Chapter 23
Nikolai
I rip off my helmet as I leave the ice, striding down the corridor to the locker room. My fingers flex with the urge to hurtle
the helmet into my locker, but instead, I take a breath. My father was infamous for destroying equipment after losses, and
other than the occasional broken stick, I try not to give in to the impulse. It’s something I can control, even when I want
to curse and see something crack for my own satisfaction.
I missed Cooper’s pass.
I was a foot away from where I was supposed to be and fucking missed it, and we lost the game.
0-3 on the season so far. It’s officially a trend, and trends like that don’t get you anywhere near the Frozen Four.
I’m winded, my body aching with every breath. I took a shot to the ribs earlier, and even though my gear protected me, I can
feel it.
And I’d do it again, and again, and again. I’ll put myself in front of the puck as much as possible to make a stop, and I’ll
go for hard checks that result in true collisions, because if there’s one thing I’ve always known how to do, it’s put my body
on the line for the game. I put my mouth on the line, too, trying to keep the chirps fresh, and that’s led to more than a
few altercations.
No wonder Grandfather finds the whole concept of hockey distasteful.
The rest of the guys shuffle in. It’s silent, as if everyone is holding their breath, running over their role in the game
like I am.
“That was on me,” Aaron says. He’s dripping in sweat, eyes wide. “Fucking misread it.”
I spit out my mouth guard and flop onto the bench to begin the arduous process of peeling off layer after layer of gear. “No.
That was my fault. There shouldn’t have been a shot in the first place.”
“But—”
“You were great all night,” I say shortly. “I’m the one who missed the pass in the first place.”
Cooper takes off his helmet, shaking out his hair. We all stink; I’m sure he’s as sore as I am. He glances at me, his chest
still heaving.
“It was one play,” he says, but I hear the frustration in his voice loud and clear. When we’re on the ice together, we should
be working as a true pair, not misreading each other on simple fundamentals.
I wince as I pull off my chest guard. It’s not terrible—I’ve cracked ribs before, and this is definitely not that—but still,
I’m going to request an ice bath. I’ve heard all the jokes about Russians and the cold, but nothing settles me after a game,
or even a tough training session, like the shock of freezing water.
“No showers yet,” Ryder says as he comes into the room, flanked by the rest of the coaching staff. “Let’s talk for a moment.”
“That sucked,” says Micah.
Maybe I should be spending less time building him up and more time paying attention to drills with Cooper. I hate the way
my mind races after a bad loss, but I can’t help myself. It’s a fair question. There’s another game in a few days, and I’d
rather catch the puck in my teeth than lose again.
“It did,” Ryder agrees, carefully tucking his clipboard underneath his arm. “But it’s early in the season. Don’t beat yourself
up too much—the mental game is as important as the physical one.”
The guys grumble, but everyone knows it’s true. He goes over some of the high points of the game, but mercifully doesn’t call out me as the reason we lost. Dad would have, though. He was always happy to point out my mistakes in painstaking detail. If I fucked up badly enough, he’d throw my helmet or break my stick himself.
I wish I could text Isabelle to vent, but we haven’t spoken in a few days. Not since I snapped at her for asking about Dad.
I’ve tried to find a way to apologize, but every time, I just think about the look in her eyes, those shifting emotions swirling
around like fog in a crystal ball, and delete the text.
I drag my hand down my face. At least I didn’t panic in front of her.
As one of the assistant coaches takes over, sketching out the schedule for the next few days, Ryder gestures for me and Cooper
to follow him out the door. Even though I’m still in half my gear, I join them in the training room across the hallway. Ryder
seemed plenty calm in the locker room, but without the guys watching, his demeanor changes, gaze hardening as he draws himself
up to his full, considerable height. He stares at us for a long moment, arms crossed over his button-down.
“I thought we let bygones be bygones.”
“Sir?” Cooper says.
“We have,” I say, swiping my fingers through my sweaty hair.
“What did I tell you before we started the season? I need you on the same page, providing leadership.”
Cooper and I glance at each other.
“We’re doing that,” he says.
“Then why,” Ryder says with exaggerated patience, “does it seem like you’re seeing each other for the first time whenever
I send you out there together?”
“We just—”
“Sir,” I interrupt. “The loss was my fault, I know that, but—”
He puts up his hand, cutting us both off. “Get a beer together.”
I duck my head. Next to me, Cooper shifts his weight from side to side.
“Get a beer together,” he repeats, pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Do something together. You can’t just show up for practice, go your separate ways after, and expect to trust each other enough not to
fuck up when the game’s on the line.”
Cooper wipes his forehead with his sleeve. “The team’s been spending plenty of time together.”
“Don’t misunderstand me on purpose, Callahan.”
Cooper blinks. I don’t blame him; Ryder usually calls him by his first name instead of last.
“Not the team. The rest of the guys are picking it up.” He looks between us with seriousness in those pale eyes. “The two
of you. You’re supposed to be leading the team, and I have the sense you haven’t been alone together since you met in my office.”
I swipe my tongue over my lips. “It’s Cooper’s team. He’s the one they listen to.”
“That doesn’t mean you have nothing to offer.”
“He’s been putting in a lot of work with Hazelton,” Cooper says. He turns to me. “The young guys look up to you.”
I nearly do a double take. I know he asked me, but truthfully, I didn’t think he’d noticed how much I’ve been mentoring Micah.
The kid needs it; he’s been slowly improving with extra instruction. “And everyone respects you.”
“Which I appreciate,” Ryder says, softening slightly as he claps our shoulders. “But I want more from both of you. Spend some
time together, get to know each other. The more effort you put in, the faster you’ll click.”
I swallow my reflexive protests. I’ve tried to stay out of Cooper’s way because I don’t want him to get suspicious about whatever’s going on with Isabelle or mess up his relationship with the team, but Coach is right. This loss fucking sucked, and doing it over and over would suck even more. A losing season isn’t acceptable, not when the stakes are this high. This time next year, Cooper will be making a name for himself professionally, and I’ll be in my high-rise office, imprisoned in tailored suits.
“Okay,” I say. “Understood, sir.”
“We’ll have a playdate,” Cooper says, a touch dryly. “He can help me with the team formal.”
Ryder gives him an exasperated look. “You haven’t even started planning it, have you?”
I nudge him, suppressing a wince at the ache of my ribs. “Your place or mine?”