Page 38 of Heartless As Puck

A lump settled in the pit of my gut. Perhaps I should be pleased to be named Alternate Captain for the game, but Matt had been given the C. Did that mean that he was currently Dunn’s top choice for the role?

Matt looked surprised, and he grinned when Jesse slapped him on the shoulder and made a quip about celebrating later with tequila.

I rolled my eyes and hissed, “No tequila for you.”

We all knew what happened when Jesse drank tequila. Or, at least, we’d heard stories. I really had no idea how he’d come to wake up buck-ass naked in the dean’s office of a nearby college, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know either.

“Now, Detroit will come out hard.” Dunn’s voice pulled me from my musings. “They’ll have heard about the changes within the team and will want to prove that they don’t matter. I want you to hold steady on defense and let them wear themselves out for the first period, then we’ll ramp it up in the second.”

There was a chorus of, “Yes, Coach.”

“Get changed and warm up.”

I turned to my locker and traced the outline of my name with my fingertip. It was a home game, and I was curious to see how many people had turned up. I also couldn’t help wondering how Jane was managing. Today, she’d be standing with the other players’ partners in a personal capacity rather than a professional one. I hoped the women—and lone man—would be welcoming.

I donned my gear, taped my stick, and made sure everything was in order. Once the others were also ready, we headed out into the stadium. I blinked as the lighting changed and squinted around at the seating. The stands weren’t full, but there was a better turnout than I’d expected.

Anxiety flitted through me. Had the spectators come to cheer us on or because they hoped we’d be as disastrously entertaining as usual?

We skated around the rink a few times, gathering speed as our muscles warmed, then we began to loosen up our bodies. Coach Dunn called for us to start drills, and Nick, Jesse, and I grabbed a puck each and took turns shooting at the goalie, Mitch Davenport. When he was properly warmed up, we started three-on-one drills.

Coach had us change drills. Pucks flew all over the place. I just hoped it didn’t look as chaotic to our audience as it did from the ice.

When the game began, Jesse faced off against Detroit’s center. He won the puck and passed it back to Matt.

It all went downhill from there. The game was a fucking catastrophe.

We held out for the first period against their onslaught—Coach had been right about them coming out hard and fast—and for a few minutes, I began to think maybe we could win this thing.

But then Jesse got wiped out by an opposing player and, as he limped off the ice, Drew let the guy responsible know exactly how mad he was with his fists and a litany of swear words.

Drew got a penalty.

Detroit slipped a puck past Davenport right before the end of the second period and then scored twice more in the final.

We lost 3-0.

The mood in the changing room was sour. It was almost like the fact that we’d held out so well in the first period made the loss of the second two that much more painful. I whipped off my top, dropped it on the floor, and lowered myself onto a bench, so I could unlace my skates.

One came off and then the other. I stripped off my socks, peeled down my pants, and was onto the underlayers when Coach Dunn called for our attention.

“Look alive, men,” he said, scanning the room, no doubt noting the scowls on our faces. “Don’t be so down on yourselves. Yeah, we lost, but it was only a preseason game, and it didn’t count for anything. This is the perfect time to lose, so we can learn and do better when it matters.”

Assistant Coach Willets entered behind him, holding a clipboard with several sheets of paper attached to it. “Let’s hear the positives. Coach Dunn and I will give you ours, and then we want to hear one positive thing and one thing you can work on from each of you.”

Groans echoed off the walls.

Dunn chuckled. “It won’t be that painful, I assure you. From what I can tell, you boys weren’t previously allowed to talk about anything important, but that isn’t happening under my watch. Provided you can speak with respect, then I’ll always want to hear what you have to say.”

“I’ll start,” Assistant Coach Willets said, tapping his pen against the top sheet of paper on his clipboard. “You did exactly as we asked with maintaining a strong defense in the first period. There were moments when we could see how well you’ll work together once you have a little more practice as a team. We also have a focus for our next game: figuring out how to move the puck up the ice.”

A couple of players snorted. The forwards could choose to take his comment personally, but considering we hadn’t scored any goals, we didn’t have a leg to stand on. We knew we could score because we’d done it before, but if we wanted to have any chance of improving our standing from last season, we’d have to get a whole lot better at working together.

“My turn,” Coach Dunn said. “Can we all put our hands together for Davenport? Yes, some goals got in, but there were a whole lot more he kept out.”

There was a smattering of applause.

“Your fitness was good.” He crossed his arms over his burly chest. “We need to coordinate better, but no one has let the team down in their willingness to put in the work. Harris, your turn.”