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“Pot, kettle,” I retort, brow quirked. “Or are we forgetting about you fucking my secretary for inside information?”
Bastian laughs. “You’re not still mad about that, are you? You got the girl in spite of everything. Don’t be such a little bitch just because your clout-chasing girlfriend keeps your balls in her purse these days.”
I take a step toward Bastian. One thing I’m not going to tolerate is him talking shit about Olivia. Before I grab him by the scruff of his neck and wring his spine like a wet towel, Coach barks out my name.
“Dalton! In my office! Now!”
Eyes narrowed, I stand straight, chest out. “Watch your mouth, Bastian. It’s never too late to put you in your place.”
“Ooh, I’m shaking in my skates.”
In the interest of not causing myself another big problem I’ll have to fix, I stomp into the office with Coach Driscoll. By the look on his face, I know I’m not going to like this conversation. He has a furrow in his brow that crinkles up his face. It’s a look of disappointment that I’ve become entirely too familiar with.
Only this time, I have no idea what I did.
“I didn’t scrap with Bastian.” If I get in ahead of the accusation and the berating, maybe I’ll be on the right side of his mood. “I just told him to fuck off. He was being mouthy about Oliv?—”
“This isn’t about you and Bastian,” Coach Driscoll cuts in. “I just got finished with a call from Mr. Wilde.”
My back straightens immediately at the name. While the team, like any other team, has sponsors and stakeholders galore, there’s one person that has more power than any of them put together.
Barrett Wilde.
He’s the owner of the Bulls. I’ve met him at every victory party we’ve ever thrown for winning games and championships. He’s a big man with the attitude and the checkbook to match. He’s all about singing praises until it affects his bottom dollar—or what he thinks affects his bottom dollar.
“What’d he have to say?”
“He finally decided on something that he deliberated back when you stormed the press conference,” Coach explains. His voice carries tension in it that I don’t expect. “He wants you benched for next season. The whole season.”
I look at Coach like he’s grown two heads. “The fuck you mean, ‘benched’? You already had me benched for the playoffs and look at what happened! We lost! You really expect Bastian to take over as center for an entire season when he couldn’t help when it mattered?—”
“This isn’t a choice I’m making, but it’s the choice that I have to follow,” Coach snarls back. “Your behavior last season was shit and then you went out and had an open breakdown?—”
“Woah, woah.” I step closer to him. “It wasn’t a breakdown; I was just trying to get my girl back! It was good press! People love that kind of shit.”
“And plenty more think you’re unhinged, irresponsible. Manipulating that young girl, hiding the mother of your child somewhere nefarious… It’s bad shit.” He sighs and scratches his chin. “This isn’t a fuckin’ fairy tale, Reese. This is professional hockey. And there’s a hundred perceptions for everything that you do that directly affect what goes on with the team.”
“It’s just my relationship. That’s it. Has nothing to do with what’s out there on the ice.”
“It’s never ‘just it.’ Besides, arguing won’t help you. It’s already been decided. You’re either benched or you get traded to another team. Mr. Wilde wants to make a statement about what he’s willing to tolerate.”
I scoff. “Isn’t he losing money keeping me on payroll without me doing anything?”
“That isn’t the point. It’s the principle of the matter. Maybe, while you’re warming the bench, you’ll relearn that lesson.”
It’s a slap in the fucking face. No, it’s worse. I would have rather Coach just outright hit me.
“I’ve done so much shit for this team since I was signed. I’ve taken us to championships; I’ve won games that should have been impossible?—”
“And you’ve also been a straight-up pain in the ass through all of that.” Coach Driscoll’s face reddens and he throws his hands up in the air in anger. “I’ve vouched for you so goddamn much to that man, you know that? Through the binges and the women and the fights, I’ve always stood by and said that you were a good kid. But there’s only so much that one person is able to say before the rest of the room stops listening. Unfortunately for you, Reese, people aren’t listening to your excuses anymore.”
Silence falls. I grit my teeth and immediately taste blood from where they catch the inside of my cheek. I want to rage. Fly off the handle. Fight because I know that this isn’t fair.
Or isn’t it?
Maybe this is just karma catching up with me.
11
