His jaw clenched so hard I thought he might crack a tooth. But he sat.
I turned back to the ice without another word.
Five minutes later, I pulled Callahan.
“Bench.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I said so. Move.”
Another five minutes, and I pulled Mercer for a pass that was maybe an inch off target.
The pattern continued. I rotated players on and off the bench for increasingly minor infractions, riding everyone hard enough that the confusion started turning into resentment.
By the end of the skate, half the team looked like they wanted to put me through the glass. The other half looked too exhausted to care.
“Sprints,” I said flatly. “Everyone. Goal line to blue line and back. Ten reps. Go.”
A few groans. I ignored them.
They skated sprints, and I stood there with my arms crossed, counting each one, calling out anyone who wasn't pushing hard enough.
When they finally finished, they were all breathing hard, faces flushed, legs shaking.
“That's what happens when you play like garbage,” I said. “You get treated like garbage. Tomorrow we do it again. Dismissed.”
They skated off slowly, and I waited to see if anyone had questions before leaving.
I made it three steps before I heard Rook's voice behind me.
“Coach.”
I stopped but didn't turn around. “What.”
“That was bullshit.” His voice was hard now. “You rode everyone for nothing. Half those bench calls were garbage and you know it.”
I turned to face him. “You have a problem with how I run my practices, Rook?”
“Yeah, actually, I do. When you're benching guys for bullshit reasons and running them into the ground after a road win.” He stepped closer, and I saw the anger there, barely contained. “What's going on with you?”
“Nothing is going on with me. I'm coaching.”
“You're being an asshole.”
“Then maybe you should focus on your own game instead of questioning mine.”
His eyes narrowed. “This isn't about the team.”
My stomach dropped, but I kept my expression neutral. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Sure you don't.” He glanced back at the ice, where the team was still filtering off. When he looked back at me, his voice dropped. “Whatever's eating you, Coach, figure it out. Because that—” he gestured toward the ice “—isn't leadership. It's just cruel.”
He skated off before I could respond.
I stood there alone, feeling the weight of his words settle into my chest.
Cruel.
