Chapter 46
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
JULIAN
“You gonna do your job and call that?” I yelled at the ref that skated around. He said nothing, just motioned for the trainers to tend to Anders. “Get some fucking glasses and use them to read the rule book. That was fucking boarding.”
“Settle the fuck down, Silver. It was a good hit. If he can’t handle a little hit like that, maybe he should pick up knitting,” Jensen chirped as he started skating back to the bench.
“Did you hear that, guys? We got a fucking comedian here on the ice. At least you found something you’re good at because it ain’t hockey,” I called to Jensen.
“I ain’t scared of you, old man. Now go sit down before I teach you what a younger player can do. Kinda like Payton taught your wife.”
“Silver, don’t,” Mason called. “He wants you to fight.”
“Well, good, because I want to.” I dropped my gloves.
Jensen did the same. “Let’s go, old man.”
I never remembered fights. I didn’t remember who threw the first punch.
I didn’t remember planning my next hit. I didn’t feel the sting of Jensen’s hits or any other of my aches or pains.
It all happened like it was meant to be.
Time seemed to stop in those moments before it was broken up or one of us fell to the ice.
In these moments, nothing else mattered but the fight.
The feel of victory. The adrenaline of a hockey fight.
“Okay, Silver, that’s enough. You win.” One of the refs was pulling me off Jensen, who had a bloodied nose, and his helmet had come off.
“How’s that for an old man?” I shouted at him as the refs pushed me away.
“Fuck you, Silver. My three-year-old niece hits harder than you.” Jensen stood, spitting blood.
“Your face tells a different story.”
“That’s enough,” the ref shouted.
“Yeah? Was it enough when he hit Anders?” I shouted back.
“Jules, let it go.” Mason shoved me back to the bench.
The arena was loud, and the fans cheered as the ref got ready to call the penalties. This was what hockey was. We left it all on the ice because we might never get this moment again.
“New York number twenty-four, five-minute major for boarding, five for fighting, and a game misconduct for fight in the last five minutes. Vegas number thirty-five, two-minute minor instigation, five for fighting, ten for a game misconduct for being the aggressor and another game misconduct for continuing the fight.”
“What?” I yelled, fighting against Mason. “The aggressor? Do you even know what that word means?” Mason was still pushing me towards the bench.
“You want another one?” the ref called.
“Seriously? Does your wife know you’re fucking me too?” I shouted over Mason’s shoulder. “That’s a bullshit call. Did New York change their jersey to stripes?”
“Silver,” Murry was yelling. “Shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you.”
“This is your fault. If you had balls Andy wouldn’t be hurt.” I slammed the half door on my way down the tunnel. None of those calls were justified.
“Silver, I need to look at that eye.” One of the trainers called for me as I stormed down the tunnel.
“It’s fine!” In the locker room, trainers and medical staff surrounded Anders, who was begging them to let him go back out. “Is he okay?”
“It’s his ribs. We won’t know if they’re bruised or broken. We’ll need to get him x-rayed.” The staff doctor looked down at Anders.
“But I can still play, right?” Anders huffed out his words.
“Not if you can’t breathe. You can’t play,” the doctor said. “He’s out until we know more. If you’re lucky, it’s a bruised couple ribs.”
“And if I’m not?” Anders’s eyes were wide. No player wanted to hear that anything was broken. Broken bones took months to heal and longer to rehab. They could also mean the end of Anders’s season.
The doctor patted Anders on the shoulder. “We will know more tomorrow.”
“I’m fine. I just got the wind knocked out of me.
I’ll be fine. Tell them, Jules. I’m fine.
I can play. Tape me up. Jules, tell them.
” Anders’s words tumbled out of his mouth.
I could see the fear. I knew that fear. This was not how we wanted our careers to end, quietly in some doctor’s office.
We wanted it to end hoisting that silver cup.
Surrounded by teammates with the deafening sound of the crowd chanting our names.
“Andy, it’s okay.” Those words sounded hollow.
“I don’t want this to be the end, Jules. We were supposed to do this together. I’m okay, see?” He tried to sit up but fell back. “I can’t go out like this.”
“Anders, stop.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “It’s just a couple of bruised ribs. It’s not the end. In a few weeks, you’ll be fine. Relax.”
Anders turned to look at the ceiling, nodding before turning to me. “Julian.”
“Anders.”
“Are we alone?”
“Yes?”
“Good, because I’m going to be sick.” Anders sat up quickly and vomited all over the floor.
“Fuck. Andy.” I held on to him so he wouldn’t fall off the table.
“Don’t tell them, Jules. Please, it’s not what you think.” He breathed out. “I didn’t hit my head. It’s not a concussion.”
“Slow down. Okay, you’re going to be fine.” The bruised ribs wouldn’t be his biggest worry. It would be the concussion. “Are you sure you didn’t black out?”
“I don’t remember. Don’t tell them. Please.” Anders clung to my arm. “They’ll pull me. It’ll be my third this year. Why can’t I fucking breathe?”
“Because you’re hysterical. Now calm down.
” I helped him lie back down. The smell of vomit filled the room.
Playing hockey was all Anders ever wanted to do.
Not because of his father but because he had some asshole Juniors player stay with him when he was eight.
Made him think this was the only life there was. That asshole was me.
“Wait, why are you back here?”
“Silver, my office, now,” Murry called.
Anders grabbed my arm. “Jules, tell me you didn’t get into a fight. That’s number four.”
“Looks like we’ll have some time off together. Don’t worry about the season. We have plenty of it left.” I patted him on the shoulder as I walked out.
“How is he?” Mason asked, nodding to where I had just come from.
“He’s Anders, how do you think? Someone find Teigen and tell her he’s alive,” I said on my way to Murry’s office.
“Close the door,” Murry said, pacing the floor. “Are you fucking stupid or just hard of hearing?” he shouted as soon as the door closed.
“Are you blind? He ran Anders into the fucking boards.” It could’ve been worse. A concussion and bruised ribs were the best case. It could have been a season-ending injury or worse, a career-ending one.
“That’s number four, Julian! Not to mention a major in the last three minutes of a game. You are suspended for five games. And your little stunt cost me ten grand.”
“It could have cost you a player.”
“Well, it did! It cost me you. Anders is a fine player, but you are a great player. When will you get that through your thick fucking skull? There is no player in this league right now that is as good as you. Jesus fucking Christ, Julian, get out of your fucking head and stop trying to sabotage your career.” Murry kicked the desk.
“We need you. This fucking team needs you if we’re going to make it to the playoffs. ”
“What was I supposed to do?” I shouted at him. It was my job to protect my team. Protect Anders.
“Stop throwing your fucking career away. Why are you so afraid of winning? Of being something better?” Murry paced the floor before he stopped.
“Your father was great only because he played with other talented players. He only has those records because of the teams he’s played with.
But you.” Murry pointed. “You make a team better. You make those assholes out there better. Why do you think I continue to put my ass on the line for you? I have never coached a player as infuriating as you. As good and yet as scared of success as you.” He rubbed his face.
“I want you to take this suspension and find your fucking head and pull it out of your fucking ass. Now get out of my fucking face. And get that fucking eye looked at before you lose that too.”