Page 35 of Must Love Dogs… and Hockey

My blood simmers in my veins.

We all have nicknames. Wendy is short for Wendell. Cookie is Owen’s nickname because his last name is Cooke. We call Igor Barbashev “Barbie.” None of us take offense at those handles. But calling someone Nancy is deliberately insulting.

And our coach just did that.

The atmosphere in the room has gone thick. I bend to pull off my skates. Not only am I angry, I feel fucking helpless. I’ve spoken up before and attracted Coach’s wrath. I can’t keep doing that. Hockey’s all I have left. I can’t risk losing that too.

“That was a display of weakness out there,” Coach continues, pacing. “I never want to see that kind of pansy-ass forechecking again. Come on!” He points at JBo. “You! You wouldn’t even drop the gloves!”

“Bolton got a penalty,” JBo says quietly. “Taking a fighting penalty would have taken me out of the PP.”

“Fuck that!” Coach stands still. “You think you’re the only center who can play the power play?”

JBo’s jaw tightens and he drops his chin.

Heisour best center on the power play. For fuck’s sake.

Coach rants on then storms out. We all exchange fuming glances as we finish undressing and head to the showers.

I don’t feel like going out. All I want to do is go home. Otis is waiting there for me.

I know I shouldn’t get used to that. I know I shouldn’t get attached. It’s just another thing that’ll be taken away from me. But right now, it gives me something to look forward to.

Cookie, Russ, and I take the subway home together since we live in the same building. We’re all quiet, looking at our phones during the short ride. I have a text message from Lilly with a picture of Otis sitting on my couch.

Just leaving now! We had a good walk. See you Wednesday!

One corner of my mouth lifts in a reluctant smile. Wednesday we’re off to Detroit so I’m taking Otis to her place for a sleepover.

We emerge from the station onto 72nd Street to walk the few blocks to our building. Once we’re across Broadway and alone on the dark street I blow out a breath. “That was bullshit,” I say quietly.

“Yeah.” Cookie shakes his head. “What the fuck.”

Russ says, “I know.”

“It’s getting to me, guys. I’m afraid I’m going to punch him.”

They chuckle, but I’m not really joking.

“I know, it’s getting to me too,” Russ says. “It’s getting to all of us. Nobody wants to screw up because you’re going to get humiliated.”

“Or worse,” Cookie adds. “Remember last year when Coach scratched Red? It was the game he could’ve scored his two hundredth goal, and he scratched him because Red talked back to him. I don’t even remember about what.”

“That was before I came,” I say. “That’s fucked up.”

“Right?”

“Everyone screws up at some point,” I mutter. “We’re not perfect.”

“I know.”

“You guys wanna come up to my place for a beer?” I ask as we approach the entrance to the apartment building.

“Sure.”

We ride the elevator to the seventh floor. As I enter my code at the door, I hear Otis whining and yipping, and I grin. “Coming, my man.”

I open the door and he’s right there, bouncing in his usual frenzy of excitement to see me. I grab him so we can all get inside and shut the door. I head to the kitchen while Cookie and Russ wander into my living room where Lilly left a light on for Otis. They shed their jackets, tossing them onto a chair, and sprawl onto my big sofas.

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