Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
I admit that I’m still shook up about Finn’s injury and the fight with Donaldson, but I’m also nervous about how the rest of my teammates will react.
Berg, Sorensen, Kuznetsov, and Makela, no problem, but the others?
I remind myself that the Bandits are the issue, not me.
And while it was one of the scariest nights of my life, this morning with Finn was the absolute best. I replay every word we shared, and it fills me with hope and courage.
So much so that I step into the locker room with a determined stride.
Fucking hell, it’s a comeback for my cocky attitude.
If some of the guys turn on me, I’ll deal with it.
Finn doesn’t blame me, but then again, he’s the sweetest man I’ve ever met.
I’ll always feel guilty about him getting hurt, but I’ll find a way to keep moving forward.
I won’t let Donaldson, the Bandits, or anyone else push me around.
“Hey, guys, can I have a moment?” I announce, and the chatter in the room comes to a standstill.
“I wanted to give you an update on Finn. He’s feeling alright today, still sore and tired, but optimistic about his shoulder recovery.
Also, bad timing, there was a leak in his unit, so he’s staying in my guest room for a bit.
If any of you want to stop by and visit, anytime, you’re more than welcome. ”
Makela is the first one to speak up.
“Can I stay too? We’re friends now, yes?” he asks with a smirk. “I take the couch.”
I chuckle at his ridiculousness and offer him my favorite hand gesture.
“I don’t think so. First, you’re not injured, second, you haven’t had to evacuate your home, and third, you’re not as funny as you think.”
Makela stands up, puts his hands together and offers up a pleading look that has me and the rest of the guys laughing harder.
“What about inviting everyone?” he adds. “We can have epic Rush sleepover.”
I shake my head.
“You have the idea, you host it,” I counter. “Aren’t you having a party before our break in February? You’ve got a three-story brownstone; you have room for everyone.”
“Great idea, buddy!” Makela pumps his fist.
I roll my eyes.
“Perfect. Oh, hey, can I invite Karson?” I quip.
“No,” Makela’s smile fades. “KitKat is not stepping foot inside my home. Fucking arrogant dick.”
“Look in a mirror,” I snark and everyone chuckles.
Everyone except…
“Will you two shut the fuck up?” Brady sneers. “Jesus Christ, you’re both acting stupid.”
“You’re jealous,” Makela bites back. “We have personality; you don’t.”
“Never mind parties and shit,” Brady hisses. “We all know why Kirkland’s helping Finn. Or at least one of the reasons. He feels guilty. What happened last night to Finn, and what nearly happened to some of us in the third period, is all Kirkland’s fault.”
And here we go…
“Fuck off,” I snap. “Coach warned you that playing against my former team would be rough. We all knew that.”
“Because I thought they’d beat the crap out of you!” Brady yells. “Not come after the rest of us!”
“Scared of an enforcer?” I taunt him. “If you are, you’re playing in the wrong league.”
“You’re the one who needs to get out.”
“I am out,” I smirk.
His face turns an interesting shade of purple.
“Brady.” St. Clare tugs on his friend’s jersey. “Let it go. We won last night. On to the next.”
Brady yanks his arm away, stalks towards me, and gets in my face. I don’t move; I stare him down. Berg stands up beside me, followed by Kuznetsov, Druin, Sorensen, and the rest of the team.
“No fucking way! It’s Kirkland’s fault,” Brady sneers.
“Knock off the blame game, Brady. Coach told us tensions would run higher last night, and enforcers make dirty hits no matter who’s playing.” Kuznetsov counters. “Get over it.”
“No!” Brady shouts back, spittle hitting my face. “It’s not done. Kirkland makes a big deal about needing to tell the world he’s queer, and now we have targets on our backs!”
“Dramatic much? It was one player, one game,” Berg adds. “A game we won, no thanks to you. Focus on doing better at your job and stop whining about everything else.”
“Do as your captain says,” Sorensen snarls. “Shut your mouth and get your skates on.”
“Go fuck yourself, Stewart.”
Sorensen steps forward and so does Kuz.
“Stop talking, Brady,” Berg warns.
Suddenly, Brady lifts his chin like he’s daring me to take the first shot.
“Feeling guilty can’t be the only reason Kirkland’s helping Finn.
Are you trying to get into the rookie’s pants?
” Brady taunts. “After all, you’re into everyone, right?
Is that what Seattle was all about? You and Finn seemed more than chummy spending the day together.
Maybe you and your boyfriend Taylor want to tag team the rookie with a couple of puck bunnies—”
“Fuck you!” I hiss and grab his jersey.
I hear a loud throat clearing and we all look over to find Range and Laflore staring at us. How long have they been there and what did they hear?
“Brady, my office, now.”
The menacing tone of Range’s voice cuts through the tension.
“What about Kirkland?” Brady whines. “This is his fault.”
Range says nothing. Instead, he crosses his arms and offers a lethal glare. Brady finally relents and stomps out of the room, Laflore on his heels.
Range looks at me next.
“Kirkland, I’ll talk to you after practice.”
I nod as my bravado starts to slip. No. Not again. The problem isn’t me, it’s guys like Donaldson and Brady. Fuck them. Instead of throwing a fit, I take a deep breath and hold onto what’s left of my control.
“Ignore Brady,” Kuznetsov mutters. “He’s playing like shit and blaming everyone but himself.”
We’re going to be late, so the team disperses, and I get my ass moving. When I’m all geared up, I look around the locker room. Everyone meets my eyes and nods, and I’m filled with immense relief.
Laflore leads our practice today, and without Brady’s disruption, it’s one of the best we’ve had since I landed here. Laflore, like Range, isn’t afraid to put us through our paces and challenge us. I also get some one-on-one time with Lee.
“You can’t let what happened get in your head,” Lee reminds me. “I know it was upsetting, and Donaldson is a vicious asshole, but you’re better than him.”
I nod, grateful that the team has my back.
An hour later, we’re done, but there’s still no sign of Range or Brady. Laflore is busy typing on her phone, but before I can skate off the ice with the others, she waves me over.
“Range is waiting for you,” she states. “Head to his office now, don’t bother getting changed.”
If it’s that urgent, it’s bad. I should be calm after a hard workout, but the thought of facing Brady makes me ragey. While the rest of the team heads for showers, cooldowns, and massage therapy, I amble in the opposite direction toward Range’s office.
I knock on his door and wait.
“Enter!”
Stepping inside, there’s no sign of my shitty teammate, thank fuck.
Unfortunately, Hugo’s here. Great. Just what I need. Or, maybe it is. This time, Hugo’s not going to get his way.
“Coach, Hugo.”
I nod and sit down.
“I heard most of what Brady said in the locker room,” Range starts. “But I want to hear your side of it.”
I’m ready to throw it all on the line.
Instead of starting with the fight in the locker room, I go through everything Brady’s said to me, direct and implied, from the day I arrived. It takes a while, and Range makes notes on his tablet as I talk. So does Hugo.
“And I can give you more context about what happened before I left Chicago, but it can’t leave this room.”
Range nods and glances at Hugo.
“Go on.”
“I was threatened with physical harm. That was the breaking point. And I’ve worked too hard to deal with this again.
I earned my place on this team, and I won’t put up with any homophobic comments or behavior.
If Brady continues to bad mouth me, I’ll be contacting my agent, and if needed, the commissioner and the press. ”
“Now wait, it’s only one person, not—” Hugo starts.