The smell of old sweat on old sweat has his clothes smelling so bad it turns my stomach sometimes.And he’s just laughing it up while I’m about to start my extensive pregame warm-ups and massage with Melina.
“If you’re gonna wear those clothes, sit somewhere else,” I say.
He scoffs.“These are my lucky clothes.”
“I don’t give a shit.They reek, so get away from me.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize I’m in your private locker room.”
“Listen, Cole.I’m not in a great mood, so if you could just sit somewhere else?Thanks.”
“I keep telling you, it’s Cat.”
He’s so fucking glib and clueless andyoung.He can go out, drink heavily, and still play well the next night.I resent that, and I’m never calling him by the nickname he gave himself.It’s his initials—Cole Anthony Thompson.He says it represents his catlike reflexes.
“You don’t get to decide what your nickname is,” I snap.“Your teammates pick it, and you get no say.”
“Yours should be Gramps since you knit and use a fucking flip phone.Why don’t you go knit something to relax?Maybe a heating pad cover for your old, broken back?”
Across from us, Isaac elbows Leo and grins, telling him things are about to get ugly here.And they are.
“Maybe my back’s so broken because I’m not afraid of a fight,Cat.You like to start shit and then let the real men finish it.”
“Preach, Lundgren,” someone says from the other side of the locker room.
Cole scowls, looking over to see who it was.
“It’s not any one person,” I say.“It’s all of us.Yeah, you’re a hotshot and you can score.But if a two-hundred-twenty-pound bruiser was coming straight for your own grandma, you’d skate away and let her get boarded.And you shouldn’t keep people up on the plane in the middle of the night playing your dumbass video games.You haven’t earned a nickname yet, kid, but if you had, it would be ‘Outhouse’ because you’re full of shit, you stink like hell, and I can’t wait to get away from you.”
“Outhouse it is,” someone says with a snicker.
“Fuck you,” Cole says.“You’re just bitter because you haven’t gotten an offer, but that’s on you, old man.”
I stand up and face him, my frustration boiling over into fury.“Come on, then.Let’s?—”
“Nope.”Carter puts a hand on my chest and pushes me back.“We don’t fight each other on this team.Not when we’re in last place, not when we’re in first.”
“Oh, I’m supposed to let him call me ‘Outhouse’?”Cole gripes.
This time, more than one person snickers.
“Thompson, everything he said about you is true.Wash your fucking clothes, man.And show respect to the veterans, or you’re gonna get real uncomfortable around here.”
Carter puts an arm around my shoulders and says, “Let’s take a walk.”
I go with him, realizing what a massive mistake I just made.I let the pressure and my fatigue get to me, and I made myself look like a loose cannon in front of my whole team.
“We’re all tired,” Carter says as we walk through Nashville’s visiting-team weight room.
Some guys are warming up on exercise bikes and treadmills.Others are stretching.I should be doing my pregame shoulder routine, but instead I’m getting a talking-to from my captain.I’ve never, ever been this guy.
We go out a door on the room’s other side, which leads to a hallway.Carter knocks on a door and when no one answers, he opens the door to a small, empty room and leads the way inside.
“I’m sorry,” I say.“I shouldn’t have lost my cool.I appreciate you standing up for me back there and calling me out in private.”
He pinches his brows together, confused.“I’m not calling you out.Thompson’s a cocky little shit and you said what the rest of us are thinking.I brought you in here because I’m worried about you.”
I rock back on my heels, surprised.“Worried?About my shoulder?”
