Chapter 41
Grayson
Professional sports was a bipolar industry.
When our team played well, it was the greatest feeling in the world. There were happy vibes in the locker room and at practice. My legs felt fresh and the stick was weightless in my hands. My teammates were friendly, laughing and teasing each other like they didn’t have a care in the world.
But when we were losing? Shit sucked.
There was an awkward silence in the locker room after the game.
My teammates bickered on the bus to the airport, then argued about who got to sit where on the flight back to Texas.
Our coach chewed us out, individually and as a group, like we were his own personal punching bag.
Mason took it quietly, but our goaltender got into a shouting match with the coach and then smashed a laptop against the bulkhead of the plane.
The flight was real quiet after that.
Eventually, the mood got to me and I stood up to address the plane.
“Tonight sucked. No getting around it. But it’s only one game.
If you had told me a week ago that we would split the first two games against the best team in the Western Conference, I would have celebrated.
Let’s not lose sight of the big picture.
We’re in a great position going forward, especially with the next two games at home. So pick your fucking heads up.”
I was usually good at giving the team encouragement, but it didn’t seem to work tonight. If anything, my teammates seemed annoyed that I had spoken. Even Mason remained silent in the seat next to mine, his arms crossed while he watched a movie on his laptop.
I wondered if they blamed me for the loss. It wasn’t all on my shoulders, but I had played like shit tonight. That was how things worked when you were the captain of the team: you got too much credit when you won, and too much blame when you lost.
To channel some of my frustration, I put my headphones on and selected an angry playlist. Rage Against the Machine and Limp Bizkit had been helping me deal with tough losses since I was a teenager.
But what I really wanted was to see Josie.
To take solace in her comforting embrace, and to lose ourselves in the mindless drive of our bodies.
It was too bad she wasn’t flying home until tomorrow.
I knew she was working the Spurs basketball game tomorrow night, but maybe she would want to come over afterward.
I wanted to text her, but it was three in the morning when we landed. By the time I got home, I was so tired that I passed out the moment my head hit the pillow.
I woke around noon to a media shitstorm. Or rather, Mason bombarded me with the news the moment I walked into the kitchen.
“Dude. Everything is terrible,” was the first thing he told me.
“It would be better if you let me get some coffee first,” I grumbled.
Mason blocked my path and showed me his iPad. “No. That won’t make it better.”
He caught me up on everything that had happened while I was sleeping. Apparently, Alberta had its own paparazzi, and they had been following me while we were in Edmonton. Snapping photos of my dates with Josie and blowing things out of proportion.
“Bob says you need to call him ASAP,” Mason said.
“Why didn’t he tell me himself?”
“He tried, but you keep your phone on silent when you’re sleeping. He wanted me to wake you up three hours ago, but I know better than to barge into your room when you’re sleeping.”
“Smart man. I would’ve snapped your neck.”
Mason nodded solemnly. “That’s exactly what I told Bob.”
I allowed myself to enjoy a cup of coffee before I called the Marketing Director. He told me to relax and let the story die down.
“I just want to focus on hockey,” I replied.
“Yes! Exactly. If anyone contacts you, tell them that.”
“It’s the truth. Not everything is a marketing angle, Bob.”
Bob grunted. “Trust me, Grayson: everything in this world is marketing.”
I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn’t see me. “Josie’s been blowing up my phone about this. I’ll call her back and relay the news to her.”
“No!” Bob snapped.
“Why not?”
“You don’t know who she’s talked to,” Bob warned. “For all we know, she was the one to go sell her story to TMZ.”
“I can promise you that’s not true.”
“It doesn’t matter. Listen to me, Grayson: she’s not a member of this team.
She’s a beer girl who slings makeup on the internet.
My job isn’t to protect her: it’s to protect you and the other members of the Surge.
But I can’t do that if you’re sending her messages behind my back.
Just lay low for the rest of the day, and you can talk to her tomorrow. Tell me you understand.”
“I understand,” I bit off.
I considered ignoring his advice and calling her, but a trickle of doubt entered my mind.
What if she had contacted TMZ? They paid a lot of money for stories like this.
I didn’t actually think that was true, but the possibility was enough to make me shove my phone in my pocket and drive to the team’s practice facility.
For a while, I distracted myself by exercising. Thirty minutes on the stationary bike, then an hour lifting weights. My legs were dead tired from last night’s game, but I gritted my teeth and pushed through the pain.
By the time I was done, my teammates had trickled into the practice facility.
After showering, we met in one of the conference rooms to review footage from last night’s game.
The entire team was there, including the full coaching staff.
One of the assistant coaches led the meeting, breaking everything down by periods.
“That second goal is my fault,” I said when that play came up. I pointed at the projector screen. “I thought Kasparov was hugging the wall, so when I turned to the right, he caught me off guard.”
“Your teammates could’ve warned you,” Coach announced, gazing around the room. Calder, you had a bird’s-eye view of the play developing. You need to be calling it out when their center suddenly changes position.”
“Got it, Coach,” Mason replied with a nod.
My phone lit up on the table in front of me. Out of habit, I picked it up to look at the screen. It was another text from Josie.
“Is that your girlfriend?” demanded Hunter, the backup goaltender.
“It’s bad enough she’s distracting you on the road,” Tyler said dryly. “Now she’s distracting you during team meetings. She’s fucking things up on and off the ice.”
I turned to face him. “What was that? I didn’t hear you. Please repeat it for me.”
Tyler stuck his chin out defiantly. “She’s a distraction. You shouldn’t have let her drink with us in the hotel bar. Don’t get pissed off at me—everyone here is thinking it.”
I looked around the room. A few players met my gaze, but more stared down at the table. Nobody contradicted Tyler.
My stomach tightened.
“Call your girlfriend later,” Coach snapped. “Let’s get back to the tape.”
But as we reviewed the rest of the game footage, I was lost in my own thoughts.
I tried analyzing everything that had happened in Edmonton.
I was in such a good groove for that first game, expertly passing the puck and dictating everything that happened on the ice.
In the second game, I felt off from the very start. I had no idea why.
It wasn’t because of her, was it?
I didn’t think so. Not really. But I felt rudderless as I sat in the conference room, reviewing all the ways we had blown the second game.
When we packed up to leave two hours later, I found Bob waiting outside the room. “I’ve done everything you asked,” I immediately said. “You can check my phone if you want. I haven’t so much as texted Josie.”
“I believe you. That’s not why I’m here. We’re changing strategies.”
I frowned. “What happened to laying low and waiting for the story to die?”
“It’s not working. The story is building more momentum.”
“It’s only been half a day,” I pointed out.
“Which is a lifetime on social media.” He handed me a tablet. “Suit up. I need you to read that speech in the media room. We’ll pre-record it and release it later.”
I skimmed the speech. It was only a few paragraphs. And it made a lot of sense, especially from a PR standpoint.
“All right.”
I put on a suit and went to the media room. Hopefully the statement would put everything behind me so I could focus on hockey.
I also hoped Josie would understand.