Page 68 of Must Love Dogs… and Hockey

“Does it make you that miserable?” She sips her wine.

“I try not to let it. I don’t want it to mess with my head and make things even worse. I just get so…furious. It’s frustrating. I hate feeling like I have no control.”

“You do have control. You always have choices.”

I frown.

“But there are consequences, of course. As I know.” She rolls her eyes.

She does know. And I know too, that’s why I try to keep my mouth shut. “I tried to defend myself yesterday when we had our meeting, but he obviously didn’t like that.”

“I’m sorry.” Sympathy shadows her eyes and she reaches for my hand. “It sucks. You’re one of the best hockey players in the world, doing what you love, and you should be happy about what you’ve accomplished.”

My forehead creases. “Do I sound ungrateful?”

“No! That’s not what I meant. I meant it’s a shame that you’re in a situation like this.” She bites her lip. “Would you want to be traded again?”

I close my eyes. “I can’t do that. They were happy to get rid of me in Vancouver. If I ask for another trade, my reputation will be shit.” More than it already is.

“I understand.”

I meet her eyes and it occurs to me that she totally understands…because she’s been through this. She knows what it’s like to try to do your best and do the right thing and be criticized for it. To be unfairly accused of not being a team player, when the truth is she was trying to be the best team player.

The pressure in my chest eases and I relax my spine. “I know you do,” I say quietly. “Thanks for understanding.”

She nods, a small smile on her lips. “I do.”

—

I’m determined to play my ass off in Wednesday night’s game against Washington. Call me spiteful, but I want to show everyone that Coach’s decision was bullshit. I’m aware that I should be playing my ass off every game, and dammit, I do, but tonight it’s even more important. Then I stop and think about Lilly’s question.Is it possible it’s justified?

Is this Coach’s way of getting me to play better?

I ask Cookie that on the subway ride home.

He gives me a weird look. “You weren’t playing bad, though. Seriously. Look at all the stats—your points, your plus/minus, Corsi, Fenwick, shooting percentage…”

I nod slowly. I’ve doubted myself in lots of ways, especially since Bryce and Dad died and Mom didn’t care enough about me to even try to keep going. But I’ve never doubted my hockey skills. Before the accident, I knew I was going to get drafted, and after the accident that was all I had left to focus on. I may have made my career more difficult because of always feeling like things are too good to be true and I’m going to get whacked so I might as well hit first, but that has nothing to do with my ability to play hockey.

“Yeah,” I agree slowly.

“I mean, nobody’s perfect and we can always do better. But you’re one of the hardest-working guys on the team.”

Right now, it means a lot to me to hear that. “Thanks.”

“He’s an asshole,” Cookie says glumly. “We all know it. And tonight, do we score any power play goals? No. None. Zip.” He shakes his head in disgust. “Red’s just not strong enough in front of the net.”

I nod. We both love the guy, but it’s true.

“Coach’s stupid decisions are making us a worse team,” Cookie adds.

“That’s just not right.” I blow out a breath and glance around to make sure no one is in earshot of our discussion. “You’d think Mr. Julian sees that. How does Coach keep his job? Aren’t we supposed to focus on winning?”

“I know. I don’t get it.”

I shake my head. “Glad I’m not the only one feeling this way.”

“Nah, you’re not.”

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