Page 9 of Misconduct Zone

The games are always physical, but this is preseason. Ordinarily, Coach would only have me, Ace, and Dylon play a few minutes, but because Dylon was out almost the entire season, he wants us to get in sync again.

Griff scores, and I watch Dylon celebrate with hesitation. On our next rotation, he scores, and there’s relief on his face. I have complete confidence in him, and our team hasn’t lost the momentum from last year.

O’Keefe’s on a breakaway, but King flies from behind with an incredible check and steals the puck. He skates like a man with something to prove and fires a pass, racking up an assist. O’Keefe hits him late and swears at the ref, which earns him an additional two minutes in the sin bin for unsportsmanlike conduct. King smiles like he’s auditioning for a toothpaste commercial.

All the rookies play great, and by the middle of the third period, we’re up by three, and Coach puts Benz in goal. Boston’s getting physical, and the refs aren’t calling it.

Coach keeps our line off the ice for the rest of the game, and I cannot protect my teammates. He also pulls Liska, unwilling to risk another hit that might cause an injury. It’s hard to watch the hits from the bench, but the guys are prepared for the physicality and retaliate in kind.

There’s a bloodlust in the air uncommon for this early in the season. The crowd noise fades, and the reality sets in they will not win tonight. I cannot hear the taunts on the ice, but O’Keefe is harassing King.

Despite the tension, Benz stops all their shots, and by the end of the game, I am optimistic about having a season even better than last year.

For the formal post-game interviews, they select Liska, Ace, and Dylon for the formal press interviews, but bloggers and smaller outlets ask playersquestions in the changing room. King’s surrounded and fending off invasive questions about his father and the check on his stepbrother, which was completely legal.

I step in to tell them to find someone else, and Jamal disappears into the showers, where they cannot follow. We speak to the media as part of the job, but King got bombarded. Finn can help him with some extra media prep, so I text him. Finn, our PR Director, has no filter and would be a disaster on camera, but he’s great at his job and helps a lot of the guys learn how to speak while avoiding answering the question.

My anxiety increases the longer Dylon is gone. This is normal, I remind myself. He’s safe in the building. I am being irrational with my need to see him.

Chapter 6

Dylon

There’s zero possibility of getting comfortable in the hotel lobby’s excuse for a chair. I’ll never understand management’s preference for early morning flights, they make me want to punch someone. I prefer to ease my way into the day. We spent last night in Boston to celebrate, but absolutely no one felt good about the press or Richardson’s behavior.

Richardson griped to a sports blogger that the team has a toxic environment and playing time is based on seniority, not merit. It’s bullshit, but we had to fend off questions from legitimate news organizations and defend ourselves and the team. Coach benched him for our next game and said Coach Ass will babysit him in the locker room while the press is in there. Coach said it nicer than that and could’ve given a worse punishment.

This morning, we had to go through customs once we landed in Toronto. Fucking pain in the ass.

In another clusterfuck, the hotel isn’t ready for us, so we’re a pack of losers in the lobby at 8 a.m. when I should be sleeping. The uncomfortable club chair does not improve my mood. The entire lobby contains furniture that creates an upscale vibe, but it isn’t for lounging.

By this point, the team knows I’m not my sunny self in the morning. I used to fake it, but it was exhausting. A few rookies pass by the empty chair next to me and think betterof sitting.

Lars and Jamal have their heads together, talking so low I can’t hear them. Another pang of possession hits me that Lars ismyfriend. It’s unwelcome for its implications.

The hotel bar isn’t open, but I’d bet if I went into the restaurant, I could get a drink with breakfast. I hate that the idea popped into my head. I’ve learned that although I never drank to my detriment, I have addictive thoughts, and those thoughts are how I became dependent on my pain meds and overdosed.

Drinking lurks like a poison in the recesses of my brain, ready to unleash itself and destroy me. The times when longing for alcohol takes over the forefront of my thoughts make me feel like a failure. Like I should be able to control my compulsion but can’t. Lars helped me construct my life so the intrusive thoughts can be easily ignored. I let Lars down every time the need to drink strikes me.

It’s no wonder I’m attached to him and want to make him proud. He rescued me from my family, moved me into his apartment, and gave my life structure so I could succeed when I was determined to fail.

He’s forgiven me for the way I treated him when he declared his apartment was alcohol-free with no exceptions and set a daily routine of healthy food, exercise, and positive hobbies. I haven’t forgiven myself. I overshared every bad thought as a strategy to push him away and wallow in my physical and emotional pain. My sponsor calls it trauma-dumping as a defense mechanism. He should have thrown my sorry ass out on the street.

Without his help, I would’ve fallen back into my old habit of having a few drinks every night and not gotten back into a workout routine. Of course, I’m overly fond of my best friend who rescued me from myself. Nothing to be concerned about.

He confidently strides over, folding himself into the club chair and crossing his powerful legs. “Are you awake yet?” he asks, running his long fingers through his hair. They’re elegant for a hockey player, with no busted knuckles and short, rounded nails.

He’s watching me expectantly, and I’ve forgotten the question while weirdly focusing on his hands.

Patrik Liska stomps over to the couch across from us with Caleb Benz right behind him.

“Tell me what it means so I can comment appropriately,” Benz says, holding his phone at the ready. His round cheeks and eyes make him look as eager as the energy he gives off. He reminds me of a cherub who had his glowup and turned hot guy with a strong jaw.

That thought jolts my insides. This is the second time I’ve noticed a man’s attractive features. I scan the lobby for good-looking women and find a few. I understand they’re attractive, but I’m not attracted to them. There’s a distinct lack of desire, and it’s strange because the sex of a person doesn’t seem to matter to me.

My palm smacks my forehead, and Lars looks at me with concern. No one is as good-looking as he is. His personality adds to his physical appearance. I shake the thoughts from my head. This line of thinking feels off-limits.

Patrik glances at me but says to Benz, “You don’t need to comment if you don’t know vhat it means. It’s for him and people like him not to feel ashamed.” Patrik’s exasperation bleeds into his accent.

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