“Looked like a rough fall,” Bell remarks. He tosses his dirty pads in the laundry bin.
“It wasn’t that bad. She’ll shake it off,” Sokolov says in his thick Russian accent, running his fingers through his long, graying hair. I might be imagining it, but he also seems annoyed that she’s here, which would help my mission. He’s the oldest guy on the team, and maybe it’s just his tan, weathered face but people do listen to him.
“She looked like she almost cried,” Thompson snickers.
“Yeah, about the camera, dumbass,” Poirier interjects. “Not her ankle. That rig’s probably worth more than your contract.”
“Doubt it.” Thompson stretches his arms over his head.
“Fontenot is right,” I say, wanting to steer the conversation back to something more productive. “This season will be different from others in that every aspect is going to be documented. I know I don’t have to explain what that means.”
Byrne, our third string goaltender, and Arsenault grumble something inaudible between themselves. Sokolov shakes his head.
“Dumb as shit that we have to deal with this. There’s enough pressure this season as is,” Thompson says, dragging his hand through his hair and boredly opening his phone. I’m pretty sure he’s looking at his own Fotogram profile.
“Wish you’d been drafted to another team, Thompson?” I reply.
Hescoffs. “I’m just pointing out the obvious, but yeah, kinda wishing someone else drafted me. Even Utah would have been better than this shit.”
That pisses me off.
“I could ask Hugh about bumping you down to juniors if that would work better,” I say.
“Hey, man. Just cause Freddie wouldn’t let you cop a feel doesn’t mean you gotta take it out on me.”
Everything goes red. A younger me would deck him in his ugly, pointy face, but I refrain, even if it takes everything in me to stay professional. The mood in the locker room freezes over.
“Say that again, and I’m going to make sure you’re shipped back to wherever the fuck you came from with a terminated contract and a dead-end career. Understood?”
He stares at me. I wait.
If he pushes back, I might actually hit him.
Finally, Thompson nods, his cheeks reddening. Still, he looks like he wants to throw me into the boards.
“The same goes for anybody else who wants to play this season. I don’t think I have to remind any of you that it might be your last. If you want to spend it on the bench because you can’t respect our owner’s daughter, that’s on you. I’ll make sure that’s where you land.”
I feel twenty-one pairs of eyes on me, and I loathe the attention, but apparently it needs to be said. When nobody else speaks, I stalk off to the showers.
I only cool down when the frigid water hits my skin. As much as I don’t like Hearst, I can’t fathom speaking that way about anyone. The fact that Thompson feels comfortable joking about it makes me suspect he doesn’t have a problem with doing something like it, either. Just one more thing to add to my plate. I’m going to have to keep a closer eye on him, especially when she’s around.
I need Hearst gone, and I need her gone as soon as possible. She’s shaping up to be exactly the kind of distraction that will make this season fall apart.
Chapter 16
Freddie
Margot
Maybe cinema’s not dead, ladies. I just got assigned to a new arthouse feature I think you’re both going to love.
Grace
Congrats!!! Need an editor? I’m dying over here. Literally looking up Godzilla’s height stats so I can accurately replicate his ??
Freddie
Any job openings mopping the mail room, Margot? Idk how much more of this hockey world I can take
