Page 35 of The Trade Deadline
“A loss I can handle,” Thompkins continued. “Losses are part of the game. But I expect us to at least beinthe games we lose. We haven’t been in this game since halfway through the first. That loss was a collective effort. This team absolutelystankout there tonight. Not a single one of you?—”
“Vorny only let in six on what must’ve been forty shots,” Lars blurted out. Oh. Shit. So hewaswilling to get reamed for his opinion. He silently cursed himself but made eye contact with Vorny before turning back to Thompkins. “We let him down.”
Thompkins looked surprised by the interruption. “Well,” he said awkwardly, eyes darting to Vorny before fixing back on Lars. Goalies were a special case, and coaches didn’t like to put too much blame on them. You could praise them for a win, but not crucify them for a loss; it got in their heads way more than other players. Put on the spot, Thompkins didn’t seem eager to draw attention to his goaltender’s play. “Vorny I can talk to later about his play. Still, not a single one of therestof you?—”
“RJ’s line pretty much single-handedly killed five penalties for us,” Lars said. A hush fell over the locker room, everyone’s expression shocked that Lars a) had managed to interrupt once and go unscathed and b) was dumb enough to push his luck a second time. No one said anything. No one moved. Even Coach Thompkins stood there speechless as he processed what was happening. So Lars, seeing as he was in trouble anyway, went on. “RJ even shut down that 5-on-3 in the second with a broken stick and five blocked shots, then kicked it clear. Highlight reel penalty killing. And he probably led the team in shots. Definitely led centers in face-off wins. He got our only goal, and?—”
“I got it,” Coach Thompkins snapped; Lars obediently shut his mouth, but he didn’t look away. He was right and he knew it. The team undervalued Ryan’s efforts, and Lars was, quite frankly, sick of it. Maybe they needed Lars saying it a bunch of times before they could actually see it for themselves. “Anything else you wanna add, Nilsson?”
“No,” he said. “The rest of us were terrible.”
There was a tense moment of silence as Thompkins glared at Lars, hands on his hips and expression calculating. “Vorny, good game,” he said. “RJ, good game. You two can take tomorrow off. The rest of you I’m skating so damn hard you’llwishwe were doing suicides.” Then he turned and stormed out of the room, the other coaches on his heels.
As soon as the door swung shut behind him, the tension broke.
“Holyfuck,” Bergsy said. “Is that what being a superstar lets you do? Tell off your coach?”
“The balls on this guy,” Jake said, nudging him with his elbow. “If I give you fifty bucks, will you stick up for me next time we’re getting told off?”
Lars raised an eyebrow. “I’ll do it for free when your play warrants it.”
Jake made a dramatic face. “Fair. I wasnothaving a good night out there.” There was a moment of hesitation, and then Jake seemed to remember the C on his sweater; he turned to Ryan. “You did pretty good out there, RJ,” he acknowledged. “Nice job.”
Ryan looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor as he mumbled, “Sorry we left you out to dry, Vorny.”
Vorny made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Not your fault. Nilsy is right, you were the only one being useful on those kills.”
“Excuse you?” said Rupert Swanson, one of the defensemen. “I cleared it like ten times.”
“After RJ won it right to you. And don’t think I forgot that screen on their third goal.” Rupert put up his hands in surrender. Vorny turned back to Ryan. “It’d have been a ten-goal loss if you weren’t there,” he said, “so I appreciate you helping make sure my numbers didn’t tank.”
“I got you,” RJ said. Apparently Vorny’s was the only praise he could handle, and even that he took too seriously. “I don’t know that it’s as bad as it looked on the scoreboard.”
“It was,” Lars said. He’d finally gotten his shoulder pads off and he winced. Maybe he should ice it before he went home. “It wasn’t the first time and won’t be the last time we’ve sucked, but we definitely sucked.”
“Welcome to the Blue Crabs.” Tomas, his left wing, stood and patted Lars on the shoulder, right where it hurt. “This is what a non-playoff bound team looks like.”
“That’s what a non-playoff bound attitude sounds like,” Jake shot back with a scowl. “We’re just as good as anybody else out there.”
“Except New York, apparently,” someone mumbled.
“Just tonight. We come back from this, and we beat ‘em next time,” Jake insisted. Lars could see why he was captain and not Tomas; a team’s mentality and morale were fickle, and good leadership could keep them solid even in the face of bad losses.
The team grumbled some more as they cleared out, mostly deflated but not seeming to let the setback settle in. By the time Lars had showered and seen the medical staff, there wasn’t anyone left puttering about. He found himself disappointed that he couldn’t follow up with Ryan, because he wasn’t sure that he’d believed Lars’s honest praise, but he wasn’t surprised. There was no reason to linger, especially if Lars hadn’t asked him to wait for him.
Ask him to wait for me.He scoffed at himself. What possible excuse could he even give to make that request reasonable?
Because he was expecting nothing except leftovers and watching Netflix until he fell asleep, he didn’t check his phone until his dinner was in the microwave. He was unsurprised to find a ?? emoji from his sister-in-law (he responded with ????) and was delighted to see there were messages from Ryan waiting for him.
thanks for what you said in the locker room
you didn’t have to and i appreciate it
hope the shoulder’s okay looked like a bad hit
my shoulder will be fine
and i did have to say it.
