Page 15 of Roughing
I refused to answer him.
“Wouldn’t that give you satisfaction? Right now, they’re thinking they made the right choice. Help us prove to the league that we’re not throwaways. Make them regret their actions.”
I sighed. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to be the person you can be. I want the Briggs who led the league in defense, who battled every single second he was on the ice. I want the Briggs who encouraged his teammates to take it to a new level and helped the young guys reach their potential.”
“That guy is gone,” I muttered through a fog of irritation and frustration. Dash was delusional.
“Then you’d better find him unless you want to be a permanent scratch for the remainder of the season. Imagine one of our most talented and highest-paid players riding the bench for the next three months.”
The humiliation of such a vision overrode my crappy attitude. I would not be relegated to being a scratch.
“That won’t happen,” I promised.
“Good, then you’re on board with the program. The young guys on this team need mentoring rather than having their confidence destroyed like you did Grady.”
I’d never said I was on board with anything. “Whatever.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Dash grinned as if I’d professed my intentions to be the nicest guy on the team. Fat chance that’d ever happen, but I’d tone down the negativity and nastiness. I’d been left no choice.
I breathed a sigh of relief when Dash moved to another seat and left me alone with my miserable self. Bored, I scrolled through the pictures on my phone until I came to the last one I’d taken of Michella and me. I wasn’t a sentimental guy and rarely took pictures, but that night we’d taken a breather on the roof of my building. In a rare surge of joy, I caught the moment. We were both smiling with Portland lights twinkling in the background. Michella’s arms were wrapped around my neck, while I had an arm around her waist. Her wide smile shone brighter than the arena lights. We gave the impression we were a happy couple. A lump lodged in my throat, and I swallowed, overwhelmed by the sadness clouding my vision. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.
I should delete that image. No good would come of staring at what once was.
But I didn’t delete it.
The next night, we were down three to one at the end of the second period. There’d been no quit among my teammates. I had to give them credit for battling. I kept my destructive criticism of my teammates to a minimum, no small accomplishment for a guy whose tendency was to tear everyone down so they’d be as miserable as I was.
My defensive partner Braden was experienced. His hockey sense was admirable, and I didn’t have much to say to him, but the younger defensemen on the team left a lot to be desired. Watching them from the bench, it was all I could do not to shout at their stupidity. Slade Adams often abandoned his position on the ice and ended up in the wrong spot at the wrong time. My former partner, Grady Jefferson, also the coach’s son, was sluggish and uninspired. Kirby was the most consistent of our defenders, but he couldn’t do it alone. My own play fell short of expectations, even though I’d played my ass off. I was forcing the puck, not being patient, and trying too hard. One goal shot past me into the net when I’d been in the perfect place to block it. My sloppy pass was intercepted and resulted in a breakaway and another goal.
This team wasn’t operating on all cylinders. Hell, we weren’t operating on any cylinders. We were stuck in reverse rather than moving forward.
As I glanced around the locker room during second intermission, I did so with less animosity than before. The captain and alternate captains made valiant efforts to hold everything together, not letting the team spiral into a black abyss of self-hate. They weren’t over-the-top cheerleaders, but they inspired confidence and calmness. On paper, I should’ve been one of those supportive veterans.
I had the most experience of the veteran defensemen, along with a Norris for best defenseman from three years ago. Things had changed so much since those days. I didn’t feel like the same person. I’d been brash, confident, and full of swagger; now I felt discombobulated and disconnected as I fumbled my way through life.
My gaze slid to Grady. He hung his head and looked at no one. He’d been my partner until recently when he’d been moved to the first line with Kirby. I’d destroyed the kid’s confidence, and Kirby was in the process of damage control and confidence bolstering.
“Be a fish,” I said to Grady.
His head jerked upward, and he glanced around as if he was certain I hadn’t been the one talking.
“Don’t dwell on mistakes because we all make plenty of them. Have the memory of a fish. Forget about it and move on. We have another period to play.”
He nodded slowly while warily watching me, expecting there to be a dig on the horizon. I gave none. I turned away. I’d done one good deed for the day. That was my current limit. Being encouraging had become so foreign to me I felt uncomfortable in the role.
I caught Kirby watching me, and a slow smile flitted across his face. I grimaced at him and focused my attention elsewhere. He’d witnessed me being a nice guy, and I hated that, which goes to show how fucked up I really was.
Dash gave an inspirational speech, as did Coach.
A few minutes before we returned to the ice, Dash walked to the center of the room and surveyed each man. The majority of the young guys looked down. I met Dash’s gaze, and he paused briefly as if trying to send a subliminal message my way. I’d never been good at shit like that, so I just nodded.
Resting his hands on his hips, Dash cleared his throat. The room grew quiet. I sat up and took inventory of the room. Defeat hung like a black cloud. Guys had already given up.
Dash slammed a stick against a bench, startling many of the head hangers and demanding our attention.
“No quit,” he bellowed as if lifting us up by his sheer force of will. He stalked around the room, his movements jerky and angry. “I see quit written on too many faces. We’re not fucking quitters. We may not have the best record in the league, but we’re not quitters. We give everything we can in each game. No one will be able to say we don’t care or we didn’t try.” He stopped in front of Slade Adams, one of the team disrupters and one of the guys I’d previously dragged down to my level.
