Chapter Five #2
Just because I don’t scream and yell and strip them to the bone every practice like Cruz and Dom doesn’t mean I don’t care.
It’s the opposite; I care so much that I’m trying whatever I can to reach them.
Stuff they aren’t used to, since whatever they’ve been doing the last few years clearly didn’t work.
But the men think today’s tactic was a bust.
Message received. I just didn’t expect to receive it so loudly from Leo.
Or how much it’d bother me, coming from him.
“Dom is waiting,” I manage around the rock in my throat. “He’ll know what to do with you.”
Something flashes in Leo’s expression before he slips out the door.
I drop onto a seat and let the stored-up breath leave my lungs.
Foolishly, I thought this would go so much better. That we’d at least have a laugh and enjoy a morning spent somewhere other than the rink.
“He deserved to be chewed out for that,” Vivi insists, taking a seat beside me. “They all deserve it for walking out.”
I glance sideways at her. “Thanks, but I shouldn’t have brought them here and we both know it.”
“Swinging an axe isn’t going to hurt them. They’re premier athletes with lethal arms.”
“But if there’s even the smallest chance it could, then this wasn’t worth it. They were right not to participate. Their arms are worth more than what I was hoping to accomplish. I made a mistake.”
“But it’s not about their arms, at the end of the day.
It’s about their shitty attitudes. They could’ve declined to chop and asked you what’s next.
Instead, Ivan called Thing One and Thing Two and bypassed your authority.
Again. It’s all they’ve done since day one.
If you want my advice, it’s that you need to lay down the law, Sadie.
They answer to you. Period. Cruz and Dom were passed over for the head role for a reason. ”
I spin the silver band on my finger, because anything can be an anxiety ring if you fidget with it enough.
Despite the guys walking out and all their comments, my gut still tells me the iron fist isn’t going to get us where we need to go. That they’re clinging to Dom and Cruz’s method of drill, yell, torture, repeat because that’s what they know—not because it’s what they need.
The problem is, I don’t fully know what they need yet, because I can’t get to know them in a meaningful way beyond what level of asshole they feel like being on any given day.
So far, Nic has held steady at a level zero.
Callum, a level four. Lachlan, a consistent seven until provoked by Ivan. Ivan, a level ten plus plus.
And Leo…
I press my teeth together. Hard. As he so generously pointed out, the men don’t take me seriously. They don’t trust me.
I’ll never get anywhere until they do.
Knowing them and what makes them tick, and finding ways to relate to them, is fundamental to my coaching style. I form strong, healthy working relationships. It worked wonders for me with Team USA, and Jax told me when he hired me to do the same thing with this team.
Without those relationships, my tactical coaching advice—of which I have plenty after observing their play—will go ignored. I’ve been trying to figure out what’s important to these guys, but each of them stands in my way. Literally. They’re big, hulking roadblocks of silence and disrespect.
There’s this assumption that moving into the pros means you stop needing the emotional support a college athlete needs—that you stop being a complex human being just because you can suddenly pay your bills.
But no matter how old you are, or how many years you’ve been a pro, you still need a coach who cares, if you’re going to play your best.
If Mark Jenkins, my coach during my too-short PWHL run, cared about me the way my college coach did, or taken the time to get to know me at all, he would’ve believed me when I said I needed to be taken out the night that ruined my career for good.
But he didn’t listen.
He didn’t pay attention.
He didn’t care. At all.
If he had, he would’ve known I never half-assed a single thing or took an easy way out, which meant that when I said something was wrong, I really meant it. If he had listened to me, I wouldn’t have had potentially a decade or more of playing time stolen from me.
His indifference still haunts me. And that’s why I look at the men on my team as people first, not just players.
But how do I get them to let me in?
Vivi walks backward toward the door. “Ready to go?”
“Very ready.” I stand and follow her. “On the rather dim bright side, at least the guys have a common enemy now.”
Vivi’s gaze flicks suggestively to Elijah, who has busied himself on his phone.
“Me, Viv. I’m the common enemy.”
She nods sagely. “Right. Of course. That’s exactly what I meant.”
With any luck, their anger at me will bring them closer to each other. Then at least today won’t have been a total wash.
Jax tents his hands beneath his chin, watching the disastrous scrimmage from the stands behind me. He could be a broker pinned to the trading floor, watching the market freefall into oblivion.
I grimace as I return my attention back toward the ice. No need for further confirmation of what I already know.
The boss is worried. Terrified, even. And he’s probably regretting hiring me already.
But I can’t let his fears under my skin. They’ll cloud my judgment and I need to stay sharp if I’m going to deliver.
My father’s encouragement plays in my mind on a loop. You know the sport. You were made for this job. You’ve been bossing hockey players around since you were eight years old—they just didn’t know it, since you were yelling at my television.
As Cruz and Dom, unofficial refs of the game, charge toward three players scuffling against the boards—willing to risk injury to their own teammates, scrimmage be damned—I’m not certain that knowing hockey is enough.
I need some kind of breakthrough. They need something to believe in. And with the first game hurtling toward us, we need it fast.
White-knuckling my way through the rest of the alarming show, I murmur notes into my phone until it’s time to end the game. I’m briefly stalled in my almost nonstop commentary by a potential turnover—
But Leo chops at the puck, not through it, his shoulder tucked, the motion half-hearted—and the play dies before it can break open.
“C’mon, Leo,” I groan. That was weak. And judging by his demeanor as he skates off, he knows it, too.
I lower my phone, press stop on the voice recorder, and blow the whistle.
Even though there was a “winning” team in this scrimmage, the air is thick with contention on both sides as they strip off gloves and helmets to gather off the ice.
Cruz and Dom drop into seats on the bleachers, subdued for a change. This is the part where they usually berate me or challenge my authority, but even two broken clocks shut up twice a day.
Especially when their boss is in the room. They don’t dare say a cross word when Jax is around.
“Hydrate and bring it in,” I tell the team. My ponytail pulls too hard at my scalp as I wait for them to gather. I already regret scheduling an extra set of drills in the morning with Vivi; as much as they need them, we are all feeling the pressure ramping up.
The group gathers in various stages of haggard, defeated, and annoyed. I know that feeling all too well, when you want so badly to play your best hockey, but the alchemy just isn’t there. Things aren’t clicking.
With our first game just around the corner, I need to strike a balance between correcting their issues and raising their spirits.
I take a steadying breath. “I won’t keep you long, but we should have a conversation while the scrimmage is still fresh. First, I want to start off by saying—”
My attention is abruptly stolen by Ivan slinging his bag over his shoulder and walking off.
Maybe on another day, I’d let him go. But as I scan the group, every player is watching him. Looking to him as an example.
Their captain.
“Czernecki,” I call after his back. “We’re not done.”
He flashes his profile, not bothering to turn all the way around. “We’ve got to be back in less than an hour for game tape. I have shit to do.”
“I understand that. I’m sure we’d all like a break. I just need a few minutes of your time.”
A muscle in his sweaty jaw tics. He turns slowly, his face a mask of sharp lines and cold bitterness as he returns to the group. He takes his earbuds out of his pocket and notches them into place. “Ridiculous.”
“Prick,” Leo grumbles under his breath.
Ivan’s gaze slides to him. “You got something to say for once?”
“You think your time is more valuable than mine?” Leo asks. He gestures sideways before snapping down his arm like the move hurt him. And it probably did, since Ivan shoved him into the boards a few minutes ago. “Or theirs?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. Was that not clear when I outplayed every last one of you?”
“Unbelievable.” Leo speaks through clenched teeth. “You were moving dirty out there on your own fucking team—”
A cold laugh escapes Ivan’s mouth as he crowds Leo’s space. “Spare me. While you’ve been busy being the NHL’s biggest nepo draft of all fuckin’ time, I was busy being captain of these losers. If you can’t handle pressure in a game, then get out of here and stop wasting everybody’s time.”
“What kind of captain trash-talks their own teammates?” His voice holds a menacing growl. “You’re a sad excuse for a leader.”
“Maybe.” Ivan’s voice glints with malice as he lowers his voice to a chilling tone. “But at least I’m not a sad excuse for a player.”
Leo’s eyes flare with rage. I suppress the urge to jump in. Leo is a lot of things, but no one can or should deny that he has one of the most storied careers in modern history—least of all his teammate.
“Back off, Czernecki.” Callum bands a protective arm across Leo’s chest, driving him back to take things into his own hands.
I know for a fact he and Leo butt heads, which tells me that Callum’s dislike of Ivan is even stronger.
“He’s one of us now. And if we’re such losers, what does that say about you? ”
I blow the whistle to cut off the fight before it escalates. It feels like slaying only one of Medusa’s snakes, but it’s all I can do right now. “Enough.”
Forget the speech. Any practical tips I wanted to share about their strengths and weaknesses during the scrimmage will need to wait until they’re in a better position to receive them. “You’re dismissed.”
My words don’t seem to penetrate.
“Be back at two,” I say louder, more firmly. “As scheduled.”
As the team disperses, I can’t help but watch Leo.
He doubles back to gather his stuff off the bleachers.
His muscles are coiled tight, everything about him still riled up by what just played out.
He looks like a wildcat ready to either pounce or stalk off into the shadows, depending on who crosses him next.
But despite all the baiting, he resisted the urge to fight Ivan. He let Callum defuse the situation, even as tension radiated off his big body in waves and his eyes screamed say one more word.
That is a level of restraint most hotheaded hockey players never attain. Especially rough-and-tumble defensemen who live and breathe a fight.
He turns his head and catches me looking. Our gazes tangle. Awareness moves through me in a slow, thick wave. There is a magnetic quality to his intensity.
I force myself to look away. His pull on my awareness lessens the farther he gets, like he’s releasing me from his orbit.
Other people must notice it, too—the way this man can dominate a room without uttering a word. Suck you in with just a look. I toy with asking Vivi if she’s experiencing the same thing, but the thought of voicing the question aloud brings a shock of heat to my cheeks.
As soon as Cruz and Dom exit behind the team, Jax’s throat clearing startles me.
I didn’t realize he’d moved to my side. It speaks to how deeply in my head I am, since most people would notice a man the size of an air traffic control tower materializing beside them.
“Rivers.” The word is measured.
Somehow I hear my name for what it is.
A directive, laced with the full weight of what he just observed. What we’ve all observed for weeks now.
I inhale the smell of ice and metal. Exhale the inevitability of what’s next. “I know.”
“He hasn’t given us a choice. And the longer we wait, the worse it’ll be. You know what you need to do.”
Unfortunately, I do.
But that doesn’t mean it’ll be easy.