Chapter 20
KNOX
Ava opens her bag and begins passing out pens and paper. Even now, on a Saturday night, she’s got her tools of the trade at hand. It would be fucking adorable if she didn’t have tear tracks staining her gorgeous face.
My gut twists at the sight of her tear-soaked cheeks.
Seeing Ava cry is something I never want to experience again.
Worse is knowing that I helped put those tears there.
That my actions—or inactions—caused her to feel so hopeless.
Ava is not a failure. She could never be a failure, and knowing she felt that way for even one damn second is like a blade to the throat.
Judging by the looks on their faces, the rest of the team feels the same way.
We may be brutes on the ice, but off it, most of us are far softer. There isn’t a man in this room who wouldn’t give you the shirt off his back…and yet somehow, I’ve failed to bring them together. To form the kind of bonds I had in San Jose and at Waverly.
It’s a new team. There wasn’t a lot of shared history to build on.
True, but we should have connected last season.
Over what? Losing?
It’s a cop-out. We may not have a winning record, but there are always things to celebrate. Personal milestones. Big plays. Nasty clappers.
“We’re going to do an exercise called Fear in a Hat.
” Ava pauses, as if waiting for protests, but none come.
She nods, looking pleasantly surprised. “I want each of you to write down one or two things that scare you, something you’ve been thinking about or struggling with.
” She shoots us the side-eye. “And I’m not talking Michael Myers scared.
I want real, raw emotions here. Dig deep.
Your fears will be anonymous. We’re going to throw them in a hat and pull them out one at a time to discuss them.
The point of this exercise is to build empathy and trust within the team. ”
There’s a lot of uncomfortable shifting, but the usual complaints and snarky comments are absent.
“Look around this room,” Ava says, making a circular motion with her finger.
“Whatever emotion you’re feeling, whatever it is that is causing you anxiety, I guarantee you there’s at least one other person here feeling the same way, which is why we need to normalize talking about it. That’s how we move forward as a team.”
I don’t miss the fact that she says we, including herself as part of the group.
That has to be a good sign.
She falls silent, and I stare down at the paper in my hand, unsure what to write. What am I truly afraid of? Another losing season? Finishing in last place?
My gut hardens at the thought, but it’s not fear, exactly.
Head down, I scan the room. All around me, guys are jotting down their fears, using their stalls and pads as makeshift writing surfaces.
Is the question really that easy to answer, or am I just terrible at being honest with myself?
You know damn well what scares you. You’re just afraid to write it down.
Because once I put it into the world, I can’t take it back. And putting it out there feels like another failure.
Ava said to dig deep, but that’s not my problem. My problem is being vulnerable, showing weakness. Admitting it aloud.
It’s not a weakness to be vulnerable.
Ava may be on the other side of the room, but her voice is in my head, urging me on.
Fuck it. We said we’d do whatever it takes, no questions asked.
I scrawl my fears on the paper and fold it in half.
“Alright,” Ava says, taking up her post at the front of the room. She turns to Bouchard, who’s sitting to her right. “Can I borrow your helmet to collect the papers?”
Boosh’s eyes go wide, and for an instant, he looks every bit like a deer caught in the headlights.
“No. Sorry, but no.” He shakes his head adamantly. “I can’t have all that bad juju in my helmet. It would be bad luck.”
Ava frowns, exasperated. “It’s just paper. There’s no bad juju.”
Boosh slides his hand over his helmet, as if protecting it. “Sorry, Ava. Anything else, but not that.”
She turns to Smitty. “Can I borrow yours?”
Panic flashes across his face. “Maybe you could use Sutter’s? He’s on IR, so by the time he needs it again, all the bad energy will have cleared out.” He cringes. “Probably.”
Sutter looks annoyed, and I can tell he’s biting his tongue, torn between honoring his word to Ava and volunteering to fill his helmet with bad vibes.
I grab my toiletry bag and dump the contents on the bench. It’s mostly backup supplies like tape, wax, and shoelaces. Most importantly, the bag will be easy to replace.
Because no, I don’t want bad juju either.
“Here you go, Ava.” I stand, offering her the bag. “Will this work?”
She huffs out a breath, sending a loose strand of hair flying. “Why are y’all like this? I can tell you with certainty that no other sport is as superstitious as y’all are.”
Tonight has been full of surprises, not the least of which is that Ava’s accent is thicker, more pronounced when she’s upset or flustered.
I wink at her as she accepts the bag. “It’s part of our charm.”
She collects everyone’s papers and puts them in the toiletry bag, giving it a good shake before she holds it out to Boosh and instructs him to pull one of the white slips and read it aloud.
He draws a carefully folded square from the bag, and the tension in the room increases tenfold. It’s so thick you could cut it with a blade, each of us wondering if our biggest fears are about to be exposed.
It’s fucking terrifying, and I have to force my body to remain still as nervous energy courses through my limbs.
“I’m afraid I won’t live up to the hype of being number one,” Bouchard reads, “and I feel like I’m letting my idol down.”
Holy shit. That has to be Ginny’s fear. No one else here was a number-one draft pick.
Several of the guys exchange looks. It’s clear we’re all thinking the same thing.
Wait. Did he just say his idol? Who the fuck— Oh, no.
Realization slams into me, quickly followed by guilt.
I am such an asshole. How did I not see it? Is this why he’s such a pain in the ass? Is he trying to…impress me?
Fuuuck.
I mentally replay our early interactions, when he was constantly reminding me of his draft position. Maybe he wasn’t trying to get under my skin. Maybe he just wanted me to know that he had skills and would be an asset to the team, as if there had ever been any doubt.
Game recognizes game.
“Let’s talk about pressure,” Ava says, voice slicing through my chaotic thoughts.
I’m not sure if she’s truly oblivious, or if she’s trying to honor her commitment to anonymity, but I figure if a guy writes something so obvious, he wants us to know it’s him.
It’s brave as hell. “Has anyone else ever felt like the pressure was too much? Like it was impacting your game?”
Every hand in the room goes up.
“How did you deal with it?” she asks, nudging the conversation along.
D-Vo keeps his hand up, and she nods at him.
“Sometimes I think the game, the fans, the organization, they all put too much pressure on us. Even the best athletes have off days.” He turns to Ginny, amplifying the tension in the room.
“This is a team sport. No matter what bullshit the media spins, one player can’t carry an entire team.
That’s not how it works. If I’m having a bad day, I know St. James will step up, and he knows I’ll do the same for him.
That’s real, and that’s what I remind myself when it feels like it’s getting to be too much. ”
“Yeah, we’re human beings, not machines,” Bates adds, shaking his hair back. “It sucks when the media hypes you up like the second coming of Christ, but you have to block it out. Stop reading the news, and for the love of all that is holy, don’t read the comments.”
A few of the guys laugh, breaking the tension that hangs over the room like a storm cloud, and I join in.
It feels good to laugh after weeks of struggling to put points on the board. It feels even better to do it as a team.
I clear my throat. “I think I speak for the entire team when I say that you’re well on your way to a breakout rookie season, Ginny.
It’s still early days, but you’ve proven you can play at the pro level.
The only person here who might be disappointed with your performance is you.
All I can ask as your captain, all any of us can ask, is that you give us your best.” I hope he can hear the sincerity in my words because I mean every damn one of them. “If you’re doing that, we’re golden.”
McGinnis fidgets in his seat, but when he meets my eyes, he’s serious for what might be the first time since I met him.
“It’s just a lot. I mean, I’ve dreamed of playing in the NHL since I was a kid, and now I’m doing it alongside guys I’ve watched on TV.
I’m only twenty years old. I can’t even buy a beer at the club, and I might have already peaked. ”
I grin. “You’re not even close to peaking. Hell, you haven’t even grown into your pads yet.”
“Hit me up if you ever need to talk,” Fontaine offers. “My first year was rough, but it gets easier. Leaning on the guys around you can help.”
Hardy snickers. “Trust us, Ginny. The only thing that’s peaked is your chirps.”
“Alright,” Ava says, making a quiet down motion before the guys can even get started. “Let’s stay focused.”
She holds the bag out to Forey, and he pulls a paper slip.
“I’m afraid I’m not the leader this team needs me to be,” Forey says, reading slowly, “and that I’m letting them down.” Forey sits up straighter. “Cap?”
“The point of the exercise was to be honest.” I hold my chin high.
“This is as honest as it gets. If you want to know what keeps me up at night, it’s letting you guys down.
You put your trust in me, even when you didn’t have to, and there are some nights, like this one, when I feel like I’m failing you. ”
Fedorov ducks his head, but it’s Lindholm who speaks up. “No way, Cap. Trust me, I’ve been on teams with shit leaders, and you’re not one of them.”