“You,” I say. “What was your effort last shift?”
He blinks. “Uh—” I don’t let him finish. My mood is shit and unfortunately for these guys, they’re the only ones I can take my frustrations out on.
“Wrong answer,” I snap. “Skate.”
He hesitates for a fraction of a second. The other guys watch as if this is a TV drama.
When Andersson doesn’t move, I say, “Now.”
He takes off, face flushed.
“Everyone else,” I add, turning back to the line. “You run until he’s done.”
Groans ripple through the arena. I hear someone mutter under their breath, but I can’t quite make out what they say.
I spin. “You got something to share?”
Their heads go down, and some of them shift uncomfortably.Then, they push off.
I try to focus on the guys skating back and forth, but I can’t shut it off. The image of Ellie pulling her hand away. The sound of glass shattering. The word captain echoing in my head like a taunt.
“Again,” I shout when the first guy finishes. “That was pathetic.” Jesus, I’m a dick.
I blow the whistle and throw pucks onto the ice. They’re not done yet. The only way to get them into shape is to play against one another. To put their all into every practice, no matter how they’re feeling. They may hate me now, but they’ll thank me later.
“Scrimmage. No breaks. If you fall behind, you stay behind.”
They play hard as their frustration bleeds into their movements. I know what I’m doing. I know I’m pushing them past the edge. But I also know they can take it, because I had to.
My knee flares as I make my way slowly across the ice, shouting plays and directions at the team. One of the assistant coaches catches my eye, concern flickering. It’s obvious that I’m limping, but I push through the pain. I will not show weakness. I refuse.
Blowing the whistle one more time, I say, “Last drill,” I say. I watch their sighs of relief as they beginto slow down. They’re exhausted now, relying on instinct and muscle memory.
After practice, the locker room is quiet. There’s none of the usual back and forth, no laughing and joking, just the sound of the showers and lockers slamming shut.
“Good practice,” I tell them. “See you tomorrow.”
A few groans fill my ears before I head to my office. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe I can control my emotions, and maybe they’ll play like they mean it.
Once the locker room is clear, I walk in and take a seat on one of the benches, remembering what it felt like to sit and get myself psyched up for a game. A helmet sits beside me, and I stare at it as if it’s going to blow any second. My heart races and I feel like I can’t catch my breath. My hands grip the bench tightly before grabbing the helmet and chucking it at the wall. It smashes, the plastic falling to the ground. My knee flashes with pain, my chest constricts, my ears ring, and the room around me spins as I fall to a pile on the floor.
I flinch when two hands grip my face, forcing me to look into two gorgeous, emerald, green eyes. I didn’t even hear her come in, but Ellie kneels in front of me, her face full of concern. I’m sure I look pathetic, but I can’t bring myself to care at this moment. The warmth from her palms sends a shiver down my spine as she moves from my face, down my arms, landing on my hands. She squeezes tightly, bringing me into the present.
“Breath, Jamie. It’s okay, just take a deep breath,” she coaxes. “You’re alright.”
Her sweet voice breaks through the ringing in my ears. I take a breath, just like she instructed me to do. She nods slowly, a small, worried smile on her lips.
“What happened?” she asks. I don’t know how she can be so nice to me after what happened this morning. I don’t deserve her kindness. I was a dick, and she should run the other direction.
Instead of answering her question, I ask, “why are you in the men’s locker room?”
“I heard a crash, so I came to check it out. Then I saw you.” I nod, my breathing beginning to steady and my heart slowing down. Somehow, just her presence has helped the anxiety die down.
Her eyes shift from my face, down my body, probably checking for any injuries. When she finds nothing, she lands back on my face.
“Are you okay?” she asks, worry lacing her voice. I clear my throat, trying to gain some of my dignity back. “Are you still thinking about this morning?”
Pictures of the shattered glass and Ellie’s bloody foot flash in my head, my stomach feeling queasy. My eyes dart to the broken helmet on the floor. Fuck, I need to learn to get my anger under control. Two broken things in one day? Ellie must think I’m a neanderthal. I never lash out. I’m calm and collected, I always have been. Until recently. Ellie’s never seen this side of me, this side that’s filled with rage and devastation. I wonder if she remembers the way I used to be.
