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He shoves me. I fall back against the lockers but end up using them to rocket forward, pushing his chest so hard he falls to the ground.
By the time he gets to his feet, our teammates have us surrounded, trying to prevent an all out brawl.
“Break it up, ladies,” one of our assistant coaches barks.
“The fuck’s your problem?” Adam says, two teammates still trying to steer him away from me.
“How much time you got?” I respond.
Vic nudges me. “Get your shit together; it’s almost game time.”
I don’t look away from Adam as I put on my helmet. I’ll take any excuse to jump his ass. It’s not like me to get pissed at a teammate over anything but sloppy play, but I can’t stem the flow of anger anymore when I see him. He hurt Mia. That makes me want to hurt him back the only way I know how—with my fists.
Right before we hit the ice at game time, I’m usually in a completely different headspace than I am right now. I stay emotionally level—cool, calm and focused on the game ahead. I’m mindful of the quirks of the opposing team’s goalie and defensemen.
But all I can think about are Mia and Adam. I’m not just furious at my teammate, I’m also jealous. It hits hard and fast, almost knocking the wind out of me.
He’s kissed her. Seen all of her. Fucked her. Proposed to her. Woken up next to her. And the fucker doesn’t deserve any of it.
Vic’s giving me a questioning look, but I ignore him. He and Luca know me better than anyone on the team, and they know I don’t like to talk about personal things unless I initiate the conversation. Even then, I’m guarded.
I grew up keeping everything close to the vest. My parents were so busy trying to keep us fed and warm enough that there was no time for talking about frivolous shit like our feelings. And then when we moved in with the Carrs, Alexei and I both took a while to adjust. We worried that if we didn’t play well enough, they’d kick us out, though I know now that wasn’t the case.
In our five-year-old minds, though, everything was riding on how we played hockey. Our parents’ dreams, the generosity of the Carrs…whether or not we’d be able to stay together.
I never vocalized that the main reason I worked so damn hard at hockey as a kid was that I feared my twin would outpace me and get moved to a better league, which could result in being housed with a different family. Losing my brother would have crushed me.
When I hear the pre-game music, I roll my shoulders, close my eyes and force myself to focus on hockey. For me, focus is every bit as important as the physical skills that have been drilled into me since I started playing. If my head’s not in the game, I’m slower and I don’t always make the right split-second decisions. Others may not notice, but I do.
It’s a fast-paced game against a hungry opponent with a new coach trying to turn around a losing record. Our goalie Jonah has an off night and the puck gets past him. We score three goals but it’s not enough and we drop the game 5–3.
Coach has a lot to say about the loss. I get it. It wasn’t just Jonah; our defense looked like shit tonight, too.
“Get your goddamned shit together,” he says as he finishes yelling at us.
I’m not surprised when I get called into his office after my shower. He’s a lot more relaxed by then, sipping a fresh cup of coffee. Gary Pickney is a coach known for drinking black coffee around the clock, not sleeping much, and winning.
“We haven’t talked in a while, Anton,” he says, sitting in his leather desk chair. He motions for me to take a seat. “How are things?”
I shrug. “Not bad. Some things going on. My uncle’s running off every nurse the agency sends, so I’m taking care of him.”
Gary nods. His wife Sherry went through treatment for breast cancer last year and Gary took care of her as much as he could, but still had to hire extra help.
“Anything I can do?” he asks. “I can have the front office make some calls to help you find someone.”
“I’ve got it covered, but thanks.”
“What’s going on between you and Marceau?”
There it is. The real reason I’m in here. I shift in my seat and decide against diplomacy.
“The guy’s a total dick,” I say.
“We’ve got our share of personalities on this team,” Gary concedes.
I shake my head. I like playing for Gary for many reasons, but the main one is that I can always level with him and trust that he’ll do the same with me.
“This isn’t about conflicting personalities.” I sigh heavily. “Luca busts his ass every night and is raising three kids on his own. Ellison and his wife just adopted two foster kids. Vic never misses a shift volunteering at the children’s hospital. The first thing out of my mouth about every guy on this team would be something like that—something good. Except Marceau.”
