Chapter 34
An hour after the ill-fated clinic, I’m sitting in my cubicle, head in my hands.
No hockey angels wept for the class I just taught.
It was not, in fact, the most insightful ninety minutes of hockey coaching. I spent the balance of the session giving disjointed advice while a huge bruise bloomed on my chin.
The worst part is how exposed I feel. Everyone could tell how rattled I am.
When Darcy’s face suddenly appears over the wall of my cubicle, I startle violently.
“Oh my God! Why are you hiding in here?” she demands. “I’ve looked everywhere.”
“I’m not hiding,” I lie. “This is my desk, and I thought I’d enjoy it while it’s still mine.
” I pick up the Legends pencil cup and put it down again.
The ugly truth is that I was never really part of this team.
It doesn’t matter if I’m wearing a Legends jacket or not.
If they don’t accept me, it doesn’t count.
“The boss wants to see you,” Darcy says gently. “He seems pissed off. Although that’s just a normal Monday.”
“Great.”
“Don’t panic. Maybe he just wants to ask how your class went.”
Not well. I rise wearily from my fancy ergonomic chair and follow her. If he asks about the clinic, it’s hard to know what to say.
There’s also the matter of the abrasion and bruising on my face. I look like I lost a fight.
Which, fine, I guess I did. “Bet you ten bucks he’s going to tell me that if I can’t control the team, I won’t make it here. How about you let him know I already get it, and we’ll save everyone the ritual disembowelment ceremony?”
She grins. “Nope, sorry. But I will get you drunk later.”
“I can’t even afford that.”
“It will be my treat.”
I follow her to Sharp’s office, because I have no other choice. The man is behind his desk, as usual, an unnaturally large mug of coffee in his grip and a glower on his face. “Carson! Get in here and plant yourself in that chair.”
On shaky knees, I do.
“I just had Bernie sitting there.” He points at my chair. “He’s losing his mind. He says someone sabotaged your skates, but that can’t be true, right?”
I open my mouth and close it again.
“Because if it was true…” He pauses to take a gulp from his giant coffee. “I know my newest coach would knock on my fucking door and tell me herself.”
Oh. I guess it figures that a grump like Sharp would be insulted whenever he’s the last to know something. “Well, sir…” I swallow hard. “It’s been a busy morning.”
“A busy morning,” he growls. “In the first place, Bernie is worried you’ll think he did it. And he wants to install a lock on the equipment room.”
“Oh.” I relax a little bit, because that’s easily cleared up. “Tell him not to worry. Whoever did this was counting on Bernie getting the blame. It’s just logic.”
“It’s just logic,” Sharp hisses, sounding like a snake coiling to strike. “So you’ve had some time to think this through?”
The question confuses me. “Well, sure. Someone tampered with the rivets on my skates. But Bernie is too good at his job to give them back to me that way.”
“Then maybe you can tell me, if this is all so fucking logical—” He thumps a fist on the desk. “Why you’re not shocked—” Thump. “As—” Thump. “HELL that someone destroyed your skates in your place of work?”
“Destroyed?” I yelp. “That had better not be true. You’re not paying me enough to replace them.”
“Zoe Carson,” he snarls. “I’m only going to ask this once, and I expect an honest answer.” He narrows his eyes at me, and my stomach sinks. “Has anyone in this organization fucked with you before today?”
Gulp. “This is the first time anyone has tampered with my gear,” I say carefully.
“But is it the first time someone in this building has behaved in a manner that does not befit this team?”
And now I’m trapped, because if I say yes, I look like a weak loser. And if I don’t, I’m a liar, and I’ve involved poor Darcy in my deception, too. “There were a couple of rude messages, sir. But no cause for alarm.”
His face turns a frightening shade of reddish purple. Like a ripe plum. “Coach Carson, why would you tolerate behavior like that against a coach?”
“I wouldn’t!” I insist. “But the culprit is a sneaky little rat. I don’t know who he is, but until today he was too cowardly to do more than hide notes in my belongings, like a seventh-grade bully.”
“And it didn’t occur to you to tell management about your harassment? We don’t tolerate this kind of shit. It’s a hostile workplace environment!”
I didn’t think a guy who shouted all day would even know that phrase. Unless he’s just worried about lawsuits.
“Zoe,” he rumbles. “I asked you previously if all the players had done their duty by signing up for your skating sessions, and you said they did. Was that true?”
My blood pressure climbs a few more notches. “Many of them have, sir. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
Now it’s his turn to give me a look of disbelief. “How widespread is this lack of respect?”
I squirm in my chair. “Things are getting there, sir. And to be perfectly blunt, you don’t strike me as the kind of boss I can ask for help.
You told me on my first day that you didn’t think I had the chops to be your skating coach.
As if I’m not a better technical skater than anyone else in the building. ”
He slaps his hands on the desk, and his coffee cup gives a little bounce.
“You don’t understand a thing, Zoe.” He shakes his head like he just can’t believe the kind of stupidity he’s surrounded by.
“I never said you weren’t a fantastic skater.
I said I wasn’t sure you could be their coach.
And you have proved me right every day.”
“That is not true!” I argue. “My successes are piling up—”
“With the players who are easiest to manage,” he interrupts. “But you aren’t getting through to the tough cases. If I wanted a subservient coach, I coulda hired a golden retriever and paid him even less than you.”
I gulp.
“Here’s an example. On more than one occasion, I’ve heard you tell them to call you Zoe.”
“It’s my name!”
He shakes his head again. “Not on the ice, Coach Carson. In this building, you command respect, you don’t give it away for free. What use is being the best skater in the room if you can’t get the worst guys on this team to show up and listen to you?”
I feel like I’ve just been slapped.
“Tell me this—what was the topic of your clinic today?”
“Um…” I rub my temples. “Glide and efficiency.”
“Wasted opportunity!” he declares immediately. You want these guys’ attention? You coulda chosen a topic to really grab them by the balls. Like ‘seventeen ways a figure skater could kick your ass all over this motherfucking ice.’ You’ve got to lean into your strengths. Make ’em pay attention, Zoe.”
“That’s Coach Carson,” I grumble.
He smiles. “YEAH! Damn straight. Now she gets it. Don’t take any shit, Coach Carson. That is a direct order. Make no mistake—if you can’t get this team to show up for you, I will have to go find a grumpy white guy to do your job.”
“Oh God.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. Instagram will have my ass. In the meantime—and don’t tell a soul—I’m putting a goddamn camera outside the equipment room, and another one in the staff locker corridor.
We’re going to catch this gutless weasel, and I’m going to personally drop-kick him to the worst hockey team in the league. ”
It takes a second for that to sink in. But it gives me a jolt of inappropriate glee to picture Jean-Luc Moreau on a last-place team. “I hear Columbus is nice this time of year, sir.”
His chuckle is evil. “There you go. Now get out of here. I have other people to yell at today.”
“Yessir,” I say, and scramble to my feet. I still have a job! For now.
Leaving Sharp’s office, I’m a little stunned to realize that I feel better after talking to him. That’s got to be a first.
My mood holds for all of two minutes, until I’m standing in front of the espresso machine. I’m waiting for my free coffee to brew when Jean-Luc Moreau approaches me, glowering.
I brace myself.
“Eh, Zoe,” he says, rubbing his forehead as if speaking to me causes him pain. “I come to make an apology for my behavior. When you fell, I should not have laughed. That was rude, and I did not guess someone tampered with your skates.”
Rage fills my veins. But then I ask myself what Nolan Sharp would do in this situation. “First of all, it’s Coach Carson to you.”
He looks sheepish. “Oui, Coach.”
“I don’t want your apology for laughing,” I say stiffly.
“But you should be embarrassed about your lack of professional respect. So get your derriere signed up for one of my coaching sessions by the end of the day, or I’ll fine you the maximum.
And show up for the session. My time is every bit as valuable as yours. ”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says. Then he slinks away while I watch, open-
mouthed.
I hate myself a little for admitting this, but my evil boss knows a thing or two.