Chapter 4
Cole
Seattle Sentinel: Another Battle Brewing in the AHL, the Wild Versus the Blackhawks. Will Cole ‘the Rebel’ Kendrick Live up to the Family Legacy? Experts Smell Blood in the Water
Portland Herald: All Eyes are on Cole ‘the Rebel’ Kendrick. Will He Be Drafted by the Portland Hellions? A Triple Dose of Kendrick Power
There was nothing like pressure to be the best, especially when that included living up to the standards as set by my own family.
Ford and Beck had positioned themselves within the NHL to become legendary, rivaling some of the all-time greats.
I wasn’t that player, but even members of my own team thought I could help push the Seattle Wild into the playoffs.
What? Just on name only?
With every game, the pressure increased, every win meant additional scrutiny so when I fucked up, social media treated me as if I was subhuman.
As supposedly the most sensitive of the family, I’d been warned about what the constant barrage of questions and notoriety could do.
As with everything else, I was a stubborn son of a bitch.
Watching every mistake made, every goal missed and every defense line compromised wasn’t the highlight of any hockey player’s day, but the pain in hopes of the gain were necessary.
The game with the Blackhawks had been sloppy and not only because of my antics on the ice. We weren’t working well together as a team. A few of the guys wanted to put the blame on Jagger’s shoulders, but coming in after a season had started was always tough.
Not that I planned on giving the asshole too many breaks. He was as arrogant as they came, especially since his father was considered a pillar within Seattle. At least those were the rumors, which I couldn’t give a shit about.
Given the fact the Seattle Wild were independently owned by several investors, rumor had it that his dad had recently invested in the team.
Which of course spawned the additional gossip about the powerful man buying a position for his son on the Wild.
There were other rumors Jagger had almost beaten a player to death, the reason he’d been tossed off his old team.
That I could relate to. Not that I’d place that on my resume.
Those types of rumors never boded well for camaraderie, especially when so many of us had worked our way up through the ranks.
In my case, that had included coaching summer hockey camps.
Don’t get me wrong. I’d loved the work, learning something from the kids almost every day, but I’d paid my dues like everyone else, hoping for a shot in the NHL.
It would seem Jagger was on the fast track to becoming the next NHL darling. Naturally, that pissed people off.
The entire team stood in the theater watching not only a playback of the previous night’s game, but also one from Reno exploding for a win against Phoenix the night before. They’d been on fire when we’d limped along.
One of two coaches stood against the wall rubbing his jaw as he glared at the big screen. Even practice had been shit that morning, enough that the team didn’t have their usual spunk after winning a game the night before.
Head Coach Joe Stryker flicked off the screen, remaining where he was staring at the big black hole on the wall.
The tension was ripe, so much so I glanced at Hudson who grimaced in response.
“I don’t need to tell any of you how important it is we win the game in Reno on Friday. Do I?” The coach turned around, facing the team. You knew he was pissed when he decided to take extra time to find the eyes of every player.
Today, the time taken felt like a penalty round.
As he hung his head, tossing the remote on the table then planting his hands on his hips, I heard one of the players audibly sucking in their breath while another made the mistake of uttering a single sound.
“Here it comes.”
Coach Stryker did nothing but exhale. “I thought I had a bunch of winners on my hand. After we swept the first ten games, I was excited at the prospects this season. I was thrilled to come to work every day. Then Todd decided he’d enjoy pretending to be fucking Mario Andretti.”
“Who?” Cujo asked. Finn Roth was a damn good left wing, but even his antics had gotten out of hand since his buddy, my brother had advanced to the NHL and he hadn’t. It wasn’t that he didn’t have the chops. It was that he had an addiction to puck bunnies and beer bongs.
“Think Chase Elliot, NASCAR’s most popular driver,” Coach Reynolds suggested. He was much younger, offering a name we would know.
In turn, Coach Stryker threw him a nasty look. Wow. The man was mad as hell.
“Anyway, he decided that going in excess of a hundred fifty miles per hour was exactly the thing to do. After that, the team just fell apart. Why? Because he was your number one center and your captain?”
We all looked at each other, no one eager to step up to the plate with an answer.
“Yeah,” the coach muttered. “That’s what I thought. I’m only going to say this once. If I need to say it again, heads will roll, gentlemen. Get. Your. Shit. Together.”
Coach Reynolds grabbed something from another table, tossing it onto the one in front of us. “Did anyone see the Sentinel this morning?”
I didn’t need to lean forward to read the headlines on our local newspaper. The coach loved to grab a physical copy. When the story was positive, he cut out the article, saving it for later in case we needed a boost in our morale. This time he was using the front-page story as punishment.
A grimace wasn’t enough. Seeing my name in black and white didn’t bode well for my involvement in the fight.
“You do remember that the Sentinel is based right here and that normally, they are very positive about the team and every player. You need to understand that every act of bad behavior will reflect on the entire team. Whether you’re out joyriding or posing with fans.
You see the crap on the social pages today. Not good, gentlemen. Not good at all.”
Of course, Coach Reynolds’ gaze ended on me. He was the reasonable one, the guy who cleaned up after Coach Stryker had gutted us.
I moved against the wall, shoving my hands into my pockets. Okay, so I should accept partial blame, but damn it, Drake Miller had instigated the fight. A lot of good reminding anyone of that little fact would do me.
“We’re leaving on Thursday, boys, for a nice, long bus ride. Why don’t we try not to do anything stupid in the meantime.” Coach Stryker wasn’t asking, he was telling us to cool our jets.
“Yes, sir,” we all said collectively.
“Get out of here,” he tossed out. “Go have some fun tonight. Burn off some damn steam, but do not even dare think about coming into practice tomorrow hung over. If you do, you’ll be running drills for the entire day.”
With that, we were dismissed. The guys started heading out, eager to get farther away before he added any additional rules.
Only I wasn’t quite so lucky. “Kendrick. My office. Now. Black, you’re next so sit tight.” He took off, blowing past Coach Reynolds with a savage grunt and fisted hands.
Hudson clapped me on the shoulder. “I’ll save you a beer.”
Jagger was none too happy, glaring me down as if we were about to get into a fistfight. Instead of hanging out in the media room, he stormed out. Talk about a hothead.
“Make that two.” I had my head down, lifting my gaze toward Coach Reynolds. He was great at anticipating the temperature of Coach Stryker’s blood.
Coach Reynolds threw up his hands. “Don’t look at me, Cole. You got yourself into this mess.”
“He started the fight, Coach.”
“That’s the kind of attitude we don’t need. Own up to your mistakes.” He loitered in the room a little longer, which meant he had something else to say. “You’re a role model for the other guys. You should remember that. You come from a bloodline that demands leadership.”
“You mean because I’m a goddamn wolf?”
The coach rolled his eyes. “It would be great if you’d not carry the same chip on your shoulder as your brother Ford.
The heavy burden almost kept him from being drafted into the NHL.
I’d hate to see that happen to you. You can be anything you want to be, Cole.
With or without your wolf. From where I stand and from what Coach Stryker expects, your shifter lineage has nothing to do with your ability to play hockey.
Isn’t that what every member of the Kendrick family and every other shifter in the game is trying to convey? ”
Of course he was right. I was such a fucking asshole. “Got it, Coach.”
“Good. Now don’t keep Coach Stryker waiting. You know how he can get.”
There were some of us who used the DEFCON system to rate the man’s level of anger. Pushing him any further than before was definitely not in my best interest.
“Yes, sir.” I waited until he headed out to move into the corridor. At least the hallway was empty. My boots echoed on the concrete as I walked toward the coach’s office.
When I was finally standing in front, I hesitated before knocking.
“Come in.” At least his voice didn’t rate increased rage.
I still hesitated before walking in, sliding my hands into my back pockets as I did. With a sheepish look on my face, I approached his desk.
He glanced up at me as if debating what he wanted to say. Why did I have a very bad feeling about whatever it was? “You can sit down if you want.”
“I’m good. I know you’re a busy man, Coach.”
“Don’t try and stroke me, Cole. You know how I feel about that. I’m not about to launch into you. Whatever personal shit you have with Drake Miller can’t concern me and needs to end. That being said, I wanted to also let you know how much your skills have improved. You’re a damn good defenseman.”
Wait. What? A compliment?
“Um, thank you. I’m working hard, trying to keep my energy up.” The coach wasn’t a man full of compliments, which was why I didn’t have a clue what the hell to say. “I bulked up a few pounds.”