“You’re welcome,” he counters.
I toss him a quick wink. “And just so you know, we’re not listening to Fallon’s bullshit forty-eight-hour rule.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
cameron
“While we satthrough a three-hour ass-chewing from Henderson, you were watching a fucking Tony-award-winning Broadway play?”
“Practice was Monday. And it’s amusical. We saw it on Sunday,” I correct Logan.
And I’m not even embarrassed to admit that it was the best Broadway show I’ve ever seen. It’s also the only one I’ve seen, but it set the bar very fucking high.
“That’s even worse,” he laments. “You had to listen to peoplesingabout dead presidents?”
“Founding Fathers,” I say. “And the storytelling was insane. I’d see it again in a heartbeat.”
I now understand why Kennedy’s seen it so many times, and am more than a little jealous that she saw the original cast.
Pouting, Logan turns to Jake. “You have nothing to say about this, Reid? Henderson targeted you at practice, meanwhile Davies was gallivanting around New York with his lady love.”
Cole glances up from where he’s been silently listening to the conversation. “Henderson didn’ttargetJake. He coached him.Which, the last time I checked, was his job. And after how Jake played last night, it was deserved.”
I turn and catch Cole’s eye. We’ve both noticed how distracted our friend has been lately, but when we ask, he brushes us off, so we’ve left it alone. If Jake doesn’t want to talk, he won’t, and if we push him, he’ll completely shut down.
But clearly Cole’s done ignoring it.
Jake glowers. “Fuck you, Berrett.”
“Fuck you, Reid.”
“Everyone can fuck me,” Logan chimes in, his tone much lighter.
I pinch the bridge of my nose.Jesus Christ. I don’t know how we survived Logan when he was single. Even in a relationship, he’s unhinged, just with a slightly better filter.
“Maybe we should invoke the Circle of Trust?” I ask, trying to break the tension.
“No, I want Cole to apologize for being a dick.”
“I’m not being a dick,” Cole says with a casual shrug. “You were off at practice, and you fucked up during last night’s game.”
A low rumble works its way out of Jake. “Ifucked up?”
Our captain leans forward, his tone shifting from accusatory to concerned. “Yeah. You did. You were out of position on the power play twice. I set you up for a one-timer in the second period and you weren’t even looking at me.”
Fallon didn’t clear me to play last night, but I still watched the game. Cole’s being generous about Jake’s performance. And he didn’t even bring up how he also blew coverage during the Rangers’ two-on-one because he was watching the puck instead of his man.
Jake’s jaw ticks, but he doesn’t argue.
“And during practice,” Cole continues, his voice quieter now, “you missed three backdoor passes. Three. Younevermiss backdoor passes, but you were late to the net every time.”
“Maybe your passes were shit,” Jake mutters, but there’s no heat behind it.
“My passes were perfect,” Cole says evenly.
Logan, for once, stays quiet, his attention bouncing between them like he’s watching a tennis match. I’m surprised he doesn’t have his phone out, recording the conversation.
I clear my throat. “Jake, man, we’re not trying to pile on you, but you’ve been somewhere else lately.”
