“Are we going to have a little kumbaya, or is this supposed to be a little catch-up?” I ask, settling into the chair and stretching my legs out to let my muscles get a break. They cry in relief, and I realize I’ll need an ice bath if I want to move tomorrow. I’m good at keeping a workout schedule, but nothing beats the exercise we get on the ice. It works muscles you don’t know exist until you wake up the next morning and feel them.
Hoffman crosses his arms over his chest casually. “I wanted to see how things are going. You haven’t been around the new players for long, but it seems like you work well together on the ice. Although I think you need to trust some of the younger guys better.”
“And why is that?”
“You wouldn’t pass,” he states.
He’s right. “I didn’t have to.”
“You always have the opportunity to pass,” he says. “There were multiple times you could have sent the puck to Dawson or Head. They may be the youngest, but they’re good.”
I’m not disagreeing with him. “They are, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have more to prove. My ass has been on the line since signing on the dotted line with this team.”
“So you’re trying to prove to Mikhail that you belong on the ice,” he says with a head bob. “That makes sense. But you still need to work with the others. You’ve barely had any interactions outside of the stadium with them from what I can tell.”
“I’ve seen Clarkson,” I counter. Once in passing, when we were out, but it should count. “If this is you about to tell me how I need to treat my team like family, you’re barking up the wrong tree with that analogy. I don’t like my family. Don’t talk to them either. Personally, I don’t know if I buy having to get along with the people you work with. They say it’s good to have a work-life balance.”
He studies me, unfazed by my cynicism. It isn’t like he doesn’t know how I am. I’m sure he’s heard the same rumors as everybody else. “I don’t expect you to have sleepovers with any of them, but I would like you to get along. It’s hard to form those connections with people if you show up only for practice or the game and then bail directly after.”
For someone who says he doesn’t expect me to host sleepovers, it sure as hell seems like that’s what he wants. “Do you want me to invite people for a team bonding experience at Dave & Buster’s over air hockey and basketball? Want us to do trust falls too?”
My sarcasm doesn’t bother him. “I know from personal experience that you keep to yourself most of the time. That’s not a bad thing. Frankly, it’s probably the best thing you could do given how much your face has wound up in the tabloids this year.”
I knew it was only a matter of time before he brought that up.
“But you used to spend time with your former team,” he continues pointedly. “You had friends. Clarkson confirmed as much.”
“Clarkson is a gossip,” I accuse. “And I wouldn’t exactly say I was best friends with anybody. I didn’t paint their nails or tuck them in after reading them a bedtime story. I tolerated them, especially if alcohol was involved.”
I haven’t touched a drop since promising Emaly that I wouldn’t wind up in any more headlines. I’m familiar enough with myself to know that one too many drinks leads to an equal number of poor decisions. And, if I’m being honest, I don’t want to cross the lines with liquor that my parents did. I’m not afraid to drink, but Iamafraid of the potential of it going awry.
Mostly, the potential of it leading me to a certain blonde’s apartment and banging on her door until she lets me in. Holding her at Our Open Table made me feel things I didn’t know I wascapable of. It wasn’t purely physical. It was more. And I think that scares me more than alcohol does.
“The point is, I want everybody to get along,” Hoffman informs me, breaking me from my thoughts. “You’re getting a late start to the season because of everything that transpired. But since you aren’t being benched, you’ll have to work ten times harder to catch up. The guys are already forming bonds. Going out. Making friendships. It would help if you were more open to doing the same. Teach the newer players something. Clarkson mentioned doing weekly dinners—”
“Look,” I cut him off, “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But forcing friendships isn’t going to work. I’ll make them a fucking friendship bracelet with my phone number on it like Kelce did for Swift and see if something blossoms. But that’s the extent of what I’m offering. If they want to learn how to be better players, they can watch me. I don’t need more people in my life trying to get to know me.”
Because there’s way too much for them to figure out.
Hoffman’s sigh is heavy, like he expected the answer. He doesn’t tell me to play nice or order me to do shit. Probably because he knows that’ll only make me want to do the opposite.
Because I like him, I offer Hoffman the only thing I can. “Maybe we can do the charity gala together. Clarkson’s presence would make sense, since he’s the captain of the team. Mikhail is bound to be there as the owner of the team. Maybe Richie or one of the others can tag along as well. My PR team is scheduling a meet-and-greet session before the gala starts begins so we can talk to people. Let them get to know us or some shit.”
If we show up on a united front, the community can see us as a team before they see us in action during the season.
“I’ll have to get it approved, but…”
“That’s a great idea,” he praises, seemingly impressed. “If you need me to contact anyone, I can. I’m sure Yokav wouldn’t object either.”
Especially if we made it seem like it was his idea. He loves getting credit for shit he has nothing to do with.
My phone goes off, and I take advantage before my head coach starts trying to psychoanalyze or guilt me again into doing something I don’t want to. Like hosting a team dinner or something equally as dumb.
When I see Ashton’s name on the screen, I groan but answer anyway. “What do you want?”
“We have a situation.” His tone is off. It’s not bossy or perturbed like I’m used to it being.
“What kind of situation?” I ask, earning a curious look from Hoffman.
