Page 49 of The Game
I brush my fingers against Sarah’s, making her look down at our hands, before she looks into my eyes one last time before continuing down the hallway with her dad.
~
The next day, my apartment is finally ready for me to move back in. Having stayed in a hotel for weeks, I’mmore than ready to return to my apartment and my own space.
After a morning run, I pack my suitcase and check out of the hotel before heading over to my building.
My apartment is also closer to the rink than the hotel, making it easier to come and go. When everything is unpacked, I grab my gear and head to the arena.
First, I have a meeting with our coach. I usually meet with him before the team meeting to ensure we’re aligned on our strategy and plan moving forward.
Especially after a loss or a tough game, it’s crucial to present a united front and maintain stability in leadership.
“Hey, coach,” I greet him as he waves me into his office.
“McGregor,”
Oh no.
He always calls me that when he’s about to give bad news or a lecture. Something tells me I’m in for a lecture after yesterday’s game.
I sit down in the chair opposite his desk, ready for whatever he throws at me.
“I think you need to change things up a bit, McGregor,” he says as he leans forward on his desk.
“Change what exactly, coach? I know yesterday’s game was terrible, but we’ve been playing well the past fewweeks, hell, months—one bad game doesn’t define us,” I say, meaning every word.
I understand it’s his job to analyse every little mistake and mishap. It’s also partly my responsibility as captain. But sometimes, there’s no quick fix or clear answer for why a game went bad.
Sometimes, we have a shit day.
“I don’t know McGregor, but the team would benefit from socializing together outside the rink as well. Some fresh guys on the team haven’t found their place just yet, and I think we need to work on that.”
I think about what he just told me.
There are some newer players on our team this season, and I understand why they haven’t found their place yet. It can be challenging to manoeuvre into an established group of guys.
Sure, we sometimes go out to the bar for a few drinks, but none of the new guys ever seems to join.
I usually don’t go myself unless a certain blonde is there.
“I’ll think of something, coach, is that all?” I ask him as I start to stand up.
“One more thing, McGregor,” I sit back down as he continues.
“I need you to be on top of your game. Eating, training, resting, and doing everything needed for yourperformance to be at its best, you got me?” he asks, and I start feeling the irritation build, but I don’t let it show.
“Is there a problem with my performance, coach?” I ask him, trying to keep my tone neutral.
I was one of the few players who didn’t exactly suck on the ice yesterday. If he implies otherwise, we’re going to have a problem.
“Nothing wrong with your performance, you just seem more frustrated than usual, that’s all,” he says.
He has no idea just how frustrated I am.
I’m in serious need of some release between the sheets, but there will be nothing of that before I have the woman I want.
“Got it, coach, I’ll see you at the team meeting.” With that, I stand and leave his office.
