“They won’t.” He sounded very, very certain. “None of us want you to leave. But we also know you’re going through hell after losing someone who was like a brother to you.”
That almost made me break down right there in Coach’s hotel room. I had to choke back the emotions, and I swore I almost chokedonthem.
I’d already lost Leif. I couldn’t lost this team, too. The Pittsburgh Whiskey Rebels were mylife. Plus they were depending on me. They were going through hell, too. I needed them and they needed me, goddammit. Yeah, trades and free agency happened, and a lot of players ended up on multiple teams in their careers. It was always a possibility.But as long as I had any say in the matter, I didn’t want to go anywhere.
Don’t cut me off from the only connection I still have to?—
“I don’t want to leave this team,” I ground out.
“Then you won’t,” he said without hesitation. “It’s only an option if it’s what you need to take care of yourself. I’m not telling you this because I want you to leave—I’m telling you because I want you to know that if youneedto leave, no one in Pittsburgh will hold that against you.”
“I don’t,” I whispered. “I think it’s the only thing keeping me sane.”
From the subtle arch of his eyebrow, I suspected he was wondering how muchanythingwas succeeding in keeping me sane these days.
“I’ll be fine,” I insisted. “Last night—it was a bad night. I got carried away and lost my head. But I’m focused and committed to this team.”
Coach nodded as I spoke. “And what about the situation with Halls?”
I winced. “I, uh… I should talk to him.”
“Is there a problem there that I need to know about?”
“No. No, it was just…” I sat back and huffed a dry laugh. “I was just drunk off my ass last night, and he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” I shook my head. “I’ll sort it out with him.” I wasn’t looking forward to that conversation—groveling was not my strong point—but it was my responsibility. I had to unfuck everything from last night.
Coach watched me a moment longer, then sighed. “This team needs you, Calds, but we need you to take care of yourself, too. All right?”
“I will.” I wasn’t sure if I was lying. “Last night—that won’t happen again.” That was the truth; I would make sure I didn’t screw up like that again.
Or like the night Peyton had half-carried me into my hotel room. The night I’d drunkenly kissed him. Ugh. Jesus. I was lucky he hadn’t gone to the front office over that—the getting blackout drunk on a road trip and the drunk, unprovoked kiss. I’d have been screwed if he had.
Yeah. Definitely had to make things right with him.Stat.
“I’ll talk to Peyton,” I assured Coach. “And I’ll be fine.”
He studied me like he wasn’t sure if he should press, or if he should just let me have enough rope to hang myself. Then, with a long-suffering dad sigh, he said, “All right. But come talk to someone—anyone—if you need help. Please?”
“I will.”
He let me go after that, and I hurried toward my own room, praying none of my teammates happened into the hall until I was safely inside.
Someone must’ve been listening, because the hallway remained deserted long enough for me to let myself into my room.
I didn’t have a lot of time to put on my suit, pack up my things, and get my butt downstairs to board the bus.
Still, I leaned against the door for a moment and closed my eyes.
The conversation left me rattled on a lot of levels. I’d worked hard to keep my emotional shit out of my teammates’ sight, and I was pretty sure I’d mostly succeeded. The drinking, though—Christ. Ineededthe alcohol to cope with Leif’s absence. It was the only thing that was remotely effective at numbing me—the only thing that wasn’t on thebanned substances list, anyway—but I’d let myself get out of control last night. Too much to drink in public and in front of my teammates. Thatcouldn’thappen again. Fine. I could always DoorDash some booze to the hotel if I couldn’t sleep.
And when I was at home? Well, I could have all the oblivion I wanted without anybody noticing.
I opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling as I continued leaning on the hotel room door. Coach’s comments about sending me to another team had left my blood cold. I didn’t think the possibility of a trade was a threat from him, but itmighthave been one from the front office. It felt a whole lot like he was gently presenting it to me so I’d get my head out of my ass, but it had come down from the powers that be as“Tell Caldwell to either get his shit together, or he’ll be wearing a different sweater.”
I didn’t have a no-trade or no-move clause, and it wasn’t hubris to believe at least half a dozen teams in the League would offer up a whole pile of assets for me. I was a veteran player but still young. My stats, even in this shitshow of a season, put me in top ten lists for points, goals, assists, and plus/minus differentials. I wasn’t too shabby defensively, either. For the same reasons Pittsburgh had repeatedly said they wanted to keep me (I was eligible to sign an extension after next season), they could dump me in a hurry if they decided I was becoming a liability. Ideally (for them) before my off-ice issues started showing themselves during games.
I had to get my shit together, and fast.
Step one, get my ass downstairs and don’t miss the bus.
