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I pull back my fist and swing hard, connecting across his jaw with a crack. His head flies to the left, but the grin doesn’t leave his face. Clutching his jersey by the collar, I pull my fist back again, as the siren roars. I look over my shoulder, and Minnesota scored.
“Fuck,” I growl under my breath.
He grins again. “Too fucking easy, man.” He laughs. Actually laughs. “Just like your chubby slut.”
I lose my composure. I swing at him again, and then he fights back. He gets in a good shot to my ribs, but I knock him in the nose, watching the blood spray thick over his lips. He stumbles back and I fall on top of him.
Strong hands pull at my shoulders and I’m forced to the bench, everything around me returning to full volume. I know this is my fuckup before I even leave the ice. This had nothing to do with the game. I was distracted, I fought and got tossed into the box all while our opponent scored. My coach is quiet, only giving me a brief death stare.
I throw my stick at the floor and sit back in the box. It’s the last four minutes of the third period and I’m not going to see any more ice time. I watch the game run down as Minnesota scores on a power play and we finish our home opener down two points.
The locker room is tense and although nobody is outright hostile, I know this loss is on me. I throw my pads at my locker, as if the noise of that collision will do anything to calm my thundering heart. I hate that pictures got leaked. I never wanted Faye to be a part of any of this. Never mind that she looked beautiful in the pictures. They were pictures on some society gossip website of her leaving the wedding with her sister, and then me arriving, looking normal, separately. But it looked bad putting them next to each other. It would be bad enough on its own, but as it turned out Liza was in the background of the photo of me. And there was another one from the day before in the bar with Liza hanging off me. The gossip rags are speculating that I have a sex addiction. But the things they said about Faye had me buying every copy in the Osco in Chicago and throwing them out before anyone could read them.
I don’t care about the gossip. I don’t care what they say about me. But I care about Faye. I care that I haven’t seen or spoken to or heard from her in almost a week. She won’t return my calls. She won’t respond to my texts. And I’ve sent at least ten a day since the wedding. I’ve called at least twice a day since. There’s nothing.
I called Aly after our season opener, and Aly told me to give it time. But I don’t know what that means. How much time?
“Cooper,” Coach Dietrich yells across the locker room.
I nod in his direction, knowing that he’s not going to wait for me to shower or change. I pull on a tech shirt and make my way to his office.
Pasha is already sitting there, leaning against the wall, still dressed in uniform, arms crossed. His brow is heavy and disgruntled.
“Sit,” Coach says.
I do, and I wait.
“You’re better than this. Do I need to ask if there’s any truth to the tabloids?”
“There’s not.”
“Then what the fuck was that out there?” He throws something at the wall and I know it’s meant to startle me out of this funk, but it doesn’t.
I arch an eyebrow and look up at him. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” He tucks a wad of gum into the side of his cheek, as if it’s going to give him the same fix as the tobacco he pretends he doesn’t chew anymore.
“It won’t happen again.”
“Look,” he says, leaning over his desk onto his fingertips, like a center on a football team. “I don’t need to know what’s going on. It’s clear something was said, I assume something personal. You know better than anyone you have to leave that bullshit off the ice.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’tyes sirme.”
“Sorry, sir.”
He glares down at me, and then his eyes flicker to Pasha. “You on top of this?”
“Yes, sir.”
Oh, so Pasha can say it but I can’t? I call bullshit.
“Good. Now get the fuck out of my office.”
Pasha opens the door and waits for me. I stand and move to the door.
“You need to make this right with your teammates,” Coach says, his voice quieter. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and I nod.
