Page 85 of Penalty Box
Coach’s mouth twitched, but he buried his contempt before saying, “I don’t appreciate the attitude, Calder. Keep it up, and you’ll miss more than the first game.”
Every muscle in my body tensed like I’d just been smashed into the boards. Actually, it felt a little worse than that. It felt like exactly the kind of personal move he said it wasn’t.
“I kinda feel like I’m being punished for something I didn’t do.”
“I’m not in charge of your feelings,” Coach said, totally unbothered. “I am in charge of this team’s road to the final, and I make the calls.”
Thankfully, Grayson stepped forward. He was my Hail Mary in this. If anyone could speak some sense into Coach, it was him.
“Coach, come on,” he said, keeping his tone submissive but firm. “You can’t bench our top scorer right at the top of Round Two.”
“This isn’t up for debate.” His voice was cold steel. “The Denver Avalanche grind guys into the boards and eat second chances for breakfast. I’m not risking playoff-ending injuries this early, and I can’t risk anything less than 100% commitment.”
I knew I shouldn’t speak, but I couldn’t help but ask, “How am I not committed?” Every eye in the room landed on me, and it was like the air got thinner.
I looked to Hunter, hoping for backup. But just like everyone else, he was caught between confused and pissed off. Too afraid to challenge Coach’s decision.
And then, like the cherry on the sundae of this screwed-up moment, Tucker cleared his throat. “You chose to go to a funeral instead of show up for the team. That’s not a hundred percent.”
I whirled toward him. “Are you serious right now?”
Tucker stood tall, ready to square off with me. I wished he would. It would give me somewhere to put all this anger.
“You walked out,” he said, jabbing a finger in my face. Grayson came forward and touched his shoulder to try to get him to back off, but Tucker didn’t stop. “If the game doesn’t come first, then you’re not in it.”
I kept my voice low when I said, teeth clenched, “My high school coach died. I had to pay my respects.”
“And we lost that night.”
The way he looked when he said it made me flash back to when I got back from Fredericksburg, and found that note in my locker. Tucker must’ve been the one who left it.
His last comment got everyone talking at the same time. Some were voicing concern about the way forward, some were downright pissed off. Funny how they directed that anger at me, and not the man who took me out of the game. My face burned under the scathing looks and muttered curses.
“Whoa, that was fast.” Hunter pushed off his locker, phone held up for all to see.
I squinted at the screen. It was a post on our official page, already racking up thousands of likes and comments.
Strategic Shift: Calder benched for Game One against Avalanche. Coach McAvoy confirms it’s about chemistry.
“Are you kidding me?” I mumbled.
There was even a staged quote from Bob about “rotational optimization”.
Coach didn’t even flinch. “Team lists were released before practice.”
It didn’t matter how hard they played the PR spin. Nobody was going to believe this was about strategy.
As I stared back at Coach, there was so much I wanted to say to him. I wanted to call him out for letting his personal feelings cloud his coaching judgement. I wanted to outright accuse him of benching me because I was involved with his daughter.
Something stopped me. Barely.
I grabbed my bag and stormed out without saying anything or bothering to change out of my kit. I hit the parking lot, and welcomed the fresh air on my face. It did nothing for the fire in my chest, though.
I needed something a little stronger for that.
Red Jack’s Bar was twenty minutes outside of town, with peanut shells on the floor and cheap bourbon that burned going down. Nobody here cared too much about hockey.
The bartender was in his mid-fifties, and rocked a ponytail and wire-rimmed glasses. “You look like shit, buddy.”
