Page 6 of Break the Ice
“Sylkes, I expected better from you.”
All the blood drains from Eli’s face when he takes the document and reads it. Most of the team is heading for the post-game cool-down in the gym or the massage rooms. Only the leadership group and a few others remain.
“It’s fucking terrible, son,” Coach says as Eli drops his head.
He doesn’t speak, only nods. He’s usually so stoic, but there’s a tremor in his jaw when his lips press together. I can’t tell if he wants to scream or break down, only that something big is brewing when he folds up the paper again.
If I didn’t know him so well, I’d just snatch it from him. But everything about his rigid stance screams leave me alone.
“The suspense is killing me,” Hillier says, tugging the paper from Eli when he glances at Coach. “It was a fight.”
Hillier whistles low after reading it. “Oh, come on. This is an overreaction. Ridiculous for an opener!”
“Yeah? Then let it be a warning to you, assholes,” Coach retorts when I grab the document from Matheo.
I read it quickly.
Coach was wrong. It’s not terrible. It’s a joke.
“A game ban and a fine?” I throw it down on the bench beside Eli. “This is bullshit. Tomes is a prick. He brought that beating on himself.”
“Agreed,” Andersen mutters.
“Do we know what Tomes got?” Thompson asks. Unlike the others, he stands beside Coach, watching Eli closely with that concerned expression that’s earned him the nickname Daddy. “Did he get anything?”
“The same,” Coach grinds out.
“Oh, great,” Hillier scoffs. “Yeah, the guy goes around mouthing off and being a phobe, and this is all he gets?”
“Maybe it’s worth asking the GM to file a complaint,” Thompson says coolly.
“We can’t let him bully and harass us without consequences,” Hillier fires at Coach, blue eyes sharp.
Dylan steps beside him. Captain and alternate captain, ready to go to bat for the team.
“Rio…” Coach starts, shaking his head, but Thompson cuts him off.
“If we don’t take a stand and protect our own, we’re as complicit as Presley Tomes and his bigoted crap.”
“Thompson’s right,” Hillier and I say together.
“We don’t make a stand now, who’s he going to target next? Auguste?”
“Shit, I see what you’re doing, Daddy,” Broussard scoffs, stepping up from somewhere behind me to level Coach with a stare no one else would get away with. He’s the only one wrapped around Coach’s daughter’s little finger. “That backwater idiot ever mentions my color, I promise I’ll wipe the floor with his smarmy face.”
“Jesus,” Coach mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Stand down. I’ll handle it with management. Go home and rest up. We’re on the road at six a.m. sharp. Sylkes, I expect you in the press room in Florida, ban or not.”
When he leaves, everyone except Thompson and Hillier clears out while Eli reads the disciplinary document one more time before stuffing it into his bag.
Eli doesn’t say much. He and Broussard are the silent types who can carry a whole conversation with one look—if the conversation was two words: fuck and off.
I’m used to his silence around the team. But tonight, there’s a rough edge to it. Like he’s about to lose it with the whole world. And as much as I’ve tried to ignore it… I can’t.
“You okay?” I ask, sitting beside his bag.
It’s a stupid question, but safer than demanding answers about tonight.
He doesn’t respond. Just stares down at his busted knuckles like he’s done with everything and everyone.
