Page 128 of One Good Puck
I let out a slow, quiet breath. Good. I don’t want to see that fucker ever again.
Alan aims his hard frown at me. “And now Ryker’s injured because of your bullshit.”
That momentary relief fades, and I tense up again. “It’s unfortunate if he’s out for the next few games. We have a solid roster though. O’Connell can play in his place. Or Ivanov.”
Alan shakes his head. “I’d bet my left nut your prized veteran winger is going to need to be out longer than just a few games. He hurt his knee and his ankle in that fight—on his weak side. It’s looking like he’ll have to be on long-term injury reserve.”
Alan rolls out his shoulder, his tell-tale sign that he’s stressed as hell.
“I’ll have to meet with the team owner to talk about next steps regarding salary cap and who we might have to call up from our AHL team,” Alan says.
Dread curdles in the pit of my gut. One of the few things I know about Greg Macer is that he hates exceeding the salary cap, which will happen if we have to put Ryker on long-term injury reserve and call up one of our guys from the AHL to play while he’s out.
Guilt seeps in through the dread I’m feeling. Ryker’s probably crushed about this. And it’s my fault. I should have kept my cool. I shouldn’t have lost it on McCoy.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, even though I know that’s the least helpful thing I could say right now.
“I don’t give a shit that you’re sorry,” Alan says, glaring at me. “You’re on thin ice, Gavin. Yeah, you brought us the Cup last season, but that doesn’t mean shit if your behavior leads to fights that injure our players and cost us games. Understood?”
“Yeah.” I stand up from the chair, then walk out of his office, feeling on edge and like I’m on the verge of screwing everything up.
When I arrive home and walk into the kitchen, Abby is standing at the stove, cooking a grilled cheese sandwich.
She glances up at me and offers a sad smile. “Hey,” she says softly.
“Hey.” I toss my suit jacket on the back of a chair and walk up to her. I wrap my arms around her, hugging her tight. She sinks into my embrace, and I breathe in the scent of her strawberry shampoo.
The comfort is instant. My muscles relax, and all the stress I’ve been holding on to for the past few hours melts away. That’s how it always is when I’m around Abby. Everything else falls away, and there’s just her.
“I’m sorry about the loss,” she says into my chest.
I nuzzle her hair and kiss her. “Me too.”
“I know I don’t know a lot about hockey, but those refs were terrible. They screwed you guys over.”
I smile at the conviction in her voice. “It happens sometimes.”
She leans back and looks up at me, then cups her hands over my cheeks. “I heard about the fight in the hallway outside of the locker room. What happened?”
I work up the nerve to tell her.
“McCoy made a disrespectful comment about you. I couldn’t let it slide.”
Her face falls. “That jerk. Gavin, I’m so sorry.”
“Hey.” I kiss her forehead. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”
“Did you get in trouble?”
I tell her about how Ryker got injured in the brawl and my meeting with Alan.
“Alan’s ready to fire me over this,” I say.
Abby shakes her head. “He can’t. Gavin, it was one loss. One moment where you lost your cool. You’ve been a perfect coach otherwise. And yeah, that sucks that Ryker got hurt, but you didn’t force him to fight. He jumped in on his own.”
I open my mouth to speak, but she cuts me off.
“Gavin, you coached your team to a Stanley Cup championship last season,” Abby says. “And you have a great record so far this season. He can’t get rid of you over one bad night.”
