Page 17 of Ice Rebel

I didn’t need to lean forward to read the headlines on our local newspaper. The coach loved to grab a physical copy. When the story was positive, he cut out the article, saving it for later in case we needed a boost in our morale. This time he was using the front-page story as punishment.

A grimace wasn’t enough. Seeing my name in black and white didn’t bode well for my involvement in the fight.

“You do remember that the Sentinel is based right here and that normally, they are very positive about the team and every player. You need to understand that every act of bad behavior will reflect on the entire team. Whether you’re out joyriding or posing with fans. You see the crap on the social pages today. Not good, gentlemen. Not good at all.”

Of course, Coach Reynolds’ gaze ended on me. He was the reasonable one, the guy who cleaned up after Coach Stryker had gutted us.

I moved against the wall, shoving my hands into my pockets. Okay, so I should accept partial blame, but damn it, Drake Miller had instigated the fight. A lot of good reminding anyone of that little fact would do me.

“We’re leaving on Thursday, boys, for a nice, long bus ride. Why don’t we try not to do anything stupid in the meantime.” Coach Stryker wasn’t asking, he was telling us to cool our jets.

“Yes, sir,” we all said collectively.

“Get out of here,” he tossed out. “Go have some fun tonight. Burn off some damn steam, but do not even dare think about coming into practice tomorrow hung over. If you do, you’ll be running drills for the entire day.”

With that, we were dismissed. The guys started heading out, eager to get farther away before he added any additional rules.

Only I wasn’t quite so lucky. “Kendrick. My office. Now. Black, you’re next so sit tight.” He took off, blowing past Coach Reynolds with a savage grunt and fisted hands.

Hudson clapped me on the shoulder. “I’ll save you a beer.”

Jagger was none too happy, glaring me down as if we were about to get into a fistfight. Instead of hanging out in the media room, he stormed out. Talk about a hothead.

“Make that two.” I had my head down, lifting my gaze toward Coach Reynolds. He was great at anticipating the temperature of Coach Stryker’s blood.

Coach Reynolds threw up his hands. “Don’t look at me, Cole. You got yourself into this mess.”

“He started the fight, Coach.”

“That’s the kind of attitude we don’t need. Own up to your mistakes.” He loitered in the room a little longer, which meant he had something else to say. “You’re a role model for the other guys. You should remember that. You come from a bloodline that demands leadership.”

“You mean because I’m a goddamn wolf?”

The coach rolled his eyes. “It would be great if you’d not carry the same chip on your shoulder as your brother Ford. The heavy burden almost kept him from being drafted into the NHL. I’d hate to see that happen to you. You can be anything you want to be, Cole. With or without your wolf. From where I stand and from what Coach Stryker expects, your shifter lineage has nothing to do with your ability to play hockey. Isn’t that what every member of the Kendrick family and every other shifter in the game is trying to convey?”

Of course he was right. I was such a fucking asshole. “Got it, Coach.”

“Good. Now don’t keep Coach Stryker waiting. You know how he can get.”

There were some of us who used the DEFCON system to rate the man’s level of anger. Pushing him any further than before was definitely not in my best interest.

“Yes, sir.” I waited until he headed out to move into the corridor. At least the hallway was empty. My boots echoed on the concrete as I walked toward the coach’s office.

When I was finally standing in front, I hesitated before knocking.

“Come in.” At least his voice didn’t rate increased rage.

I still hesitated before walking in, sliding my hands into my back pockets as I did. With a sheepish look on my face, I approached his desk.

He glanced up at me as if debating what he wanted to say. Why did I have a very bad feeling about whatever it was? “You can sit down if you want.”

“I’m good. I know you’re a busy man, Coach.”

“Don’t try and stroke me, Cole. You know how I feel about that. I’m not about to launch into you. Whatever personal shit you have with Drake Miller can’t concern me and needs to end. That being said, I wanted to also let you know how much your skills have improved. You’re a damn good defenseman.”

Wait. What? A compliment?

“Um, thank you. I’m working hard, trying to keep my energy up.” The coach wasn’t a man full of compliments, which was why I didn’t have a clue what the hell to say. “I bulked up a few pounds.”