Page 102 of Hard Hitter
Smiling, he went to his locker to hang up his suit jacket and change into some practice gear. After that, he headed straight to the lounge area, which was packed with players. It was two hours until the puck dropped. Time for stretching, for last minute strategy, and for the taping of sore muscles and hockey sticks.
As he moved through the room, all the conversation dried up. He grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator, and the silence was unnerving.
Slowly, he turned around to check their faces. Beacon looked grim. Castro stared down at his hands. Did they think he was a druggie? Or about to be cut from the team?Christ. He added two dozen names to the list of people whose trust he needed to win back. For more than a decade he’d given this team his sweat and his blood. He’d given everything he had. He’d watched their backs in every game in every corner of the continent. But it wasn’t really enough to carry them through this ugly moment. As captain, he’d always thought it was his job to be a rock—to never show any kind of fear.
He’d overshot, it seemed. He’d never shown fear. But he hadn’t shown anything else, either. These guys were his life, and they didn’t even know it.
O’Doul cleared his throat. Some sort of gesture was necessary. But what? Ari would know, but she wasn’t here. So he took a second to ask himself what she would do in a situation like this. She had so many ways of reaching people. Soothing words. Steady hands. What he’d learned from Ari was that there was always more than one way to touch someone.
“Guys? Before tonight’s game I think we need to have an emergency...” He almost said meeting. But that soundedbleak. “Retreat,” he said instead. “Let’s get everybody in here, shut the door and have a talk.”
“Okay,” Beacon said slowly. “Who’s missing?”
Jimbo texted every player who wasn’t currently present, and one by one they appeared in the doorway, curious looks on their faces. When the last man had arrived, O’Doul asked the training assistants to leave. Then he went over to the door to close it.
But Coach Worthington was standing there, an ornery look on his face. “What are you playing at with your secret meeting?” he asked.
O’Doul stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him. Earlier today he’d been humbled to find the organization he’d worked for this past decade had had his back. But Coach was a new addition. Of course, he wasn’t going to get the same breaks from this man who hardly knew him.
“Are you willing to trust me?” he asked. “It all comes down to that, right? Either I’m still your captain, and you’ll give me this moment to apologize to my guys. If you can’t do that, might as well demote me right now.”
Coach squinted at him in that appraising way that he had. “You gonna do the right thing for us? Even when it’s hard?”
“Yeah,” he said without hesitation. “I am.”
Coach nodded. “Go ahead then. But apologize fast. We’ve got a game to win.”
“Thank you, sir.”
When Coach turned to go, he went back into the lounge where two dozen pairs of eyes waited. There weren’t any seats left anywhere, so he leaned against one of the high tables and studied the faces in front of him. They were all different shapes, different colors, and different ages. It’s sort of a miracle that they usually got along so well, given they were united by one odd thing—the ability to play hockey at an elite level.
“Listen,” he said, wishing he had a more elegant opening.But he had to start somewhere. “My official stance on that picture in thePostis that it didn’t happen. But off the record I just wanted to tell you guys that I’m sorry I embarrassed the team. It was a dumbass thing to do.”
The silence was punctuated only by the sound of a coffee cup set down on a table. Nobody said a word.
“I’m pretty sure we’ve already seen the end of it, but I wanted to say that anyway,” he continued. “I hope we can all get past it. In the meantime I want to tell you something I learned the hard way this week. If you think there’s something about this job you feel you can’t handle, there’s probably a smart way and a dumb way to deal with it. Don’t be like me. Take the smart way. Find someone in the organization to talk to. I didn’t do that, and now my name—and the team’s name—is in the fuckingPost. If I’d gone to someone trustworthy, it all could have been avoided.”
“Well,” Beacon cleared his throat. “Some of us do stupid shit and just haven’t been caught. So not every guy in this room is hating on you right now. I’m not.”
“Sucks, though,” Castro said. “If we make it to the play-offs, someone’s gonna say it’s because we’re all doping.”
O’Doul had never wanted to have this conversation—with the whole team staring at him, wondering how he could be so dumb. Too bad he hadn’t thought of that beforehand. “I sure am sorry for that,” he said quietly. “Wish I could undo the damage.”
Leo Trevi leaned forward on one of the sofas, his elbows on his knees. “Is there anything we can do? I mean—any way we can help you?”
O’Doul felt heat climb up the back of his neck. Now he had a brand-new regret—he was sorry he had ever been a dick to this kid. “No, man. I’m in a better place now. But I appreciate the question.”
If he wasn’t mistaken, his guys finally started to relax a little. They shifted in their seats again, and finished their drinks.
“Any questions for me?” he asked.
Nobody raised his hand.
“All right. I just want to add that if you are ever on the fence about asking for any kind of help, run it by me. I won’t tell a soul.” He straightened up and went to open the door again.
Crikey nudged him before he got there. “Who’s fighting tonight—you or me?”
Hell. With everything going on, he’d missed his usual twenty-four hours of nervous preparation. “We can play it by ear?”
