That wasn’t to say Avery wasn’t doing his job as captain. Most of the time, he was exactly what a captain should be—a leader. Encouraging all of us. Guiding the young players.Meeting with Coach on the ice and behind closed doors. He was still living up to the C on his sweater.
But there were moments when, despite his best efforts, he seemed… brittle. Distracted. Uncharacteristically volatile.
Something is wrong.
Everyone can see it.
Whatdowedoabout it?
My worries intensified on our first West Coast road trip of the season. The last week of October, we had a three-game trip playing against Los Angeles, San Jose, and Portland. That meant myfavoritepart of traveling with this sport: a long-ass flight.
Okay, it was only five hours.
But still. That was five hours of asking a plane full of hockey players to sit. I barely made it through Mass whenever I visited my grandparents. Five hours on a plane? Fuck my liiife.
Baddy, Mix, Eminem, and Avery commandeered one of the club tables for a very rowdy game of Hearts. I’d never been great at the game, and I’d found it more frustrating and annoying than anything, but it was sure fun to watch this group play.
“You’re cheating again!” Avery kicked Eminem under the table, driving a yelp out of him.
“Ow!” Eminem leaned down to rub his shin. “I am not cheating! Just because you suck doesn’t mean?—”
“Hey, now,” Mix said with a grin. “Leave his personal life out of this.”
“Oh, fuck you.” Avery rolled his eyes and grabbed his glass. “You’re all dicks.”
“That’s why you love us,” Baddy said, and managed to dodge a kick from Avery. “Ha! Your aim is—ow!”
Mix laughed. “His aim sucks, but mine doesn’t.”
“Ugh. Fuck you all.”
Several of us were gathered around to watch, and we all chuckled at the interplay. Trust these four to make a game of Hearts interesting.
Baddy shuffled the deck, and he was about to deal when a flight attendant came by. Everyone ordered additional drinks, and Baddy held off shuffling until she came back with the tray of glasses and bottles.
And that was when I realized Avery was starting on his third mojito.
Alarm prickled the back of my neck. It wasn’t unusual for players to drink, especially on long flights with no game or practice until the next day. But… three mojitos? Before we were even halfway through the flight? Atnoon?
As Baddy dealt the cards, he stole a glance at the drink in Avery’s hand, and his jaw tightened. When Avery wasn’t looking, Mix eyed the drink, then met Eminem’s gaze across the table, and something unspoken passed between them. When Mix looked at Baddy, Baddy subtly shook his head, and that was that. No one said anything.
They continued their game, chirping and accusing each other of cheating even though I didn’t think any of them actually were (well, Eminem might’ve been) and carrying on like normal. The rest of us cheered them on, laughing at the banter and reacting like a playoff crowd whenever someone started to gain an obvious lead.
Avery finished that third mojito in pretty short order, but everyone was so focused on the game and the chirping that they didn’t seem to notice when he called the flight attendant over again. I cringed, though.
Another one? Dude, what the hell? You’re already slurring a little bit.
To my great relief, though, he asked for water this time.
The damage was apparently done, though.
The next game, he lost one trick after another. When Avery wound up taking the Queen of Spades, Eminem whistled. “My dude. Did you forget how to play?”
Avery seemed to waver a little, and he half-shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe?”
I chewed the inside of my cheek. This wasn’t good. If he was getting drunk enough to forget how to play a game he played regularly—in the middle of the day around our teammates, no less—that seemed like a red flag to me. And quite possibly to our other teammates, who were now watching nervously, especially as the guys got down to their last few cards.
Avery lost yet another trick.
