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Lord knows I’d do just about anything right now.
And it’s not like I like people very much.
It wouldn’t be too hard for me to commit to an antisocial life.
Hell, I’m halfway there already.
Between my hockey obligations and a few day-to-day outings, I usually keep to myself, preferring my own company to anyone else’s.
But every once in a while, even I get tired of being by myself and need some form of distraction, hence why I was at a bar last night.
Guess that didn’t pan out for me like it should.
But just as I’m trying to figure out my shit and come up with a solution that will work for me, Coach Byrne says the only words that set my teeth on edge.
“Nate, it’s time. I had a meeting with the General Manager, Trent Nichols, and he agreed with me. You need counseling to deal with your anger issues. That’s the only way I can see this working out.”
“I don’t need therapy,” I say through gritted teeth, hating that he believes that me talking to a shrink is the answer to getting my head on straight.
My problem isn’t my head—it’s my fucking temper.
A temper that suits me well in the rink—just not outside of it.
“I disagree,” he argues. “And most importantly, so does Trent.”
On instinct, I ball my fists on my lap and, to my chagrin, Coach’s stare leaves my face to land on them.
“Case in point,” he grumbles before sitting down on his leather chair. He runs his hand over his bald head and lets out a loud exhale before continuing on with his lecture. “Listen, son, I like you. I always have. You are a hurricane on the ice and, more importantly, a team player. Those are the only reasons why I was happy to clean up your messes and go to bat for you with the club’s GM whenever these little mishaps occurred. But that’s no longer going to cut it. Not with him and not with me.”
It’s not his words that send a cold chill down my spine. It’s the look of pity in his eyes that creates a lump in my throat.
“You have to clean up your act, Nate. I mean, really clean that shit up. We need someone we can count on, on and off the ice. I’ve come to the conclusion that turning a blind eye to your anger issues is doing you a great disservice. But most importantly, it’s been doing more harm than good to the team’s morale,” he adds after another exaggerated exhale. “The decision comes from the top. You will get help from one of the club’s in-house sport’s therapists. Doctor Seymour is one of the best therapists in her field, and I have no doubt that she’s going to make sure that TMZ has nothing to write about you ever again because, guess what? There will be nothing for them to say.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then you leave me no choice but to suspend you. And son, we all know what that means. In this team, suspension quickly becomes full termination. Don’t force my hand on this one.”
He’s right.
Every team player in the history of the Boston Guardians that has ever been put under suspension was either fired or traded the very next season.
“Can I at least have some time to think about it?” I ask as evenly as possible, doing my best to hide the trepidation in my voice.
“No, Nate. You can’t. This isn’t up for debate. The decision has already been made for you. You either walk out that door as the team player that I know you to be and get some much-needed help, or you walk out suspended from the team, never to return again. Either way, Trent Nichols and the board will have their answer.”
Glued to my seat and unable to move, I try to wrap my head around how everything got so screwed up because of one measly, two-minute fight.
That’s all it took—just two fucking minutes of reckless behavior for my whole life’s work to be in serious jeopardy. And for what? Because a couple of assholes decided it was a good idea to harass some girl that just happened to be sitting beside me at a bar?
Goddamn it!
It’s not like I didn’t try to tell the fuckers to stop trying to put their filthy paws on her, but when words didn’t seem to do the trick, my left hook decided to do the talking and knock some sense into them.
And surprise, surprise, it worked.
The fuckers were out cold on the floor before the girl could even race out of there and call an Uber home. The one time I try to do the right thing and act like a good fucking Samaritan, I getroyally fucked over for it. Two minutes was all it took for me to be in the hot seat, close to losing everything I worked my entire life to achieve.
Talk about no good deed going unpunished.
