Page 2 of One Good Puck
I’m heartened by his response. For the longest time, I wrote Xander off as a stereotypical dumbass who didn’t care about anything other than bedding puck bunnies and playing hockey. But I was wrong. He’s a good guy to the core. He stands up for what’s right, no matter what.
“You had to push pretty hard with Alan, didn’t you?” Xander asks.
“Yeah. He thought McCoy deserved another chance. I didn’t.”
“I’m glad you stood your ground, Coach. I don’t wanna play with a guy who thinks revenge porn is okay.”
“I’ve always got your back,” I say, the edge in my voice gone. “You’re the first player on the team I’ve told. I still have to contact everyone.”
“I’m with Richards, Thompson, Blomdahl, and McKesson right now. I’ll let them all know about what happened with McCoy.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“No, but I will be.”
“Come out and have a drink with us.”
“It’s the off-season. You really wanna see your coach when you don’t have to yet?”
“Of course we do.” I can tell he’s smiling. “Come on, Ibet you could use a drink after the day you’ve had dealing with this mess.”
“Okay, sure. After I contact the rest of the players, I’ll join you guys.”
“Thanks for the beer, guys,” I say as I drain the last of my glass. We’re at some dive bar on the edge of downtown that I’ve never heard of before. Spanky’s is the name, I think.
I’m surprised that the guys hang out at a place as rundown as this. I look around at the dimly lit space. Sticky brown carpet covers the floor, and all the tables and chairs look like they’re made of rickety wood. There are three flat-screen TVs mounted in the bar, but only two of them seem to work.
“Glad you joined us, Coach,” Xander says.
“Yeah, it was fun having a drink with you,” Theo Thompson says. He’s one of the top left wingers on our roster.
“You should come out with us more often,” Sam McKesson says. Del Richards, who’s sitting next to him, frowns at him.
“I don’t think Richards is crazy about that idea,” I say.
The grumpy two-way center looks at me and shrugs. “Sorry.”
“No need to be sorry. When I was a player, I didn’t want to go drinking with my coaches either,” I say.
Sam, who’s the top defenseman on the team, elbows Del and laughs.
“Del takes a while to warm up to new drinking buddies,” McKesson teases.
“I have a feeling you two are gonna be drinking buddy besties,” Braden Blomdahl jokes.
“And I have a feeling I’m going to aim the puck at your head at our next practice,” Del deadpans.
“Hey, now. I think that counts as goalie abuse,” Blomdahl says.
I stand up from the table and drop cash on the table.
“You don’t need to pay,” Xander says.
“I crashed your hangout. It’s the least I can do.”
They all thank me.
