Page 4 of Puck King
Brian stood a little taller and pushed his chair shield aside. “Alison. We can work this out.”
I looked at Brian and it was as though I was seeing him clearly for the first time. He was a liar, and I cursed myself for not seeing it earlier. He seemed to take my silence for agreement and opened his arms. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”
The look in his eyes and the tone of his voice were identical to the ones he’d used only moments earlier to lie to me.
“It won’t happen again.” I repeated his statement, but the strength had drained from my voice. It shook almost as badly as my hands as I shoved them into the pockets of my leggings.
Brian took a step toward me and opened his arms wider, a meek smile on his face. A smile that made my stomach churn.
“You’re right. It won’t happen again.” I strode past him, pulled my shoes from the cubby, and opened the door. “It won’t happen again, because we’re getting a divorce.”
Three
Colton
The security guardopened the door to the players’ entrance at King Coliseum. “Thanks Bruce.” I smiled as I stepped into the building.
Bruce nodded. “Have a good practice, Sir.” The old man was a Coliseum staple and had been opening the door for players long before I arrived.
Laughter echoed through the concrete hallways as I made my way through the guts of the stadium that my father owned. People thought I had it easy, being the son of the owner of a National League team, but actually, that made it harder. I had to prove that I wasn’t on the team because of the name on my jersey. If that wasn’t challenging enough, I wore number seventy-seven, Jake McManus’s number, which a lot of irate fans thought should’ve been retired when the legend had left the team.
The dressing room fell silent as I stepped inside, the laughter sucked out of the room by my presence. A couple of the guys nodded at me, but went back to getting dressed.
“Kinger.” My linesman and left winger, Brandon Smitt, acknowledged me as I sat down.
“Smitty,” I replied.
He focused on lacing up his skates. “Rough day?”
A couple of the other guys glanced over. As captain of the team, I didn’t let anyone’s personal lives interfere with the game, and my dumpster fire of a love life was no exception.
“It’s a great day, bud.” I stretched my arms above my head. “We get to play some hockey.” I said it a little louder than necessary and saw the shoulders of a few of the guys relax. The vacuum of the room instantly lifted. The guys on my team were my teammates, not my friends. I treated them like business acquaintances. Part of me felt like I owed them an explanation, that I should set the record straight about all the bad press. But it wasn’t about hockey, and therefore it wasn’t anyone’s business but mine.
But the awkward energy returned when we were on the ice. Guys were missing passes, forgetting plays, and everyone seemed to be struggling with their speed.
The buzzer sounded and the Zamboni sat idling, but Coach Montford waved the driver off and blew his whistle. The assistant coach, Rob, skated up to me, spraying snow on my skates as he skidded to a stop. “Uh, King, Coach wants your line to sit this one out.”
I clicked my mouthguard out of place with my tongue. “What?”
“He wants to work with the second line for a bit. You guys can go.” He said it a little louder so my linesmen could hear. Smitty shrugged and the rest of the linesmen skated toward the boards. It was unorthodox, especially since our team had a way of doing things. I was always the last one off the ice, even in practices.
“I’ll stick around and watch.” I tucked my glove under my arm and rubbed my thumb on the tape of the knob of my stick.
Rob looked uneasy. “He wants all of the first line in the dressing room. Not on the ice.” He glided backwards with his hands held in front of him. “His idea, not mine,” he whispered.
I glanced over to Montford, who was running a drill with the second line. “Rob, I can’t leave the ice. You know that.”
Rob sighed. “I’m not the boss.”
Right, I thought to myself,I’m the captain of this team and the highest paid player in the league.Instead of leaving the ice, I skated to the net. “Mind if I watch from the box, Coach?” I asked.
The players looked at each other and shuffled their feet on the ice. They knew the tradition, and hockey players are a superstitious bunch, myself included.
Coach Montford had over ten playoff cups under his belt, and had been a major acquisition for the Thunder. I respected the man immensely, but what he was asking, it just didn’t make sense.
Montford skated away from the group and blew his whistle. He handed the puck to his assistant and Rob skated to center ice to drop it. I watched the second line attempt the play, but fail miserably. The puck hit the crossbar and flipped like a tossed coin into the safety net above the plexiglass.
Coach came and stood beside me. He crossed his arms and nodded to Rob to repeat the drill. “I’d like you to wait for me after practice.”
