Page 77 of Forecasting the Forward

Becca never answered me, and I can’t move on from it. I don’t know what to do or say, and I don’t even know anyone I can talk to about it.

“You know what? Pull me. Put Brown in for me,” I answer bluntly. Ezekiel Brown is a rookie phenom, who will undoubtedly break records with this organization, but due to his immature attitude, he’s been benched a lot.

“You serious? You want to be pulled?” Coach asks, his brow furrowed in confusion. My line heads back on the ice, and he barks out an order for Brown to go as a replacement. “Are you hurt?”

“No, but my head isn’t in the game. I’m sorry, Coach. You can discipline me as you see fit. I’m not doing my best for the team, so I shouldn’t be on the ice.”

“We’ll talk after the game,” he says as he directs his attention back to the game.

A couple of hours later when we’re heading to the bus to take us back to the hotel, Coach motions for me to sit with him at the front of the bus. Usually I’m way in the back, either unwinding or hanging out with the guys.

“Talk,” Coach commands.

“Dang, Coach, take me to dinner first,” I mutter.

“Funny. I’m guessing the issue today stems from something to do with your wife. Correct?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“Nothing else, really. Well, something, but I’m not ready to talk about it.” Ryan McNichols is sitting two rows back, undoubtedly listening to everything I say, ready to report back to Becca’s brother. Which gets me thinking: Ryan has always been a really good guy. He was respected on the ice when he was our goaltender, and he’s transitioned to a coach well. How on earth did Rodney Junior get to Ryan, and what could that mean for all of us?

Standing, I swivel to Ryan’s seat. His eyes widen when he looks up at me, and I squat so we’re closer to eye level. “What did he threaten you with?”

“I — I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammers.

“Bullshit, McNichols. I’ve met the bastard. Blackmail is definitely in his repertoire. What did he threaten you with?”

Ryan studies me as he debates on answering. “I can’t say.”

I shrug. “Alright. Just know I’m going to human resources when we get home to make sure you get fired. Coaches who can be bought are kinda frowned upon, right?”

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Guess it doesn’t matter, because if he does what he says he’ll do, I’m getting fired anyway.”

“Why?” I ask, noting Coach has turned around to listen to our conversation.

“This is so embarrassing. He has a video of me with a prostitute. I’m wearing Wolves gear. If it gets out, I’m done.”

“What is it with threats about inappropriate videos in this organization?” Coach yells. A prior teammate of ours, Luca Santo, was supposedly recorded on an away trip when his girl came to visit him. His girl just so happens to be Coach’s niece. “For fuck’s sake! Did you record yourself, McNichols?”

“No.”

“So you were recorded without your consent, but happened to be wearing a Wolves shirt?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s moot. You’re not getting fired for that. I’d like to understand why Jax would need to go to HR, though.”

Arriving at the hotel, Coach tells me and Ryan to come into his room. We explain the whole situation, including how heinous Becca’s brother is, and how I assume he’s doing some other illegal things in an attempt to fuck with Becca’s life. In a moment of poetic timing, my phone chimes with a text. I grab it quickly, hoping it’s Becca, and am only somewhat disappointed when I see it’s from my private investigator. As I read the screen, my mouth drops open. “Woah.”

“What?” Coach asks.

“I had an investigator look into Becca’s father and brother. Turns out they aren’t just nasty individuals. They’re straight upcriminals.” Showing the phone to Coach, I watch as his eyes widen.

“Jesus. Good thing you got your girl out of that situation,” he comments.

“That dude is crazy,” Ryan says. “When he cornered me last weekend, I was honestly scared.”

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