“Matt,” Baden repeats and leans in to talk in a low voice that still carries, “you need to get it under control. Callum will be here any minute, and we’ll need to talk.”
Jolting, Keller twists his neck to look at Baden. He sucks in a deep breath through his nose. “Yeah… right. Of course.”
Keller follows the other coaches out of the locker room, and it’s Hendrix Bateman who has the guts to approach Coen. He’s also one of the Lucky Three. A second-line defenseman with the original team, he wasn’t with the team on that fateful night due to an injury. He probably knows Coen better than anyone here.
He doesn’t touch Coen but moves in close. “You okay, man?”
“Fine,” Coen grits out, but I hear the stress in his voice, which I know is probably one hundred percent from Keller making an ass of himself.
“He can’t suspend you like that,” Hendrix says. “That’s not his call.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Coen replies as he pulls off his shoulder pads.
“Of course it matters,” Hendrix says encouragingly, despite the fact Coen wrecked his car not two weeks ago. “We all have your back.”
A few men echo that sentiment, but I remain silent. I don’t know if I can have his back as he’s out of control. Granted, I don’t have Keller’s back either. That guy has no business coaching.
“It doesn’t matter,” Coen repeats through clenched teeth before he lets his eyes focus on Hendrix. “Because I quit.”
“What?” Hendrix barks in surprise. “No fucking way, man. You had a shitty night—”
“I’m done,” Coen growls as he jerks a towel out of his locker and stalks off toward the showers.
Players scramble out of his way, but no one follows him.
Hendrix gapes at me. “We can’t let him quit.”
“No one is going to let him quit,” I reassure Hendrix, then turn to address the rest of the team. “That was a shit show I wish none of you had to witness. No one wants to see that happen, much less to one of our teammates.” I look at every player, noting I have their attention. “For those who weren’t on the ice and couldn’t tell what went down, McNabb taunted Coen about the crash.”
Most of the men grumble and curse under their breaths.
“I’m not saying that justifies what Coen did. Let this be a learning lesson for you that while fights are going to happen and, in fact, must happen to establish our dominance, you have to learn to manage your temper and your emotions when out on the ice. It’s our job to win games, and we can’t do that by sitting in the penalty box or getting ejected for misconduct. But in this instance, I believe, Coen’s actions are understandable. Not justified, but I certainly get his loss of control.”
“What does it matter?” This from one of the young rookies who’d only spent a year down in the minors. “Coen just said he’s quitting.”
“I choose to believe he said that out of frustration and anger. There will be plenty of people trying to talk him out of that decision.”
“But he’ll get suspended,” Camden Poe says, the final one-third of the Lucky Three. The worry on his face is etched deep.
“Without a doubt,” I reply grimly. “Which only means we have to play together stronger, and we’re going to have to pick up the slack left by Coen’s absence. We’ll have to fill that void and give more than we’ve been giving so far. I want to remind every single one of you that we’re still in the hunt for a playoff spot. We can do this.”
“You’re damn right, we can,” Stone exclaims.
And nearly everybody shouts out their agreement.
It’s a nice speech. But I’m exhausted from the effort of trying to boost morale when things seem to be spinning out of control. No matter what I said, this whole incident with Coen, particularly if he quits, will be hard to overcome.
We finish our showers and get dressed, load onto the charter bus, and head to the airport where we board the team plane to head back to Pittsburgh. Coen chooses a seat at the very front near the window and puts on his headphones, hunkering down with eyes closed. The message is clear—he doesn’t want to talk to anyone.
And that’s fine by me. It’s a bit too early to hit him up with my reasoning for him to stay. But I’m not waiting too long.
I settle into a seat next to Stone and nudge him with my elbow. “I’m heading over to Coen’s tonight when we get back. Going to try to talk some sense into him before he can proclaim publicly that he’s quitting.”
Stone gives a sarcastic laugh. “But Keller’s already kicked him off the team. There’s no saving him now.”
His mockery of Keller’s actions is on point. Then he adds, “But we have to try. I’ll go with you.”
CHAPTER 13
Gage
Standing in the lounge of the private hangar where the team plane is parked, I call Jenna. Stone’s currently off to the side with Baden as he logs into the employment files from his phone to look up Coen’s home address. None of us know where he lives because none of us have ever been invited to his place.
I know it’s late—or rather early, going on almost two a.m.—and I wince slightly when she answers groggily, “Hello?”
Players walk by so I lower my voice. “Hey, sorry I woke you.”
Jenna gives a slight cough to clear her throat, and I envision her sitting up in bed, hair tousled and eyes sleepy. I’m hoping one day I’ll get to see that look in person.
“It’s okay,” she says softly. “I’m glad you called. Are you back?”
I rub my neck, trying to work out the tension. “Yeah. Stone and I are going over to Coen’s to talk to him. He left as soon as we got off the plane.”
“Moral support?” she guesses because she likely saw what happened on the ice on TV.
“More like an intervention,” I reply. And then I explain what happened in the locker room after the game.
Jenna gasps. “He quit? He can’t do that. He’s an integral part of the team.”
“I know that. You know that. The rest of the team knows it. But Coach Keller told him to get out and that he didn’t want him on the team.”
Jenna clucks her disapproval. “Well, he can’t do that either.”
I chuckle. “We both know that as well, but I think Coen was going to quit after that incident on the ice, regardless. There’s something more than just the plane crash driving his actions.”
Jenna is silent for a moment before saying, “You’re a good friend and teammate, Gage. You’re doing the right thing by going there now. Don’t let him get too settled into the proclamation he made. Give him a quick way to reverse his decision.”
“That’s the plan. I just wanted to hear your voice to fill my bucket before I go.”
Jenna sighs, and I smile at her reaction. “You filled my bucket tonight, too, just by calling.”
I have to bite back a sigh of my own because knowing I do that for her gives me a satisfaction that’s hard to describe. It feels almost primitive and from a place so deep, I didn’t know it existed.