Yeah. Uh-huh. That had worked out really well.
I snagged my roll of tape back from Dylan and busied myself with wrapping my own stick. The simple act of doing something I'd done damn near every night for years usually relaxed me, helped me clear my head so I could focus on the upcoming game.
But not tonight.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop remembering the sight of Addy's face from the other night. The embarrassment that heated her soft cheeks. The sorrow that glistened in her dark eyes. The utter dejection that stooped her shoulders as she lowered her gaze to the table, like she knew she'd somehow disappointed both of us—her father and me—and didn't know what to do about it.
I'd wanted to reach for her, to grab her hand and tell her none of what happened was her fault. I'd started to do just that but her father had stepped even closer, silently warning me with dark eyes that were so much like Addy's yet so different.
So I just sat there, keeping my curled fists out of sight under the table. Telling Addy it was okay, that she should go with her father. Not because I wanted her to go—I didn't want her going anywhere unless she was going with me—but because her father had caused her enough embarrassment. I didn't want to add to it, and I sure as hell didn't want to put her in a position where she felt she'd have to choose.
"You need to call her." Tristan repeated Dylan's earlier words.
"I know."
"Seriously, Shaw. Like, tonight."
"I know. I will." I tore the tape from the roll and secured the loose end against the shaft. I tossed the roll toward my bag but Tristan snagged it mid-air and proceeded to use it to wrap his own stick. I opened my mouth, ready to ask both men why the hell they kept using my tape when I knew damn well they had their own. The words died in my throat when Coach Somers walked into the locker room, followed by the rest of the coaching staff.
One look at Coach's face and I knew, I fucking knew, that something was up. We'd already developed a routine and it was too early for his talk. No way in hell would Coach deliberately mess that up unless there was a damn good reason.
The expression on his face as his gaze searched out mine told me that he did, indeed, have a damn good reason—
And I wasn't going to like it.
"Shaw. A word."
I exchanged glances with Dylan and Tristan and a few of the other players then pushed to my feet. My gait was uneven as I walked across the rubber mats and slowly followed Coach Somers out of the locker room and down the hall. He stopped at the end of the last runner then turned toward me, the expression on his face confusing me as much as his summons. His mouth was pursed in what I thought was anger, but there was definite frustration there, too, especially in his eyes as he watched me with a narrowed gaze. I shifted, suddenly uncomfortable, already knowing I didn't want to hear whatever he was about to tell me.
He sucked in a deep breath then pushed it out through his pursed lips, the exhale sounding a little like a low whistle. He reached up and ran a hand over his whiskered jaw then dropped it to his side.
"I knew you had a fucking reputation as a damn rule breaker before you got here but even I didn't think you'd be that fucking dumb."
I backed up a step in sheer surprise at his words, then stopped and shook my head. "Coach?"
"I'm supposed to scratch you tonight."
"Why?"
"Because I got a message from the owner telling me to."
Cold disbelief washed over me, seizing my lungs and blurring my vision. A hundred different emotions battered me. Anger. Regret. Disbelief. Disappointment. Searing rage. I didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say. In the end, I said the only thing I could think of, the only thing that summed up everything I felt.
"Fuck."
"Yeah. Apparently, that was the reason for the message. Landry wants you gone. And I do mean gone. He wants your contract terminated. Hell, he wants more than that. I've got a feeling he wants your head—and other parts of your anatomy—cut off and put on display as a warning to everyone else."
I nodded, the repercussions of everything Coach was telling me slowly sinking in. My career, shitty as it had turned out to be, was dying right in front of my eyes. All the opportunities I'd wasted. All the chances I'd squandered. Gone. Just like that.
"I'm not doing it."
My head jerked up and I gaped at the coach, wondering what the hell I had missed.
"I'm not scratching you, Shaw. As much as this pains me to say given your fucking track record, you're a damn good player and I've been impressed with what I've seen so far. You're nowhere near where you could be so I hope to hell I'm not making a mistake tonight that I'll come to regret."
"Yes, Coach. I mean, you won't. But Landry—"
"Is a pompous ass who doesn't know the first damn thing about hockey. And I never talked to him so there's no way he can say for sure I ever got his message. But—" Coach stepped closer and pointed at me with one blunt finger, "He's a shrewd businessman and has a reputation for being ruthless that you wouldn't expect from looking at him. If he wants you gone, you can be damn sure he'll find a way to do it. We've got ten minutes before warm-ups. I suggest you move your ass and grab one of those fucking cell phones none of you are supposed to have in the locker room and call your agent to give him the heads up."
"Yes, Coach. Thank you."
"Don't fucking thank me yet. There's no guarantee Landry won't get his way. In the meantime, don't make me fucking regret this tonight."
I nodded then hurried back to the locker room, ignoring the curious glances shot my way as I dug through my bag for my cell phone.
"Seriously, Shaw? You're going to call her now?"
I brushed off Tristan's question and headed to the shower room, the only place that would guarantee me at least a little privacy. I scrolled through my contacts, stopping at my agent's name before tapping his number with a trembling finger. There were so many thoughts whirling through my mind that I couldn't hold on to any single one for longer than a second. The only thing I could focus on, for reasons I didn't understand, was Addy.
It was her eyes I saw in my mind as I listened to the phone ringing in my ear. It was her face that flashed in front of me as my agent answered the phone. And it was her voice I heard in my head as I tried to explain to my agent what was going on.
And the only thing I could think of as the jumbled words fell from my mouth was: if Landry was so angry that he was doing this to me, what the hell was he doing to punish Addy?
Chapter Twenty-One
Addy
Addy, call me.
Addy, it’s me. You ok?
I need to talk to you. Call me when you can.
Hey, you ok?
Addy, I’ll be home around 11. I need to see you. Call me. Please.
I scrolled through the text messages for the umpteenth time. I wasn’t sure why since I knew every single one by heart. Reading them only made me feel a little worse each time, the words constricting my heart until I was certain it would simply burst like a lonely little balloon and that would be it. Maybe it would be better if that happened because then I wouldn’t feel so utterly miserable.
I tossed the phone to the side, my sigh a little too loud and forlorn. Jacqui looked over at me and I didn’t miss the small shake of her head or the roll of her eyes. How could I, when both were directed straight at me?