9. Chapter 10
Dane
Chicago is in town and we are starting to find ourselves as a team. A great Saturday night rivalry always bring the best out of the fans and gives us that little extra juice.
Going into the third I take a cheap shot in the back from Crossley their so-called tough guy forward.
That’s it, gloves come off and we’re going at it.
I land two rights to his head and am able to pull his jersey over his head before the ref’s pile on.
The crowd goes nuts. As we skate to the penalty box more pleasantries are exchanged. The fans are loving it.
On the way to the locker room Coach pats me on the back. ”We needed toughness tonight. You delivered and the boys responded. Keep it up.”
In the locker room I hear my name before I even get my skates off. It's coming from the far end, behind the row of stalls near the showers. Two voices. Low but not low enough.
"Kincaid's already got his hooks in her. You see the way he watches her during conditioning?"
I go still. We just won and this is what they are talking about.
"Coach's daughter, man." A laugh. Short and ugly. "Think she's actually into it, or is she just…."
I'm on my feet before the sentence finishes.
I come around the row of stalls. No rush. People always get that wrong. They think intimidation needs speed. It doesn't. It needs patience.
Briggs and Harlow. Both twenty-two, maybe twenty-three. Briggs still has his elbow pads on. Harlow's got a protein bar halfway to his mouth.
Neither of them moves.
I look at Briggs first. He's the one who was talking. He's got the decency to look like he swallowed something bad.
"You want to finish that sentence?" I say. "Go ahead."
Silence.
"Because I've got time." I pull my tape off my wrist, slow, and drop it in the trash. "I've got all kinds of time."
Harlow sets the protein bar down.
"It wasn't?." Briggs starts.
"I know exactly what it was." I look at him until he drops his eyes. Then I look at Harlow until he does the same. "She does a job here. A good one. She doesn't need your commentary on top of it."
No one says anything.
"You're both going to remember this conversation the next time you feel like running your mouths." My hands stay loose at my sides. "And if I have to have it again, it won't be a conversation."
I don't raise my voice the entire time. Don't touch anyone. Don't have to.
I walk away.
Rourke was at the sink the whole time. Callum was two stalls over. By afternoon, every player will know what just happened.
Good.
We get a much-needed Sunday off. Monday, I’m getting ready for a late morning practice and Coach Ellison calls me into his office.
He doesn't sit. Neither do I.
"You had a great game and now you threatened two of my players."
"I didn't threaten anyone."
"Witnesses say otherwise."
"Witnesses heard me ask a question." I cross my arms. "Nobody got touched. I made a point."
"This is exactly the kind of attitude."
"Those two were talking about your daughter like she was a punchline." I keep my voice flat. "You want to bench me for that, fine. But don't tell me I was wrong."
Silence.
Ellison's face works through something complicated. He's angry. He's also, if I'm reading him right, caught off guard by the fact that I just defended her.
He sits down slowly.
"You're out of the lineup Wednesday."
Two days. One game. Another hit to my standing with the GM.
"Understood."
"And Kincaid." He waits until I look at him. "If I hear you've inserted yourself into anything else that doesn't concern you, it won't just be one game."
I nod once and leave.
GM Bowman is waiting near the training room corridor, hands in his pockets, like he just happened to be passing through.
He wasn't passing through.
"Heard there was an incident in the locker room after the game."
"It's handled."
"Dane." He falls into step beside me, voice dropping to that polished, reasonable tone he uses when he's actually being unreasonable.
"I want to be direct with you. You are a significant investment.
A real one. Every time you insert yourself into a situation that creates friction with this coaching staff, it costs us. Media hears about it. Sponsors notice."
"Two rookies were talking trash about a staff member."
"And you handled it in a way that now has Ellison benching you and my phone ringing." He stops walking and turns to face me. "You're not here to be a referee for locker room chatter. You're here to play hockey."
I look at him.
Bowman is good at this. He never sounds like he's threatening you. He sounds like he's helping you understand a situation you've been too emotional to see clearly. It's the kind of thing that works on people who need approval from men like him.
I stopped needing that a long time ago.
"What's the fine?" I ask.
He blinks. "Excuse me?"
"Conduct fine. If it gets there. What's the number?"
A pause. $5,000.
I nod like he told me the weather. "Let me know if that amount changes."
I walk away before he can find the next angle and head to the film room to kill sometime.
The lobby is quiet by six.
Most of the staff is gone. The team cleared out after our early afternoon practice. The only lights still on are the ones above the main doors and the low track lighting along the corridor that connects to the rink.
I'm headed for the lobby exit when I see her.
Mara is sitting on one of the benches near the front window. Not on her phone. Not reading. Just sitting, hands in her lap, eyes fixed on something outside the glass.
She looks pale.
I change direction.
She doesn't hear me until I'm three feet away. Her head comes up fast, and for half a second, I see it. The rawness.
"Dane."
"Hey."
She looks back at the window. "I'm fine."
"I didn't ask."
"You were about to."
Fair. I pull a chair from the small table nearby and sit across from her. Close enough to talk. Far enough she doesn't feel cornered.
The bench is small. Our arms are maybe six inches apart. I don't move away. She doesn't either. The gap between us has a charge to it that has nothing to do with what either of us is saying. When she finally looks at me, I'm already looking at her.
“What’s the matter.”
"It’s Tessa.”
She goes on to explain the struggle between Tessa and her mom.
"I called her. She picked up, which is." She stops. "That's something."
"What did she say?"
"That she's fine. That she was just tired." Mara's voice is careful. Too careful. "That I shouldn't worry."
"But you are."
She doesn't answer. Doesn't have to.
"What do you need?"
Her eyes cut to me. "Nothing. This isn't your problem."
"I know it's not."
"Then why are you still sitting here?"
Because you've been dealing with all the crap at this rink for weeks and you haven't let anyone help you. But I don't say that. She'll shut down if I do.
"Because you look like you're about to make a decision," I say instead. "And I think you don't actually want to do it alone."
Another silence.
"Her mom doesn't know," Mara finally says. "Tessa texted me. Not her mother, not a friend. Me. Which means she trusts me. And if I do this wrong, I lose that." She exhales. "And she loses the one person who's actually been in her corner."
"So what are you going to do?"
"I really want to see her. Tonight. In person." She looks at me. "She won't really talk over the phone. I don’t think she would try something stupid, but kids are under such pressure anymore."
"Then we find her."
Mara blinks. "What?"
"I've got nothing tonight." Coach already benched me. Bowman already made his speech. There's nobody left who can take anything else from me today. "I can drive."
She stares at me. I can see her working through every reason to say no.
Then something shifts. Not softening. More like deciding.
She looks down at her hands.
"If you drive," she says quietly, "you can't ask her anything."
I hold her gaze.
"I won.t."