CHAPTER 7
Paxon
“Well that sucked.”
I grunt in agreement with Hen’s statement. To say the least. We were off our game tonight and in a few minutes I’m sure Coach will be in here to tell us just how much we messed up. We never found our rhythm and Colorado exploited every weakness we showed them.
As I peel out of my gear, I replay all the ways I personally fucked up. I left our goalie unprotected twice, got taken out by Colorado’s defense too often, and missed the chance to block a shot. Maybe I can blame it on the altitude.
The door to the visitor locker room opens and Coach steps inside, a sour look on his face. I brace myself for the cussing out we’re about to get. Coach Willis rubs his forehead while we all quiet down. We fall silent, hanging our heads like disobedient children waiting for our scolding.
“I don’t have to tell you what went wrong out there,” Coach says. “There will be plenty of highlight reels in case you need a reminder.”
I flinch. He doesn’t sound angry, he sounds disappointed, and that’s way worse.
“But, guys, we are so close to the playoffs this year. So close to the cup. Now is not the time to fall apart. Tomorrow afternoon, I’ll expect to see you all at practice. So get your sleep tonight because as soon as we touch down, you’ve got work to do.”
He leaves to mumbles of “Yes, Coach” and grunts of agreement. I finish removing my gear and head to the showers, my mind still filled with how shitty I played tonight. I need to get it together too because we have a string of away games coming up.
Hen appears next to me, twisting the handle to turn the water on. “It’ll be okay. We just had an off night. It happens.”
I grunt again, not in the mood for platitudes. We’re one of the top-ranked teams in the league this season, and of course we all have bad games, but that doesn’t take the sting away from this one. My days as a hockey player may be numbered, and I don’t want to walk away from this season feeling like I failed my team.
After my shower, I dress in my slacks and a dress shirt, not bothering with the jacket. I know it’s cold outside, but I’m still hot from the shower and the embarrassment. One of the Colorado players is standing just outside our locker room door when I push through it.
“Bouche.”
I lift my gaze. “Hey, Reilly. What’s up?”
“Let your team know we’re meeting at O’Shea’s pub. It’s just a half mile down the street from here.”
“I’m not the fucking social director.”
Reilly’s lips tilt in a smile. “Come on, Bouche. Let us show you guys some hospitality.”
I blow out an annoyed breath. Andrew Reilly’s an alright guy. All the Colorado players are. It’s not their fault they’ve been dominating this season.
“I’ll tell the guys.”
He claps my shoulder. “Hope to see you there.”
Turning around, I head back into the locker room,announcing the bar location and invitation. Hen raises an eyebrow in question. I’d rather go back to my room and wallow alone, but maybe that isn’t the best idea. I can’t change what happened tonight, and at least having a beer would help me sleep. I nod once to indicate that I’m in. Hen grins.
While I hover, waiting for the guys to finish dressing, I pull my phone out of my pocket, checking for messages. Nothing. I’m reaching to tuck it away when it buzzes in my hand.
Boone: Dude. WTF. Does Colorado have something on you or what?
Rolling my eyes, I shoot back a response.
Me: Pour salt in the wound, why don’t you.
Boone: Sorry, but it made me worry about you. I’ve never seen you play like that. It was like you forgot where you were. Are you okay?
Damn. Was it that bad?
Boone: Palachuk practically invited the puck in, and what the fuck was going on with Greene and Landham? Altitude fucking with your heads?
Me: Maybe. We had an off night. It fucking happens.
