He’d gone down the tunnel as soon as he was out of the penalty box to get his hand checked out by the Muskies medical staff. They’d strapped him into a brace and sent him to get showered early. He’d hated every second of it. He was supposed to be on the ice with the team.
Depending on what the docs said, he could be out for months.
Mitch shook his head, sweat sliding over his bronze, clean-shaven cheeks. He’d taken off his helmet, leaving the tight black curls that covered the top of his head sticking out in all directions. “What the hell happened out there?”
“You know how Dorren is.”
Tossing his game jersey into the laundry cart, Mitch started to work on unstrapping his shoulder pads. “Of course I know how Dorren is, but you know he’s always going to say some stupid shit to get under your skin. It’s who he is. What I’mnotused to is seeing you lose it.”
The locker room was quieter than usual. A 4-2 loss, even in the first half of the season, had an impact on the room. Their coach, Jeff Hollister, spoke to the team, the usual combination of acknowledging what had gone well while not pulling any punches when it came to how they’d come up short. Hollister had been with the team for the past three seasons, and Jamie admired the hell out of him. He was tough and old school, but respected hard work and effort and went out of his way to acknowledge the guys who were playing well.
As their captain, Jamie was supposed to be making the rounds. He needed to check on the guys, reassure the rookies that this was just one game, and help the team move on.
He couldn’t bring himself to get up. He didn’t think he couldlook his teammates in the eye when he hadn’t done his part. When he hadn’t done what the team needed him to do.
Jamie stared down at the brace strapped around his left wrist. He’d taken the mild pain killers the trainers had given him, but they had barely dulled the throbbing. Usually he’d take the time to wash his hair after a home game, but had barely managed to soap his body with one hand. It had been humiliating to ask Mitch to help him with the buttons of his shirt and tie, but Jamie wanted nothing more than to go home, curl up on his couch, and watch Grey’s Anatomy reruns until he fell asleep.
“Want to come over?” Mitch asked. “The kids are probably down, but Layla made chicken and dumpling soup again.”
Honestly, hanging out with his best friend sounded like the perfect way to spend the rest of his night, but that wasn’t what the team needed. Jamie looked around the room, shaking his head. “Nah. I’m going to take the boys down to grab some beers at Caps. See if we can get our heads straight.”
Mitch clapped him on the back. “Good man. Do me a favor and have a few yourself. You need it.”
Jamie smiled fondly, inexplicably grateful for Mitch. “Will do. Give the kids a hug for me.”
As Mitch wandered off to the shower, Jamie stood up.He could do this. He could be the captain the guys needed. Forcing a smile, Jamie pushed his shoulders back. “Drinks on me at Caps tonight, boys!”
He was met with cheers, and, finally, felt a tiny sliver of relief.
Jamie exhaled. Tomorrow morning, he’d come back to the arena to start rehab on his hand. He’d start to fix things. Get back on track. Tonight, he needed to get it together and be the captain he hadn’t been able to be on the ice. He’d have a few beers, kick back with the boys, and show them he hadn’t completely lost touch.
“Sully! You’re up for media!”
He got up, wincing in pain as his bandaged hand throbbed atthis side. Sharon Parish, the Muskie’s no-nonsense media relations manager, stood by the door, eyes fixed on her tablet.
“Sullivan,” she said, leveling him with an unimpressed look.
“Bad?” Jamie asked.
He’d worked with Sharon for years, although this was the first time he’d ever been on this side of a PR situation. Typically he was one of the guys who was encouraged to bring more personality to his conversations with the media. He wasn’t used to facing a room of reporters asking why his play was crap or why he’d decided to fight Dorren, a notorious heavyweight.
“It’s not good,” she said.
Jamie felt his stomach sink. “Right. I figured.”
“Just be the captain,” Sharon said, looking directly at him. “Own up and be accountable. They want to see you’re still the leader of this team.”
Nodding, Jamie lifted his uninjured hand to tug on the still-damp curls at the back of his head. “Right,” he said again, because he couldn’t tell her that he had no idea what being the leader of his team meant anymore.
“Randall from Muskies Daily. Jamie, how do you feel the season is going so far?”
It was taking every bit of control Jamie possessed to keep his shit together. He tried to keep his facial expression neutral, to keep his posture upright when all he wanted to do was slump down on the table and scream.
“We have a talented team,” Jamie began, leaning forward to speak closer to the mics, phones, and recorders lined up along the edge of the table. “We’re two months into the season, and so many of our guys are showing up and playing their best hockey. Our record isn’t what we want it to be, but I still believe in what this team can accomplish this year.”
“Sam, from League News. What is the status of your hand?You aren’t generally known to be a fighter–can you tell us what happened on the ice out there?”
Jamie wet his lips, dropping his gaze to his braced and swollen hand. “At this point I’m being cautious until I get the hand x-rayed and speak to the team doc. As for what happened in the game…” He trailed off.What the hell was he supposed to say?He cleared his throat. “Sometimes the wires just get crossed out there. I’m not proud of what happened, but in the moment, I did what I thought needed to be done.”
