Chapter 60
Ben
It took some fancy footwork, but he managed to carve open a great spot in front of the net. He caught Knight’s eye and called for the puck. It was a beautiful pass, landing right in the pocket of his stick, but the puck somehow managed to glance off it.
The puck was picked up by Anton Minkowski, one of the Avalanche’s leading scorers. Ben cursed and chased the puck down the ice, determination fueling his every stride.
With a physicality he wasn’t known for, he checked Minkowski into the boards and regained possession of the puck.
He spotted Volkov in the goalie’s blind spot and took an extra millisecond to line up his pass. Volkov took the opportunity he was given and tapped the puck through the five hole. Cheers erupted from the Challengers’ bench.
Ben hustled over to the box for a line change. Once seated, he flipped up his visor and chugged some water. Relief coursed through his system. He might have screwed up out there, but at least he’d corrected it. Now, all the current line had to do was maintain their lead and the win was theirs.
Richie tapped Ben’s padded leg with the flat of his hockey stick. “What the hell was that out there? I’ve never seen you check a player into the boards like that.” His tone was bewildered but lacking any true censure.
Even though Richie was about as physical a player as they came, Ben reflexively scrunched up his shoulders. “It was a clean hit,” he stated defensively.
“That hit was textbook perfect,” Volkov added, his Russian accent somehow always more pronounced after burning it up on the ice.
“I guess I felt I had something to prove,” Ben admitted as he rubbed the back of his neck as best he could with a gloved hand.
“If that’s the way you prove your point, Logan,” Coach Dodds interrupted, while still keeping his attention primarily on the ice, “feel free to keep asserting yourself,” Dodds said in as close to a compliment as Ben could have hoped for.
Dodds shot him a quick look before adding, “Next time, just be sure to also keep the puck on your damn stick.”
Ben acknowledged Coach Dodds’ point with a tilt of his head, not that Dodds was looking at him to see it.
Ben was a good shot, but his real skill as a player lay in his ability to see empty space, lead a play, and pass the puck to execute the vision.
If he could add a few good hits to his repertoire, great, but not if it came at the expense of the skills that made him the player he was.
The Challengers didn’t need another grinder.
If they did, management would have traded for one instead of a playmaker like him.
Ben turned his attention back to the ice. The Avalanche were frantically trying to tie things up in the remaining two minutes. Luckily for Ben and the rest of his team, Colorado’s desperation was making them sloppy.
Avalanche defenseman Gordon Alexander overshot a pass and iced the puck.
Alexander lined up with Phillips in the Avalanche’s zone and waited for the puck to drop.
Ben heard Coach Dodds groan when Phillips lost the faceoff, giving the Avalanche another chance to score. Never one to quit, Phillips raced up the ice, fighting the clock with every glide of his skate blades.
Somehow, Phillips managed to overtake Alexander and steal the puck. With an agility one wouldn’t expect from such a big guy, Phillips turned around and sped back up the ice.
“Shoot it,” Dodds yelled when there were only a handful of seconds left on the clock.
Doing as instructed, Phillips took a shot on goal.
Despite the poor angle, he managed to execute a stunning wrister.
Unfortunately, it was met by an even more stunning glove-side save by Avalanche goalie Sean Timmins.
That was why Timmins had been a first-round draft pick.
He had one of the fastest gloves in the league.
Timmins’ glove had barely closed around the puck when the horn went off, signaling the end of the game.
The bench erupted in victorious shouts and cheers around Ben. Winning never got old, but Ben liked to think that age had at least made them all better sports about it.
The team filed off the bench and out onto the ice to shake hands with the other team.
“That was some hit,” Minkowski snickered when he and Ben lined up to shake hands.
Ben eyed him critically. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Hockey was a physical sport, and it was just the nature of the game that players got hurt sometimes. Still, it hadn’t been his intention to harm Minkowski when he’d slammed him into the boards.
Minkowski dropped his accusatory facade. “Nah, man,” he assured. “It mainly just smarts because I didn’t expect a hit like that from you. It took me by surprise.” He twisted his lips. “After years in the NHL, I should know better. Always expect the unexpected, you know?”
Ben nodded, a sporting but genuine smile on his lips. Always expect the unexpected indeed. In hockey and in life.
“Good game,” Minkowski added as they both moved up their respective lines.
After all the post-game niceties were taken care of, Ben followed his teammates through the tunnel and into the locker room. The overall mood was high following their win.
Ben made his way over to his locker and started to pull off his gear. Once done, he pulled his cellphone out of his bag. He unlocked his home screen and opened his texting app. He had messages from Tali, his parents, and his agent, but nothing from Melody.
Ben heaved a massive sigh of frustration. The media circus surrounding the Cynthia Hargraves ordeal had shifted something in their relationship. And not for the better. Melody’s behavior made that plain. He just wished he knew what, why, and perhaps most importantly, how to fix it.
“Logan!” Coach Dodds shouted from the office he’d commandeered from the opposing team.
A feeling of dread overtook him as a sense of foreboding déjà vu filled him. Ben was dripping with sweat and eager to shower, but he did no more than securely knot a towel around his waist before responding to Dodds’ summons.
For the second time this week, Ben walked into an office to find both Coach Dodds and Coach McGuire waiting on him. Ben didn’t like the drawn look on Coach McGuire’s face.
“I’ll leave you to deal with this one,” Dodds spoke to Coach McGuire before quitting the room.
Well, that was cryptic.
Something unpleasant churned in Ben’s gut. He didn’t know what Coach McGuire was going to say, but he felt certain he wasn’t going to like it.
“Take a seat, Logan,” Coach McGuire said in a tone that Ben thought held notes of tired resignation.
“Is this where you chew my ass out for the shitty way I’ve been playing recently?” Ben was usually far better at guarding his words and minding his manners, but he just didn’t have it in him at the moment.
Coach McGuire ignored the question, asking instead, “Is everything all right?”
Ben had more than reached his bullshit quota over the past few days of dealing with his lawyer, agent, and PR team to get the myriad media outlets circulating his story to print retractions and to get the woman who had accused him of fathering her child to issue a formal apology.
He felt drained and too tired to beat around the bush, so he opted for directness.
“I think we both know that it isn’t.” Ben gave his coach an explicit look. “And I think we both know why.”
Coach McGuire flinched. “You’ve seen the pictures then?”
Ben’s blood ran cold. “What pictures?” he said slowly. There was no doubt that Ben had seen the original photograph, so these must be new pictures.
Coach McGuire appeared regretful as he reached for his cellphone and then slid it over to Ben.
A part of Ben was afraid to look down, but he soldiered on. More often than not, the only way out was through.
Ben swore when he took in the contents on the screen. “You have got to be kidding me.”
The headline of the article Coach McGuire had pulled up for him to read was a blow to his already bruised soul.
“Did False Accusations Torpedo Benjamin Logan’s Real Relationship?”
“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “It wasn’t enough for The Chicago Voice to print false news and upset my family. Now they’re taking another go at me?”
He glanced up to see Coach McGuire wince.
The article was brief, essentially summarizing what had taken place with Cynthia Hargraves before saying that rumor had it Ben and Melody had become involved prior to the scandal.
The article then went on to question whether it had all been too much for Melody, and to suggest she’d chosen to cut the bait and fish in less complicated waters.
“Ms. McGuire, who readers might recall is the daughter of Chicago Challengers’ assistant coach, Drayton McGuire, was recently seen looking very cozy with an unknown man,” Ben read aloud.
The angle of the photograph showed Melody in profile.
While Ben would bet money it was her and not some doppelg?nger, her expression wasn’t clear.
What was clear, however, was the handsome man leaning across the table, pressing his hand against Melody’s arm, and staring at her with what looked like considerable depth of feeling.
“Is there any chance this is Melody’s ex?
” Ben asked hopefully, eager to find a simple explanation as to why another man would have been touching her and looking at her with such longing.
At this point, Ben wouldn’t put it past reporters trying to make a buck to dig up an old photograph for no other reason than to stir up trouble and make a story out of it.
“I’m afraid not,” Coach McGuire said, dashing Ben’s hopes with just a few words. “I know Jeremy.” Coach McGuire used his head to gesture at the photograph. “And that isn’t him.”
“Then who . . . ?” Ben thought aloud, fearing he might already have the answer.
Ben saw regret register on Coach McGuire’s face.
“Captain Thom’s grandson?” Ben thought aloud.