Page 21 of Furious
There is so much energy in the locker room that it feels like a palpable entity.
For the most part, people are laughing and celebrating our first W of the year and we’re all pumped to the max.
Chance and I have more reason than others to celebrate. Freshmen don’t tend to get a ton of ice time, especially when a team has so many star players that already have NHL contracts waiting for them after graduation.
We know that we have to use every opportunity to get on Coach’s radar, and we did just that today.
Tucker, our goalie, climbs on the bench in front of his locker, buck naked. “Who’s the best team in our fucking conference this year?” he yells, gyrating his hips doing a helicopter dick. “Whofucked UCLA in the ass, raw dog, not once, not twice, but five fucking times?” he roars.
Our captain, Luke, yells back. “Cove Knights, Cove Knights!”
Before we know it, the entire locker room is chanting “Cove Knights.”
The atmosphere is intoxicating in the best way possible. I have to admit that this is where hockey beats racing any day of the week.
When you race, even if you’re part of a team, it’s still mostly every man for himself. In hockey, some teams become so tight-knit that it’s like having a second family.
“Who’s ready to fuck some Zetas now?” Tucker yells from his spot on the bench. “Our freshmen showed us what they can do on the ice. Let’s show them how the Cove Knights party in the Gamma house. Our motto is loud music, booze and pussy as far as the eye can see. You aren’t a Cove Knight until you’ve scored a goal and you’ve fucked a Ze?—”
“If scoring a goal is what makes a Cove Knight,” Coach Harrison is standing right behind Tucker, his tone frostier than an ice bath. “That means you ain’t one, Prescott.”
Tucker cups his junk to cover it, his dark brows lowered into a frown, as he takes in what Coach just said. “But I’m the goalie. That doesn’t apply to me.”
That was the wrong thing to say, or maybe it doesn’t matter what Tucker says at this point.
Coach Harrison glares at every single one of his players in the locker room. “One thing that I can guarantee applies to every man in this room is that we skate tomorrow morning at seven a.m. sharp.”
A collective groan meets the announcement and, I swear to God, I see the hint of a smile on Coach Harrison’s face. But it’s there for a split second; if you blinked, you’d miss it and think it was a figment of your imagination.
Coach ignores the dampener he’s put on the team’s mood and issues a warning. “With that in mind, make sure you enjoy the loud music, booze, and pussy promised by your teammate in moderation. You don’t want to know what happens if you show up to practice late, or are too hungover to function.”
There’s a chorus of defeated “Yes, Coach.”
But Coach Harrison isn’t done. “Of course, let me remind you that not every man in this room is of legal drinking age, most of you actually aren’t. I’m confident I don’t have to tell you that if I get woken up at four a.m. to come and bail you out of jail, there’s gonna be consequences. Understood?”
More “Yes, Coach,” is uttered in the locker room, and the sobering effect is such that even Tucker jumps off the bench and grabs a towel and his shower gel.
“One more thing, ladies.” Coach says, meeting everyone’s gazes around the room. “I came here to tell you, good job tonight. Of course, it’s early days and we don’t want to jinx anything, but that was one hell of a team out there. From our seniors to our freshmen, you’ve made my job of choosing which lines to send out easier and harder at the same time. I guess it’s a nice problem to have. Now go to your party, but I’ll see you all tomorrow morning bright and early.”
When the locker room doors closes behind Coach, I check my phone before grabbing my shower stuff.
“Zara is outside waiting for us.” I tell Chance, who’s right behind me. “Heather is with her.”
He rolls his eyes. “There goes my victory kiss.”
“I’m sure you’ll be able to get a victory kiss at the party.” I slap him on the back, headed for the first empty shower cubicle. “You can find somewhere quiet to hang out with Zee. And Heather isn’t the only person you should worry about. If we have to sell to your parents that Zara is with me, we have to be careful not to blow our cover.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. It still sucks, though.”
I’m about to tell him that he’ll live, but as I’m about to step into the cubicle, someone slaps me on the ass.
“Good game tonight, fresh meat. But don’t let that assist and that goal go to your head.” Dave laughs. “By the end of the night, you’ll get a reminder of where your place is. Let’s see what you can do against my brother on a real fucking race bike.”
I know our frat president is just trying to rile me up. Trash talking must be a Fox family tradition, because his brother Calvin used to do that constantly when we raced in the Super Bikes League.
The best response to people like them is not to show them that they’re getting to you with their heckling.
“Yeah. About that,” I grab the tiled wall of the shower cubicle entrance so I don’t have to look at the arrogant smile that I can bet is on his face. “Chance and I brought our own bikes, if you don’t mind. Not that we don’t trust Calvin, but we don’t want to be charged for the use of his bikes when we bankrupt you, like you tried to do last week.”
