“I don’t know. They showed up with the coach. He said they were his guests,” Pennie replies and the baffled look on her pretty face angers me.
“I told you. We do not speak. They are not a part of my life.”
“Yeah. And I didn’t invite them. Like I said, the coach showed up with them. What was I supposed to do, deny them entry to a public event?” She pulls her phone out of her pocket and something on the screen makes her frown deeply. She looks back at me. “I have to go make a statement. Anything you can say to help me figure out exactly what the hell I can tell the press?”
“Ronan Green and Abbott Barlowe have been highly competitive with each other since childhood and this was just a bit of chirping that crossed a line. Abbott understands that violence was not the correct response and he’s apologized to Mr. Green. It’s all good.”
She blinks and starts typing furiously into her phone and mutters, “Well, maybe we can hire you in the PR department when the coach cans your ass.”
And then she turns and leaves just as the rest of my team wanders back in. Briggs enters first, his helmet is off and he’s chewing on his mouthguard as he grins. It’s mostly a sympathetic smile even though he says, “Dude, what the actual fuck?”
“I know. It’s a long story. I’m sorry,” I say, and he smacks my shoulder with his gloved hand.
“Dude, you don’t have to apologize to me. I don’t care who you knock out but maybe next time, save it for a game that isn’t against hometown heroes,” Briggs says, walking by me to the bench. I sit beside him and we both start undoing our skates. “Coach is seriously pissed.”
“Yeah. Pennie informed me.” I look over at him as I get my skates off and he stands up, pulling his jersey over his head. “Should I go find him now?”
“I would give him a little breathing room,” Briggs recommends. “Head to the showers and then find him. Pennie has him and the other coach and the fire captain doing a mock little presser. Then they’re coming in here for a mock-post-game presser. So figure out what to say. Fast.”
“Okay.” I don’t know what else to do but take his advice. I hear my phone blowing up in my summer suit jacket pocket, which is hanging on the hook behind me, but I don’t dig it out. It’s likely Deck or Finn or Jake and I just need to focus on one apology at a time. The coach is the most important one.
Briggs drops his jersey, pads, and everything else and I start to do the same. Jay is already out of his gear and moving past me, toward the showers, a towel around his waist. He pauses and looks right at me. “This. This is why I don’t like you, Barlowe. You bring unnecessary drama everywhere you go. You’re a magnet for it. I don’t need it or want it, dude.”
Jay storms off, which is fine because I have nothing to say anyway.
Twenty minutes later, we’re all in the outfits we showed up in and the seven reporters who attended this game are led in by Pennie. Coach Maxwell is right behind them though so when they all swarm me, like a pack of hungry wolves, he calls out, “Barlowe! Need you in my office.”
Some of the reporters actually groan. I stand up and give them all a small apologetic smile but keep my mouth closed because if Coach had wanted me to speak, he wouldn’t be calling me out right now. The reporters disperse, heading to see Briggs or Jay or one of the other pro players who participated like Jude Braddock. I make my way out of the locker room and follow coach as he walks down the long concrete hallway. He opens a door on his left and points. I head in. It’s a medical room with a medical bed in the center and a triage kit set up in the corner. The waxy paper on the bed looks rumpled. Probably from Ronan sitting on it.
“I knew there would be a problem with you,” he says flatly. “I just figured you’d at least wait for the season to start.”
“I—"
“You’re sorry. Yeah. Pennie told everyone. Including the guy you clobbered.” He starts pacing in the small windowless space. I focus on his hands, which are by his sides clenching and unclenching. “Here’s the thing, Barlowe. I don’t give a shit. I don’t care if you’re sorry. I don’t care if you mean it. I don’t give a flying monkey’s rabid ass if you had a justifiable reason to punch that guy. Which, I’ll be honest with you, after talking to him, I’m betting you did.”
“I’ll be dead honest with you, I would have hit him eventually, because he does deserve it. But I understand this wasn’t the time or place.” I want to keep talking but the cold, hard stare he is giving me says I need to shut the fuck up, so I do.
He finally stops flexing his fingers and crosses his arms. “The guy is talking about suing you. This could become a thing that follows the team everywhere. In its first year. This will be what makes news. Every goal you score, every game we win, this will be a footnote in the story. That’s why I won’t make you Captain. You were top of my list for a minute, because management thought you’d be the best idea. But my gut wasn’t sure, and you just gave me a reason to go with my gut.”
Something inside me pops like a helium balloon getting poked by a pin. I don’t even try to respond because I have nothing to say that he wants to hear. It feels like I’m a child and he just pulled my first lollipop out of my hands, because he did. This was a dream that I was holding. Only he didn’t yank it away. I threw it away. I hate myself right now but I swallow it down and manage to croak out. “I understand.”
“Briggs is going to be our Captain. I’ll announce it after our first official practice, unless he decides to punch someone at a charity event between now and then,” Coach tells me. And then he points. “And you. You’re going to be on your best behavior. In fact, no. That’s not even good enough. You’re going to behave better than you ever have before. Do you hear me? Because if you make waves on any level, in any way, between now and the beginning of the season I will talk to the owners and I will cut you lose. And no one will want you, Barlowe. You’ve had your two strikes in this league. Between the injury and addiction issues last year and this, you aren’t getting any more chances.”
I nod. I know in my heart he’s right. “You’re going to be a media darling for the rest of the summer. No controversies. No waves. Not even a fucking ripple.”
“I understand.” I swallow. “I just… I think you should know something. Because I’m… well, it’s something about the Cup Day I was planning. I was going to tell everyone. Umm… Not so muchtellthem but my b—”
He lifts his hand with one meaty index finger pointed high in the air to silence me. “You’re going to be on your best behavior. Smile. Shake hands. Be the simple, lovable local guy they all want to see. And your parents will be there. Because people who aren’t fucking lunatics have parents at their big life events. The people who raised them to be the stars they are. Do you understand that?”
“No. Not in this situation. I’m sorry.”
“So am I, Barlowe because this isn’t up for debate,” Coach replies. “Parents. And a girl if you have one. Someone respectable. I think this whole mess was about you and that guy’s sister. So take his sister to the event. It’ll look like you’ve made up with him or it’ll make him look like an overprotective sibling. Either way, it’s a win for you and, more importantly, the team.”
Pennie’s head appears in the doorway. Coach looks over at her. “I’m right aren’t I, Pennie? That’s the way to fix this mess.”
Pennie and I exchange glances. “Well, I don’t necessarily think it’s the only way. I try not to advise players to fake relationships. In reality his personal life shouldn’t be part of our publicity strategy.”
“And it wouldn’t be if he hadn’t decided to take a personal grudge out in the middle of a fucking charity event,” Coach snaps. He turns back to me. “Your options are follow my advice or say good-bye to a professional hockey career. Honestly, Abbott, you’d make a decent living in the minors. They have more tolerance for players without emotional discipline anyway.”
