Coach finished tying his tie. Then he came over and took the other chair. There was a small round table between us, and he rested his hand on it, drumming his fingers as he studied me. “I heard about the incident in the bar last night.”
I flinched and broke eye contact. “Yeah. I, uh…” I scratched the back of my head. “It wasn’t a good night. But I’m okay now.”
“Are you?”
I chanced a look at him. “You don’t think I am?” Allright, that was a stupid question. As much as I’d been trying my damnedest to keep anyone from noticing that I was far from okay, they weren’t stupid. And I wasn’t as slick as I needed to be. Especially when I was drunk.
“I, um…” I dropped my gaze again. “I shouldn’t have had that much to drink. It, um… It won’t happen again.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” he said gently. “That itwill.”
“It won’t,” I insisted. “One drink when I’m out with the guys and that’s it.” I shook my head. “I just… got a little carried away last night.”
“I’m not as worried about the drinking.”
I searched his eyes. “You’re not?”
Coach shook his head. “Hockey players drink. It’s…” He waved his hand. “As long as none of you are driving and it’s not affecting your health or your hockey, I don’t care if you drink.”
“Oh.” I supposed that made sense. I’d seen Coach get absolutely smashed at parties before, and once in a while, he’d gotten a little loud and rowdy when we were celebrating a win. If rumors were to be believed, he’d been a legendary party animal during his years as a player. So… yeah, I didn’t imagine he cared too much if we drank.
“My concern,” he went on, “is that altercation between you and Hall.”
I stared at the floor as heat rose in my face. “Yeah, that was…” I didn’t know how to explain it away.
“It’s notjustthat,” Coach went on. “You’re not yourself lately.” It wasn’t an accusation. I kind of wished it was, though; if anything, the words were wrapped in concern, and I couldn’t deal with that right now.
“I’m fine,” I told him, but the words limped out ofmy mouth.
“You’re not. Calds…” He sighed, shaking his head. “I know losing Erlandsson has been hard for you. It’s been hard on everyone, but especially you. We can?—”
“I can still play hockey,” I snapped. “And I can still lead this team.”
Coach’s eyebrows rose. The skepticism bit right into my ego, but even worse was the expression that asked which of us I was trying to convince.
Dropping my gaze, I pushed out a breath and rubbed the back of my neck. “It’s been tough, okay? I won’t pretend it hasn’t. It’s…” Damn it. I was not going to cry. Not right here in front of my coach, least of all while I was trying to convince him I had any business wearing a Rebels’ jersey, never mind the C.
Coach leaned forward a little, and his voice was still full of concern and empathy. “No one’s saying you can’t play or that you can’t lead. But you’re struggling.”
I had to work so fucking hard not to lose it, gritting my teeth against that lump in my throat and fighting the waver that wanted to creep into my voice. It didn’t help that my head was still throbbing and my stomach was still unhappy. Because I was hungover. Because I’d had too much to drink last night. Because…
I closed my eyes and sighed. Who was I even kidding?
“Iamstruggling,” I admitted, meeting my coach’s gaze again. “I can’t… I mean, everything I do, everywhere I go—I just see Leif everywhere.” I swallowed hard to push that lump out of the way. “Moving forward—it’s hard.”
“I know.” His voice was soft, as was his expression, and he studied me for a painfully long moment. “There is—listen, no one is going to push you this way, so if you don’t want to, then…” He showed his palms. Lowering them, he continued, “If a change of scenery is what you need, I don’t think anyone will hold it against you.”
“A change of—” My spine straightened. “You want the team totrademe?”
“No,” he said quickly. “The fans, the front office, the coaching staff, your teammates—we would all be more than happy to have you retire as a Whiskey Rebel.”
I inclined my head. “But…?”
“But if going somewhere else is what you need to take care of yourself…” He gave an apologetic half-shrug. “Thatisan option.”
As much as being reminded of Leif at every turn was painful, the thought of leaving this team—leaving the city and my teammates—was a gut punch.
“No,” I gritted out. “No, I don’t want to leave Pittsburghorthe Whiskey Rebels.” I rolled my shoulders and sat up straighter. “I’ll be fine. Yes, it’s hard right now. This new normal—it fucking sucks, and I don’t know how to get used to it. But I’m not leaving.” I swallowed again. “Not unless the front office makes me leave.”
