Page 80 of Lucky Puck

Unsurprisingly, I’ve experienced this coach trick before, the purposeful leaning into the discomfort of anticipating the sledgehammer about to be lowered on your head. One of the skills I’ve learned, besides how to skate circles around the defense, is how to wait out the silence without so much as a tick in my jaw muscle, not even one tell-tale gulp.

As long as he can’t hear the hammering of my heart, he’ll think I’m as calm as a lake on a summer morning.

“Do you think undermining your coach’s ability to run a game and lead his players is worth your fucking empty net goal? Do you think undercutting your teammate who was supposed to be on the ice getting his opportunity to score is good teamwork?” The acid in his voice fills the air, and I swear I can feel it eating at my body, or at least my soul. I remember Sabien’s words and suppress my stupid need to defy, to revert to being a wiseass.

“No sir.” My voice came out low and raspy, but it didn’t crack. I don’t relish the idea of doing any more talking.

He laughs. “You don’t think parroting the correct answer is going to get you off the hook, do you?” He pauses to stare me down, and this time I decide his question is rhetorical.

“You’re benched for the next game.” He lifts himself from the desk while I try to process his words, but it’s hard because I’ve mentally batted them away, rejected them. Then he turns away and goes around his desk to take his seat.

Without looking at me, he opens his laptop and says, “Get out of here.”

Gulping down the lump of disquietude, I leave his office like a wounded soldier going through the motions. In the quiet hallway, I walk away from the locker room and then stop, leaning against the wall.

Shit. I fucked up. The loss of a game feels like a slash through my gut, but what feels worse is knowing coach is right. I deserve this. I fucked with his authority, and I fucked with my teammates.

Curling my hands into fists, I hold back from punching the wall and will myself to calm down. I messed up like an adolescent idiot, and now I need to grow up and behave like a man, take the punishment, learn the lesson, and do whatever it takes to make up for it.

Turning, I stalk back down the hallway and push into the back door of the locker room. The guys are all still there, dressed and listening to Sabien make a speech or some shit.

Stepping past him, I stand on a bench, and my move has the immediate effect of quieting the room, at least until Windy opens his mouth.

“There he is. Mr. Big Shot who doesn’t have to play by the rules.”

Some of the guys grumble in agreement, but most of my teammates look uncomfortable at Windy’s words.

“Shut up, Wind,” Sabe says.

“It’s okay. He’s partly right. In fact, I wanted to come in here and tell you I’m sorry I broke the cardinal rule of disobeying coach in the game. I shouldn’t have stayed on the ice. No excuse. Unless you count stupid.”

I get a small rise of chuckles from the group and some nods, some acknowledgments that these things happen and the like.

“I can’t make up for what I did except to promise you it won’t happen again. I hope to gain your trust back by the end of the season.” I pause and clear my throat because this is tough shit, but it feels good at the same time, like it’s the right thing to do and that I will absolutely keep my word without question. That will be the easy part.

“I love this team. The last thing I want to do is anything that will mess us up. I want to win with you all, and I know I can’t win without you.”

This gets cheers, and Sabe slaps me on the back as I step down from the bench.

“What did coach say?” he asks under his breath.

“I’m benched for the Brawlers game.”

“Fuck.” He kicks someone’s water bottle and spills it. Some of the guys stop and turn.

“What’s up?” Ax says, stopping at my side.

Sabe answers loud enough for everyone to hear as they’re filing out.

“Brody’s benched for the Brawlers game.”

Everyone stops in their tracks. Jason was about to go out the media pit and turns around. “That fucking blows. Shit.” He looks sincerely troubled.

The guys murmur their condolences like I didn’t deserve what I got, except Windy, who I hear saying something about coach putting me up to this.

But it’s my teammates who don’t deserve the punishment, not even Windy. For once, I can’t blame him for his attitude.

“Guys, this is why I’m so fucking sorry. Because I fucked up and we’re all paying for it.”