Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ari
It’s astonishing what a difference a week can make, even when it’s my own attitude it’s making a difference to. This is only my second full day in this liaison role, but I hate it a lot less. Dare I say that I’m looking forward to this challenge?
Yes. I am.
I still don’t fully understand hockey, and I doubt anyone is ever going to be able to make me a fan, but I definitely see the appeal of the game.
I’ll freely admit that last week, sitting in that arena, I felt the urgency and thrill of the crowd.
I walked in not caring who won or even knowing who was playing, knowing nothing about either team, and by the end of the first period, I’d picked who I wanted to win, and I felt their highs and lows as keenly as if I’d been supporting them my whole life.
Even though a few times, Felix had to explain to me that it was a low, because I don’t know enough to be able to spot a penalty or what the referees’ signals mean.
Incidentally, I picked the away team, which may have won me Jared’s enmity.
It wasn’t on purpose. I’ve always had soft feelings for the underdog, and there weren’t many people cheering for them.
(Because they’re the away team, and most people attending the home team’s game are locals who support their city’s team.
The logic is impeccable, but somehow in the heat of the moment, it escaped me.)
The point is, the game is magnetic, and I agree with Erik and everyone else’s assessment that once we get elves and dragons watching it, they’ll join the fandom. The dragons especially. In fact, I strongly suspect that rinks and lakes this winter will be full of dragons learning to ice skate.
I tap out a quick note to give someone a heads-up about that. I’m not sure who, because Wingleader Brandt is a menace, and Steffen, the head of dragon security, scares me just as much as he scares every other sensible living being. That’s the reason I avoid him as much as possible.
There are other reasons, but they make me sick to think of.
On the ice, one of the new assistant coaches blows her whistle and shouts something that makes no sense to me whatsoever but has the players scrambling.
I write down what she said, word for word, to ask Erik or Felix about later.
It’s probably not relevant to my role here, but if I’m going to learn this sport, I’m going to do it right.
That’s partly why I’m watching today’s training session.
The other part is to see if we can incorporate anything they’re doing into a “train with the players” type of activity.
Most of my notes so far fall into the category of “things that can’t be done around children.
” I was in the army, so I’m used to swearing, but these guys might match us in that department.
I’m not sure what the players are supposed to be doing right now—it seems to be some kind of drill where one person has the puck and the other person, skating backward, tries to…
stop them? Trip them? Make them yell expletives?
All things that are happening. It’s interesting, because even as limited as my hockey knowledge is, I think I can see the difference in skill level between these players and the ones in the human league.
Felix was quick to point out rules and elements of play that are different in the CHL—faster skating and rougher play being the big ones—but also the areas where the NHL outclasses the CHL.
Stick handling and some parts of general puck handling were at the top of his list, and seeing the way the players are skating with the puck now, I think I see it.
They’re faster than the humans were the other night, but their movements are clumsier.
On the heels of that thought, Felix, who was skating backwards in front of a player twice his size—I’m not sure who, since their practice jerseys don’t have names on the back—steals the puck, deftly maneuvers around his drill partner, and zips off down the ice.
I resist the urge to leap to my feet and cheer the way I did at the game last week.
This is only practice, and Coach would probably throw me out.
Considering a couple of journalists are here, that wouldn’t be good publicity for our forthcoming press release.
A whistle blows, and Felix stops in a spray of ice. The player he stole the puck from is skating toward him, a mean glower on his face, and before I can fully process that he doesn’t intend to stop, he’s slamming right into Felix. Who goes flying.
I’m on my feet and halfway to the boards before I realize it, but then Felix is up, stick in a two-handed grip, swinging at his teammate’s midsection with enough force that I hear the impact from about eighty feet away.
It strikes right at the bottom of the rib cage, where, if I remember right, there’s no padding.
The player doubles over and then drops to his knees, and Felix tosses his stick aside and charges, knocking his teammate flat.
From the way he lifts his elbow, I’m fairly certain he plans to drop on top of him and do some further damage, but two of his other teammates restrain him and pull him away.
One gets an elbow to the ribs for his trouble.
And then Coach Locke is there, his face set in hard lines.
His voice is low enough that neither I nor the reporters standing a couple of yards from me can hear (no matter how far forward they both lean), but the impact of his words is clearly visible.
Felix stops fighting against his teammates’ hold and hangs his head, then nods.
The two bigger players holding him cautiously let go and back away, and he skates to the side of the rink, steps off the ice, and rapidly disappears down the hallway to the dressing room.
On the ice, the player he felled is being helped to his feet, and a trainer is hovering, ready to assess him, but Coach Locke is still talking, and whatever he’s saying is shocking the players whose faces I can see.
Whatever’s happening, it’s clear to me that this training session isn’t going to yield anything else I can use for the program, and I want to check on Felix, so I casually stroll down the two steps to ice level, then along the perimeter of the rink until I reach the hallway, where, out of sight of the journalists, I pick up my pace.
In the dressing room, Felix is sitting on the little bench in front of his cubby, still fully dressed, including skates, with his head in his hands. He doesn’t look up when I walk in, and I hesitate for a second, then cross the room to sit beside him.
“Felix?”
That brings his head up, and he gives me a bitter look through wet eyelashes. “Of course it’s you.”
I wince. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy.” Half rising, I add, “I’ll go—”
“Sit down.” The weary resignation in his tone makes me hesitate, but then he turns a pleading expression on me, and my knees give way.
How did I come to this? Only a week ago, I could barely handle the thought of being in this man’s company, and now, after mere hours spent together, a single look from him is enough to bring me to heel.
Is it that I still feel as though I owe him for my past behavior? Or is it something… else?
“I guess you saw what happened.” He’s staring directly ahead, his hands in his lap, and I wonder if my answer is going to make things better or worse. Should I lie?
“Yes.”
He nods resignedly. “I’ve been trying so hard.”
I hesitate, then ask, “What happened?”
“Sarcnet and his fucking ego happened.” He shrugs.
“And my stupid puberty. He’s always been quick to lose his temper, and he hates being shown up.
I knew he would be mad that I stole the puck, but that’s the point of the drill, right?
I’m not gonna fuck up my career to spare his feelings.
” He sighs. “It would have been fine, but when he checked me, the rage took over, and I… You saw what I did. And now my career’s probably over.
” He turns his head slightly away, and his hand comes up to discreetly swipe at his eyes.
I have to take a second to shove my own rage down at the sight of his distress.
He might have overreacted a little to the situation, but given that he was provoked and the extenuating circumstances of his current volatility, it seems completely unfair that this could end his hockey career.
Sarcnet isn’t going to suffer lasting consequences from this—community species naturally heal faster than humans, and the team has both sorcerer and elf healers on staff.
He’ll be fine in a few minutes, if he isn’t already.
“Is that what Coach said? That you’re… fired?” Is that the right word for a hockey player? I’m aware that their employment doesn’t work the same way as most other industries, but I don’t know all the terminology yet.
“He said to wait in his office for him to deal with me.”
I wince, because that doesn’t sound promising. “This isn’t right. They can’t punish you for something you can’t do anything about, like hormonal surges. That has to be illegal. Who would know about your rights in this kind of situation?”
He shrugs again and opens his mouth, but before he can reply I pull out my phone and say, “I’m going to call a friend at CSG.
He’s a hellhound, and if he doesn’t know what your legal rights are, he’ll know somebody who does and who can advocate for you.
You should shower and change so you can meet Coach on a more level playing field, and I’ll have information by the time—”
A hand closes over my mouth, and Felix smiles at me. It’s a weak smile, but it’s better than his tears.
“Ari, stop. It’s not… I mean, I haven’t told Coach about my puberty.”
I blink, then reach up to pull his hand away. “Why not? It’s something that impacts your career. He should know that allowances and accommodations need to be made.”
He grimaces. “I told Coach Franks, and he—”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I can guess how that went.
” I clench my teeth, then deliberately relax my jaw.
I was extremely unimpressed with Coach Franks from the moment I first met him, and this just reinforces that impression.
At least the Warhammers had the foresight to fire him.
“Do you think Locke would react the same way?” My opinion of Coach Locke is a lot higher than that of Franks, but that’s not saying much, and I still barely know him.
“I don’t know.”
We sit there in silence for a moment, and then Felix sighs.
“Delaying isn’t going to achieve anything. You’re right; I should shower. And… I guess I should tell Locke everything. Even if he still cancels my contract, at least I’ll have done all I can.”
“Yes, that’s a good idea.” And while he’s showering, I’m going to call Alistair Smythe and see what he can tell me about the law in this area.
Felix stands, and I follow suit, but I’m not prepared for him to turn to me and smile with soft, grateful eyes. “Thank you, Ari. I know we haven’t always got along, but it really helped to have your support right now. I hope we can be friends.”
My throat is tight, but I manage a nod and an “Of course.”
He wants friendship? No problem. I’m pretty sure I’d level mountains to have him look at me that way again.