Page 110 of What We Knew Then
The coaches next to me sigh and deflate with each passing minute.
Looking to the bench, I see Troy is barking directions, trying to keep everyone locked in. Guys are forcing plays. Forcing everything. And I’m up here, being fucking useless.
I hate that I can’t be with them.
The horn finally sounds and the game ends exactly how it felt like it would the entire night. With Great Lakes U getting their asses kicked.
My team skates with their head down and it kills me.
I move with the assistants and other staff that are in the press box. I don’t even go to the locker room tonight. They make sure I’m with them when we get to the area with our bags—everyone grabs their things and we’re the first ones on the bus. We’ll go back to the hotel and have to come back and play in this same place tomorrow.
I’m dreading it.
The lights are dim. The familiar rows of seats feel different when the guys aren’t here yet—too quiet, too clean. Like I’m early to something I’m not really invited to.
I take a seat about halfway back. Not the front with the coaches and not the back where the guys usually pile in. Just… the middle.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, staring out the window at the arena doors.
They start coming out about twenty minutes later. First a couple freshmen, still in sweats, talking quietly. They climb on the bus without looking up, heads low as they move past me.
“Good game,” I say automatically. One of them nods but they keep going.
More guys follow with their bags slung over their shoulders. Faces tight from the loss.
“Nice try tonight,” I say to one of the juniors as he steps past. He gives me a quick, polite nod.
Leo comes on a few players later. For a second I think he might stop but he doesn’t. Just gives me a brief look and heads to the back of the bus.
The seats behind me start filling. Low, frustrated voices making their way to the front. Someone mutters something about turnovers. Someone else says tomorrow’s game is a must-win.
No one sits next to me and the seat across the aisle stays empty, too. I lean back, staring out the window again as the last of the guys climb aboard.
Troy comes on near the end. He pauses halfway down the aisle when he sees me. For a second I think maybe he’ll sit. Instead, he gives me a tired nod but keeps walking.
An assistant counts and makes sure we have everyone. The door folds shut with a hiss and the bus pulls away from the arena.
Behind me, the guys start talking quietly about the game. Trying to figure out how the hell to have a different outcome tomorrow night.
I sit there, staring out into the dark Minnesota night, listening to my team try to fix something I should be helping them with. And for the first time since Coach handed down the suspension, it hits me. Watching them lose is worse than not being able to play.
That’s the real punishment.
Chapter 66
CORA
Thesecondlosshurtsworse than the first. You have this hope that the first loss is really just a flop, not their night. The second loss proves how rough they were really playing.
Brinn’s bartending at Shore Thing and I’m watching from her bed—my laptop balanced on my knees, the volume turned low like that might somehow soften it. It doesn’t.
Great Lakes looks… wrong. Passes just a second off. Lines not clicking and then guys forcing plays that normally come easy. During the second game of the series, Minnesota capitalizes on every mistake like they’ve been waiting for it.
Lane sits in a Great Lakes U hockey shirt in the press box and they use every opportunity to show him. The camera keeps panning to him, especially after his team makes a mistake, and everyone speculates about why he’s a healthy scratch.
But no one knows, which is a small victory—if there is such a thing.
By the time Minnesota scores their third goal in the first period, I close my laptop. I don’t need to see the rest. I already know how this ends.
