35. Colton
COLTON
Watching her walk out of my office hurt. I wanted to drag her back in, sit her down on my desk, and fuck that jersey right off her back. What I really needed to do was get her my old number. A jersey with my number from the team I used to play on.
I had to think about grandmas in cardigans fiddling with their false teeth just to shut my cock down before I walked into the locker room.
And the second I smelled the rubber of those pucks and the sharpness of ice-covered blades, I drew in a deep breath.
“When I was ten years old, I almost drowned in a lake,” I said as I walked slowly through the locker room, demanding their attention with my voice, one by one.
“Had it not been for my mother diving into that body of water, I never would’ve learned that I preferred standing on ice instead of swimming in it. ”
I turned to face the young eyes of the team whose attention I had.
I clasped my hands behind my back. “But it wasn’t until I was nineteen years old and watching some Star Trek episode with my mother that I realized why I loved the ice so much.
Why water, in all of its forms, calls to me.
Just like it calls to you, guys. To your skates. To your souls. To your futures.”
My voice bellowed as I continued my opening speech.
“Water cleanses. Water carries away. Water carves, and erodes, and builds. It heats and creates gas, fueling energy. It solidifies, giving it the ability to bear weight. Water is all-encompassing. Water is nutritive. Water is what we are, after all. Seventy-fucking-percent of us is nothing but water. Which means that water out there? That solidified water your blades are about to own? We own that water. That water is us. That water is in our blood. In our veins. In our souls.”
The boys of my team nodded their heads. I released my hands from behind my back. I held my head high as my voice bellowed. “So, let’s get out there and show these men THAT THEY! WILL! NOT! TREAD! ON OUR SOULS!”
“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAH!” the boys exclaimed as they all slammed their hands against the metal lockers. “COACH! COACH! COACH! COACH! COACH!”
I clapped my clipboard against my hand, the sound rising above the cacophony. “Now, let’s get into formation, everyone! We’ve got warm-ups before the intros start!”
Warm-ups and stretches passed in a blur. The roar of the stadium grew as it finally opened to let the half-drunk tailgating crew come and take their seats. Little by little, those stadium rows filled up, until even the dull roar of the crowd was heard back in the locker room.
I had my men chug down one last bottle of lukewarm water each to replenish before we went to get lined up for introductions.
“Ladies aaaaand gentlemeeeeen,” the announcer said as he came over the crackling loudspeaker system. I winced. We had to get that shit replaced. “Let’s hear it for your home team, the Las Vegas Vipeeeers!”
The crowd cheered as my boys took the ice, but I almost stopped them. That was the introduction? No name-by-name rap sheet? No music? No fire tunnel, or t-shirt shooting, or confetti poppers for the audience?
Man, this was nothing like running a top-tier franchise. It was like coaching in a different universe altogether.
Still, I didn’t let it phase me. I took my place in the bench area, watching as the team made the rounds with the crowd.
Jett slung his arm over Rhett’s broad shoulders, and the crowd chanted, ‘Stone! Stone! Stone!’ as Rhett skated his way around the outer edge of the ice.
Jett raced over to one side and threw his hands into the air, getting the crowd on that side to cheer.
Then, he sprinted like lightning over to the other side of the stadium, commanding the crowd in that direction to yell as well.
By the time he was done, he was practically conducting the fucking audience from the middle of the ice.
I had to put my clipboard up to my face just to keep from laughing.
Then the ref skated out onto the ice. I watched the coach for the Minnesota Daredevils get out onto the ice, and I followed suit from where I was.
Time for the opening face-off. Rhett stood toe to toe with their center, towering over the poor boy by at least four inches.
Rhett looked down at him through his cage visor, and I didn’t have to see that boy’s face to know he smirked behind it.
I barely registered the face-off.
I didn’t even clock how we were positioning ourselves going in.
My eyes darted around as each team took up their respective positions on either side of the starting line.
And when I saw that Rhett had chosen a defensive place of power for the boys on the ice, I snapped out of my trance.
The puck dropped and the game was on.
Stick smashed together and blades rip-roared across the ice.
The crowd went wild as Rhett and Jett skated around, trying to avoid the opposing team’s biggest members.
Jett needed open space for his sniping. He was great in a pinch, but struggled with too many obstacles.
It was something I needed to work with him on, but that was for later in the season.
This first game? I needed to make sure I measured everyone’s strengths and weaknesses accordingly.
Because as much as I wanted to win this fucking game for a big ‘fuck you’ to everyone who wrote me off, long term success meant giving up short-term wants.
That’s why I wanted to amp the boys up in the locker room without putting pressure on them to win.
The crowd booed as one of the Daredevils slammed Rhett into the wall.
Men were on their feet, slinging curses drowned out by the shaving of ice and the slapping of sticks against pucks.
I kept my eye on that boy. He wasn’t doing much for the Daredevils on that ice other than skating around and sometimes getting in the way of the puck whenever Jett had it.
And when Rhett zipped by, I grabbed his jersey and hauled his face to mine.
“Get that man off Jett. He can’t take a fucking shot with that brick wall in the way.”
Rhett nodded. “On it, Coach.”
I slapped my hand on his back against his protective pads just as the Daredevils scored. Rhett groaned as his head fell back, but I just clapped my hands and bellowed to the team.
“That’s all right! That’s all right! We’ve got plenty of periods and plenty of time, boys! Let’s get at it!”
I didn’t like how their shoulders were hunched during the rest of that period.
We scored a goal, leveling the playing field, but I couldn’t even enjoy it.
The roar of the crowd rattled my ribcage, even though the stadium was maybe only half packed out.
Empty seats littered the rows of chairs, but you’d never know it by how heavily they cheered and screamed toward the ice.
For a moment, it tugged a grin across my face.
I cleared my throat just as the horn blew to signal the break before the second period of the game.
The guys knew to book it back to the locker room, so I made sure to beat them there.
I high-tailed it off that fucking bench and slammed into the sweat-filled room, drawing in deep breaths anyway.
I had to calm myself down. I had to make sure that my points landed before we got out there for the second period.
But when I heard the guys slamming their way into the locker room like a bunch of spoiled princesses, I couldn’t contain myself.
“What in the absolute fuck was that!?” I bellowed.
The guys sighed and groaned as they dropped down onto the wooden benches in front of their lockers.
“Oh, don’t worry!” I exclaimed. “I’ll wait for someone to get their fucking wits about them!”
Jett went to say something, but I pinned him with a look and he clammed the fuck up.
“Since where the hell do you guys get off thinking you can act like shitty sportsmen because of your own fucking performance?”
That snapped their attention up to me, but Rhett was the first to speak. “What do you mean?”
I walked over to him, placing my hands on my knees, and dipped down into his vision.
“What do you mean, what do I mean?” I glowered, knowing damn good and well I had the attention of the whole locker room.
“That pathetic display out there? Shoulders hunched? Eyes downcast? Awful fucking posture? Frank!”
“Yeah, Coach?” he asked.
I stood, whipping around, and faced him.
“The fuck was that posture when you scored? I’m stunned you even made it between their goaltender’s legs!
All of you look like you were born against the broad side of a fucking barn this morning.
Since when do we fuck around with posture in the middle of a god damn game!
? Come on, guys, this is elementary school shit! ”
The locker room fell silent before Jett murmured, “If the refs would—”
I charged toward him, grabbing his jersey, and ripped him to his feet and stared directly into his face.
“You think the refs are to blame for hunched shoulders and shitty conduct? You think the ref’s got control over that?
Huh? You don’t get to blame the refs during this game, Jett.
They aren’t even paying attention to you guys.
” I shoved him back down into his seat. “And you want to know why!?”
“Why, Coach?” they all asked in unison.
My voice roared over their heads. “Because you’re not giving them anything to fucking pay attention to except for bad posture and a bit of fucking humor!”
Then a red light in the corner of the locker room flashed twice, signaling that we had one more minute before we had to be back out on the ice. So I chose my words carefully before I lowered my voice.
“If you want to be the team that everyone pays attention to, then you have to stop working for their attention and start working for the benefit of your team. We aren’t here for the audience.
We aren’t here to put on a show. We’re here to play a game and represent Las Vegas the best way we know how. Got it?”
Their heads nodded as they all stood.
“Good,” I said as I snatched up my clipboard, “Now, let’s get out there and show them what being a Viper is all about.”