Page 101 of Wildcat
It’s a downhill spiral from there. Seattle scores on the power play. I do my time in the box, leg bouncing and rage pulsing.
Coach yells at me when I make it back to the bench, but I barely hear him. Moore continues to sneer at me every chance he gets, but he doesn’t say Scarlett’s name again, so he gets to live. I know that the more I show how he agitates me, the more he’ll do it.
The game comes down to a shoot out, and Seattle gets the win. The locker room is quiet. Coach doesn’t come in to talk to us. I guess there isn’t anything to say. This game should have been a cakewalk.
I’m not at all surprised when I’m called to the media room. Jack places a hand on my shoulder and stops me before we walk in. “Are you good?”
“I’m fine.” I shrug out of his hold.
He moves his big body in front of me. “Do not go in there pissed at the world.”
Taking a deep breath, I nod.
Despite feeling like I’m ready to explode, I manage to answer questions and take my part of the responsibility for losing my head and costing the team an early goal.
By the time we get on the plane to head home, I feel like I’ve aged a hundred years.
“Drink?” Ash pours scotch from a mini bottle into a glass with ice.
“Nah.”
“Have a drink,” he says and places it in front of me. “You need to chill the fuck out. I can feel the rage radiating off you.”
I stretch my legs out and sip the whiskey.
“There you go.” He makes himself a drink and reclines his chair back. “What the hell did Moore say to you?”
“Just shit about Scarlett.” I keep my voice down. The last thing I want is for Coach to hear.
“You can’t rage on every guy that talks shit about her, or it’s going to be a very long season.”
He’s right. Once guys know you have a weak spot, they’ll rub against it every chance they get. “I know. I lost my shit. It’s been a long couple of days.”
“It’ll blow over. Somebody else will do something dumb soon enough.”
I blow out a long breath. “God, I hope so.”
When Ash passes out, I call Scarlett.
“Hey.” Her voice is husky and tired, but it still lights me up.
“Did I wake you?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” She groans. “I fell asleep on the couch watching the game. Did you win?”
“No. Lost in a shoot out.”
“Oh, really? I thought you guys had it. I’m sorry.” The genuine sympathy from her end makes me realize she has no idea I got into a fist fight during the game. She’d definitely mention it.
“How are you?” I ask. “What’d you do all day?”
Calm that I haven’t felt since I talked to her this morning washes over me. We’ve barely mentioned her ex or the pictures since I left. I have Blythe and Daria keeping me updated, but Scarlett and I have been carefully skirting the drama and enjoying the few minutes we get to chat every day.
It feels like it’s already occupied so much of my week, with everyone else wanting to talk about it. Is it too much to ask to keep all the nonsense from ruining the few minutes I get with her while I’m on the road?
Everything else is bullshit. I just want to talk to my girl.
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