“The hell are you talking about?”
“Someone video’ed your damn fight, Beau. Got it all on camera.” I waited for him to show a little remorse. He didn’t. “You wanna tell me why our first round, hundred-million-dollar draft choice is getting in fights in some dive bar at two in the morning?”
“Fuck off.”
Perfect. I turned to the others. “I bet you’re all wondering why the Forge would put the future of this franchise on his shoulders? Easy. Because they know he’ll fail.”
Beau wasn’t suave enough to hide his rage. Never needed to learn how to get what he wanted without a tantrum.
That’d change.
“You don’t know a fucking thing about why I cold-clocked that prick,” Beau said.
“I don’t need to guess. Sports Nation is gonna run some sanctimonious story about it—big letters scrawled across the screen. The Forge’s First Round Fuck-up. And you know what?” I pointed beyond the locker room, toward the coaching offices. “They won’t give a damn about what the world thinks of you. If the league has a reason to hate you, you’ve done your part. Doesn’t matter how fast you skate, how you handle the puck, or how easily you score. That’s not why they drafted you.”
“Bullshit.” Beau appealed to the other men, though they had sense enough to glance away. “The Forge drafted me because I’m the best. Because I’m a goddamned prodigy.”
“You’re a troublemaker. A slacker. A loud-mouth with a stick.” And it didn’t feel good to say it. “The team wants you to self-destruct, Beau. Makes for a better story. Gets us more clicks. Sells more tickets. The worse you act-out and fuck up your opportunities, the more it entertains the masses. One hundred million dollars can buy a lot of humiliation, and the Forge won’t protect you from any of it.”
“This is fucking crazy…” Cash interrupted me with a quiet profanity. “What team would deliberately destroy their own reputation?”
“One that doesn’t think we have a chance to compete.”
He pointed to himself. “So…what? We all play our part in this fucking charade?”
No sense denying his concerns with the roster now. I counted our defensive core.
“You and Leo are one cheap shot away from getting bounced from the league. You’re terrible sports. Hot-headed goons who’d sooner knock a guy out than score a goal.” I gestured toward the other two. “Vasha’s broken one-too-many international laws. If he steps foot in Russia, his ass will get shipped to a gulag. Christ, the first English he learned was how to ask for his attorney.”
“Is good law man.” Vasha gave a thumbs-up. “Take much money. But good law man.”
“And Thorn…” I nodded to the oldest man on the team—a skating scar splattered with bruises and long-healed broken bones. “Made too many enemies on the ice. Too many debts are owed. One day, someone’s gonna get their revenge.”
Thorn took the revelation better than most, though it might’ve been the whiskey he kept in his locker. “Never did play well with others—glad to be on a team that rewards the bullshit.”
And that was the difference between me and my teammates.
As they sunk deeper into their own problems, depressions, substance abuses, and denials…
I saw the opportunity.
Oz’s fists curled tight. With a furious yell, he punched his locker, endowing the otherwise pristine locker room with its first dent.
Somehow, that made me like it more. It broke the façade. Shattered the illusion then revealed to my team just what we really were.
And what we could become.
“This organization doesn’t care about us,” I said. “The media wants to sell controversy. And the fans only know the bullshit that’s been fed to them. So, we have a choice to make. We can either allow ourselves to be used and manipulated…or we can become the real Ironfield Forge.”
Oz immediately swore. “What chance do we have to make a real team?”
Same chance we had before.
Only now, they had a leader.
I paced the locker room, meeting the gaze of every man who now questioned the frosted blue on his uniform.
“I don’t care what circumstances led to you getting drafted here,” I said. “I’m not gonna read your rap sheet. Don’t tell me what you’re drinking at night or how many women wake up in your bed.” I nodded toward Beau. Wasn’t an olive branch—more like a gnawing splinter. But he could take it if he wanted. “And it doesn’t matter if you are the greatest rookie ever shat out onto the ice. Because from this moment on, you’re part of something new.”
The team didn’t understand.
Then again, who could blame them? For the longest time, these men believed in only their own mistakes, regrets, and vices. They’d never had the alternative.
A family.
A home.
A place to belong.
A reason to win.
A chance to be something great.
“You’re a part of the Ironfield Forge now,” I said. “And you’re not here because you were drafted or traded or signed. You’re here because this is a brand-new fucking opportunity. We have no history. We have no expectations. Hell, we might not even have a future. But what unites us is that we’re facing this goddamned mockery of an organization together—and we can make something of it.”
The men stayed silent. Even Beau shifted, slamming his locker closed but refusing to move.
“This isn’t going to be just another job or another team,” I said. “We have a tremendous amount of talent in this room. And I’m not letting it go to waste when we could create something unique.”
It wouldn’t be easy.
“But this team has gotta mean more than petty ass rivalries and vengeance,” I said. “Which means, we’re not fighting anymore. No bitching about our circumstances. No bad-mouthing teammates. This team is our last chance, and we’ll depend on each other.”
Cash was always a dependable friend. He stepped forward despite his own burdens. “I sure as hell can’t take another failure.”
Leo shifted to his feet, scowl deepening. “And the league is looking for a reason to get rid of me.”
I didn’t expect miracles, but at least I had some support.
“I haven’t been a good leader, and I haven’t done shit to fix our problems.” I patted my chest. “That’s my fault. And it stops now. If you’ve got a problem, you come to me. If you’ve got questions, you come to me. If you want the puck, you better get on your goddamned knees and beg me for it, because I’m the only stupid bastard around here who will break my fucking balls to ensure this team gets a win.” My words echoed in the silence. “And I’m going to expect the same out of every last one of you.”
That, Vasha understood. He cradled his groin with a wince. “Ouch.”
“It’s gonna be hell combating an organization that banks on our misery.” I didn’t need to warn them. Their faces darkened with their own realizations. “But we can do it. No more partying. No more getting drunk. No more womanizing like a fucking teenager.” I glanced at Beau. “And apologizing when you destroy a bar in the middle of the night and cold-clock some punk ass college kid.”