in the room lessen as a few of his teammates twittered at the idea of the tall, brawny defenseman starring as the next James Bond.

“Logan,” Coach McGuire continued as he adjusted his stance to face Ben.

“Is there a crystal ball inside your head? I know you’ve been in the NHL for a long time, but premonition is the only thing that can explain how you always seem to know where the puck is heading.

You manage to execute plays the opposing team doesn’t even see coming.

No wonder you’re one of the top ranked offensive players in the league.

” Coach McGuire’s lips curved up into a welcoming smile.

“I’m just glad you’re playing for us now. It’s good to have you on the team.”

Ben felt an ember of pride warm his chest. He’d been warned when his agent first reached out about brokering a deal with the Challengers that Dodds could be a hard coach to play for, but the idea of playing in his home state had appealed to him so much he hadn’t given the warning any merit.

Now that he’d witnessed just how difficult Dodds could be, it was nice to know that at least one of his coaches was happy to have him on the team.

Coach McGuire continued his plaudits of individual players for a few more minutes before facing the group. “We have a phenomenal amount of talent in this room. It’s unique and diversified and capable of making us a force this season. We just need to keep doing the work we started in preseason.”

Ben liked the way Coach McGuire sought each player’s eyes, as if to tell them although he hadn’t mentioned their name, he was praising them, too.

“I’ll be honest with you,” the assistant coach went on.

“Coach Dodds and I have seen all the other teams play and reviewed their rosters. None of those teams have anything we don’t and few, if any, have what we do.

I’m going to go out on a limb and say that, with discipline and a little team building, the Cup is ours if we’re willing to work for it. ”

No one needed Coach McGuire to specify which “cup” he was referring to.

There was only one worth mentioning in the world of professional hockey, and his name was Stanley.

Ben started banging his stick against the floor in enthusiastic support of Coach McGuire’s assertion.

His teammates joined in until the sound was near deafening.

Coach McGuire held up his hand until the team quieted. “We had one bad game, folks. It’s not the end of the world. It’s over and done with. It’s time to place our focus on our immense potential. If we want to win the Cup, all we have to do is reach for it. From now on, it’s onward and upward.”

He capped off his speech with a confident smile and a single nod before setting off in the direction of Coach Dodds’ office.

Onward and upward. Ben liked the sound of that—especially when Dodds’ diatribe had left him wondering whether his trade to Chicago was going to be a disaster.

Ben shivered as he stepped under the shower’s cold spray. He reached for the fresh bar of soap he’d nabbed from the team’s generously stocked supply cupboard and made fast work of lathering himself up and rinsing off the suds.

The enticing aroma of cedar and sandalwood perfumed the air as he took the time to massage a glob of shampoo into his short dark hair. He savored the adrenaline rush of the chilly stream striking his warm skin before dunking his head beneath the showerhead and turning off the faucet.

He lifted his hands to brush away the water running down his face before drying himself off and securing the warm terrycloth around his hips. The audible flip-flop of his shower shoes accompanied him down the hall.

Ben felt enlivened as he crossed the changing room toward his locker. Despite tonight’s loss and Coach Dodds’ demoralizing post-game analysis, life was good. He’d just experienced the fulfilment of his childhood dreams, and he wasn’t about to let Jimmy Dodds take that away from him.

Ben’s heart had felt fit to burst when the team captain, Kevin Phillips, had scored their lone goal of the game.

As Technotronic’s 1980s chart-topper hit “Pump Up the Jam” blared over the speakers, he’d been transported back in time to the days when he and his family used to make the two-hour drive from his hometown of Mount Carroll up to Chicago to cheer for their team.

He didn’t know when the tradition had started, but for as long as he could remember, the first goal of every game was commemorated with that song.

As the music filled the arena, whichever player had scored the goal celebrated by dancing around the ice.

The crowd ate it up. The bolder players might skate backward and show off some serious hip-and-booty action, but even the most subdued players were known to offer up at least a little arm dance.

The Challengers were a fun team. It was just one of many things that drew him to Chicago.

Ben had barely been old enough to skate when his dad had brought him to his first hockey game.

He could still close his eyes and remember the cold smell of the air, the competing scents of hot dogs and popcorn butter.

The crowd had been wild, buzzing with a camaraderie he’d yet to experience in his young life.

In the space of an evening, the Challengers had stolen a piece of his heart and he’d never gotten it back.

When he’d taken the ice tonight and played his first game as a Challenger, it had felt like coming home.

It was only in his wildest imaginings that he’d dared to hope his boyhood ambition of playing for his home team might one day become a reality.

He’d considered pinching himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, but he’d resisted the impulse.

If it was a dream, it was one he hadn’t wanted to wake up from.