Chapter 7
Steven
“That was shit, Masters. Absolute. Fucking. Shit.” The coach’s face was beet red. “And get that scruffy shit off your face. You look like a goddamn convict.”
While a few of my new teammates chuckled, I scrubbed my jaw. Okay, so I hadn’t shaved in over a week and was all furry. The single act had been my response to all the recent unwanted changes.
Coach Wagner didn’t mince words. That’s one thing I’d admired about him prior to coming to Tampa Bay.
Now I hated his frankness and attention to every detail with a passion.
He couldn’t care less who I was or why I’d been brought onto the team. From what I’d been able to tell, he hadn’t been allowed to weigh in on the decision to add me to the roster. Quite frankly, I think he hated me, but not for my hockey skills or even lack thereof.
Because he was annoyed with my bite.
Sure, a small part of me could understand that when a shifter was brought onto a team, the baggage he brought with him included more than just bad boy personality issues or even run-ins with the law.
The notoriety and intense scrutiny dumped on the team was a pain in the ass to navigate through. Fine. There were millions of people who thought shifters threw every game, getting rich doing so.
First of all, gambling on your own damn team was highly illegal. Second, what kind of fun would it be to throw a game? Whatever the reason for the bug crawling up the coach’s ass, I just didn’t care.
He didn’t need to treat me like I’d never stepped on the ice.
Plus, he was walking away as if what I had to say didn’t matter. That was utter bullshit. When he disappeared, I could feel all eyes on me.
So I huffed and puffed, which caught the gaze of a couple of teammates.
“Gonna blow the house down, Beast?” Casper Winters was called the Dominator for a reason. Sure, he was a damn good left winger, but his claim to fame was how many hot wings he could eat in one sitting. By the looks of him, a hell of a lot.
While the majority of teammates laughed, I did my best to curtail my anger.
Maybe the real reason I was in a shitty ass mood was because I’d walked in late, due to one tiny, feisty woman who’d decided to go full arsenal on me with a water hose. I still had water in my left ear. Damn, she’d been a little fury, refusing to back down.
All sass and zero restraint.
I had to admit that I liked that in my women. Who was I kidding? I had no women other than what was depicted in the crazy pictures and videos on the internet. Bor-ring. Now I sounded like my brother.
The chick had infuriated the fuck out of me. She’d also driven me away before I’d accomplished my goal of checking out a rental house. Damn her. Damn her for her attitude and for chastising me. And damn her for… the kiss.
“What, no wolfie comeback?” the left defenseman chortled.
I’d had enough torment for the day. The moment I bristled, Tony Dominik, my current roommate and the only man on the team who hadn’t treated me like some dirty primate stepped in.
“Cut the crap, assholes. We’ve all had a shitty practice, or would you like me to hunt down the video from when you crashed into the goal a couple weeks ago, Hammer boy?
” He got in the left defenseman’s face, his grin practically evil.
At least David backed down, snarling when he did.
I moved around them toward my locker.
We’d had a strategy meeting after practice, but that hadn’t been enough for Coach Wagner or for the team captain, who was currently glaring at me from the far corner of the room. Trey, the Condor, Braxton was a legend. He was also hotheaded as fuck. I’d need to watch his ass.
My anger only continued to percolate, especially when the coach returned, whispering to Trey while shooting me the evil eye. I could swear Coach Wagner wasn’t human. There was no spark behind his cold, dead eyes.
Maybe with the exception of fury.
He’d had it out for me from the day I’d walked into the practice. I’d been benched for over a week because between the team’s attorneys, the social media director, and the team owners, they’d wanted me sidelined until the fifteen new minutes of fame involving both Masters brothers had died off.
As with every other news cycle, now there was someone else on the hot seat.
But that hadn’t happened without my father’s interference, his influence with broadcasters, and his knowledge of the business and his money.
Plus, Saint had managed to have the damn reporter eating out of the palm of his hand, both laughing about the ridiculousness of hunting humans by the end of the segment.
Yet to date, I still hadn’t been graced with a call from my brother, which meant he thought I’d had some part in the horrific storyline.
So had every puck bunny and rabid Saint Masters fan.
The hate mail I’d received had been both heinous and creative.
I’d even stopped getting on social media altogether because doing so put me in an even shittier mood.
Which didn’t bode well for keeping my beast in a cage.
There were some people, including my own brother, who thought I’d been willing to do what it took to derail his career to advance mine. That was as aggravating as enduring the nasty comments and accusations.
The latest sign I’d seen?
Stop Eating People.
Really?
Right now, my heart was full of hate and anger.
For everyone.
And I felt like taking out my shitty mood on anyone who dared cross my path.
I threw open my locker with enough force the clanging and echoing was met with additional laughter, a couple of guys making fun of me under their breath. I noticed the coach still staring at me and I could tell he wasn’t finished insulting me yet.
“What happened, Steve?” His tone was still harsh, accusatory in a soft-sell way. “Even for you, that was pure garbage.”
Even for me. What the hell did that mean?
“That wasn’t shit, Coach. I made a couple goals. And my passes were good.” The second the words flew from my mouth, I heard the three-year-old whine and grimaced.
The other players barely bothered trying to busy themselves, every asshole snickering under his breath.
Half the damn team was waiting and eager for me to fail.
Coach Wagner swung around, taking two long strides toward me until he was in my face, spitting from fury when he talked. His huffing and puffing continued without words for a full minute.
“Son, I’m going to try and calm my ass down because my doctor told me that if I don’t learn to control my rage, I could have a stroke.
Now, my two ex-wives might be thrilled, eager to get their grubby little spike-nailed hands on what’s left of my fortune, but I don’t plan on expiring any time soon.
And why? Because I have a contract. A contract in place for three years.
In those three years, I’m required to come to work every day like the professional I was hired as. Do you understand what I’m getting at?”
One of the team whistled and the way the coach snapped his head toward the guy scared the shit out of me. I thought he’d broken his neck.
“Go get your shower, gentlemen. There is nothing to see here.” The coach returned his gaze glued on me while yelling at the other players.
Who didn’t respond with quick rabbit feet. They were far too eager to watch me on the receiving end of a verbal beat down.
“Sure, Coach. I get it.” I tried my best to calm the situation, but he wasn’t ready to let it go yet.
“I swear to God, it was like you were skating in quicksand, completely lethargic. You certainly couldn’t find your rhythm, and your passes were flat as shit.
Hell, every time the puck found your stick, it danced all over the blade like a live grenade.
Did you see the wingers scramble to keep up with whatever the hell it was you were doing? ”
“I hadn’t noticed.” Of course I had. I could read a play with the best of them and not only because I had a photographic memory. Since I was a tiny baby, I’d gravitated toward hockey. I’d played the game as a toddler, preferring a hockey stick to a baseball bat any day.
I’d worshipped my father and my brother, so hearing the coach’s condemnation after one of my first practices after joining the team was embarrassing as fuck.
But he was wrong and I planned on proving it.
His glare was harsher than before. Apparently, I’d stunned him into silence.
“That’s the problem that I can see so far. You don’t get it. You can’t tell when the game is suffering. That concerns me greatly. Plus, you’re not a team player.”
“That’s not true.” I puffed up more than I should, which prompted the coach to stick his finger in my face.
The other players were still hanging around. Now that was infuriating the hell out of me.
“Go take a fucking shower!” the coach snapped at them without bothering to look at a single one.
Except they didn’t respond right away. When he turned his head, I was shocked the building hadn’t caught fire.
Thankfully, the players scrambled, slamming locker doors when they did.
The coach took a couple of steps away, rubbing his eyes.
“Not only wasn’t your mind on the practice today, but your heart wasn’t either.
This is normally the time when a player is new to a team that they go all out, giving it their best. What you just showed me out there was that you’d rather be anywhere else in the world but on this team.
They know it. The assistant coach knows it.
The fans are certainly going to pick up on it. Even worse. You know it.”
I had no idea what he wanted me to say.
“My question for you is do you want to be here? Cause if you don’t, I assure you I will talk to the team’s owner and figure out a way to buy you out of that sweet little contract you have. I don’t like your kind, Steven. I don’t mind telling you that.”
“My kind?”
“Yeah, you know.”