“Veronica, The Madison Gazette. This team saw success for years under Aaron Sharpe’s leadership. Now that he has retired, what are you bringing to the team as the new captain?”
Not enough. Nowhere near enough.
“Um, we all know Sharpie will go down as one of the best leaders and players in the history of the national league. I’ve spent my whole career in Madison, and had the chance to learn from him.” He paused, swallowing. “I’m committed to being the best captain I can be for this team, and that means I need to keep stepping up my play. I can’t afford to make mistakes like the ones I made tonight. I need to do better for the team and for the fans.”
“That’s it for the captain,” Sharon called out from her spot next to the table.
Jamie forced a tight smile and a wave, leaving the media room. He felt his shoulders relax as he walked down the empty hallway toward the parking garage.
He didn’t blame them for asking the questions. What the hellwashe bringing to his team other than an inability to provide the points Sharpie used to put up every night? Jamie knew he was a good hockey player. He’d grown up, like so many other Canadian kids, working his way up through junior hockey, and at some point he started making a name for himself. He hadn’t made it to this point in his career without talent.
But he wasn’t Aaron Sharpe. He wasn’t anywhere close. No matter how hard he’d trained that summer, no matter how manyextra hours he’d put in at the gym, he couldn’t seem to become the captain the team needed him to be on the ice.
And now that the season was underway, there was nothing to do but keep showing up and filling his days with hockey. He had to make the time. For himself, for the team, for the fans.
Get to Mitch’s house. Don’t eat shit on the ice, and get to Mitch’s house.
It should have been easy. Or it probably would have been easier if Jamie’s brain hadn’t been sloshing around in his head every time he took a step. His face was numb–he wasn’t sure if it was the cold or the three shots of whiskey he’d downed at last call.
Thankfuckfor the beanie and long wool coat he wore over his suit. His loafers were shit for walking on the icy sidewalk, but there was nothing he could do about that now.
He was close to Mitchy’s. Or maybe not? Caps was over by the university, and he thought he knew the way to his best friend’s house like the back of his hand. On a good night the walk took him twenty minutes.
Tonight was not a good night. He should have gone home and right to sleep after the game. Give his brain a break from the clusterfuck in his head.
Twenty-five minutes into the walk, he was still surrounded by student housing. Most of the houses had overgrown yards, bikes cluttering the porch, and political flags hanging in the windows. Madison was one of those weird cities where neighborhoods seemed to bleed from one to another with nothing but a street dividing them.
Shit, he needed to pee. Maybe he could find a bush–
A flash of unmistakable orange and green caught his eye. He blinked, trying to focus on what was in front of him.
It was a snowman, built at the edge of a small front yard. It was short, with an impressively round head and an actual carrotfor a nose. But it was the Muskies jersey that caught Jamie’s eye, especially the bright white C emblazoned on the chest.
“Aw, come on,” he slurred, shuffling through the snow toward the snowman. He circled it, frowning at his name stitched across the back. “Why’d you want to support this guy,” he said, throwing his hands out, waving at the white number three on the arm. “This guy sucks! He can’t score goals. He can’t captain the Muskies for shit! He broke his hand throwing a stupid punch like a…like a dingus!”
Fuck this snowman.
The first kick was clumsy, barely knocking against the snowy base. “You can do better than that,” he muttered, resetting his feet. He swung out with his good hand, letting out a loudwhoopwhen he made a significant dent in the snowman’s face.
“Take that, Snow Sully!” His voice cracked and he stumbled, his footing unsteady on the brittle snow. His stomach roiled and his vision went blurry. The moment it cleared, he kicked his knee out in front of him, hitting the snowman square in the chest.
The whole thing crumbled, landing in a shapeless heap of dirty snow and fabric. Jamie grinned, pleased with his work.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Jamie glanced up, momentarily blinded by a porch light that had switched on somewhere above him. Stumbling back, he felt his heel hit the slick sidewalk. He swung his arms out, tried to get his balance, but it was too late.
I’m really good at skating, some part of his mind protested as he went down.
Thunk.
Fuck.
CHAPTER 2
TYLER
ARE YOU DEAD?
