Gunner never had a chance, but he’s pissed, kicking the puck out while the Sharks celebrate. Jammer’s head is down, knowing that was a brutal turnover.
Skating back to the bench, the arena is loud as the crowd cheers and the goal song plays. “It’s only one goal,” I tell Jammer, clapping him on the back. “We got this.”
He gets to the bench before me, and as I enter the gate I see Coach come up behind Jammer as he sinks onto the bench. “That was fucking bullshit!” Coach yells. And then he does something unforgivable. Two things, actually. He uses the N-word, calling Jammer stupid, and…he kicks him. In the back.
He kicks him.
A red haze creeps in from my peripheral vision and tints my vision. My blood is already pumping hard and fast in my veins from that shift, but now I think I’m going to explode. I’m a volcano, erupting, spewing molten lava. I can’t control it.
“What the fuck?” I’m still standing, staring at Coach.
He looks up at me and scowls. “You were on the ice for that travesty. Sit your ass down.”
I gape. I swallow.
JBo looks up at me from the bench. He saw it too, but he’s giving me a subtle headshake, telling me with his eyes to sit down and shut up.
I’m shaking. My face burns and my back teeth grind together. It takes every molecule of self-restraint I have to sit on the bench. My leg bounces and sweat pours off me.
What the fuck? What the fucking fuck?
My mind is buzzing, I can barely focus on the game. I can’t believe that happened. Maybe I saw it wrong. Maybe I heard it wrong.
I didn’t. It happened.
Somehow I get through the rest of the game. We win, three–one. Everyone’s all smiles and backslaps as we leave the ice and tramp back to the dressing room. Even Coach. I want to punch him in his ugly grin.
He stands in his suit in the dressing room as we all sit, sweating, in stalls. “Great win, guys,” he says. “That’s the kind of play I want to see. Every game. Every shift. Other than that goddamn turnover…” he shoots Jammer a narrow-eyed look. “Don’t play like that again.”
I don’t know what to do. My insides are writhing to the point I’m afraid I might puke.
I look over at Jammer. His mouth is a thin line, his eyes downcast as he yanks his skate laces.
Do I say something? Here? Should I talk to Coach on his own? Do nothing?
I feel it like a fist in my gut. Doing nothing is not an option. Not this time.
I stand up. “You called Jammer a racial slur.”
The room goes dead silent, including the trainers and the equipment guys.
Coach’s face doesn’t change. He regards me with an impassive expression. “Not your business, Easton. Jamal can take it up with me if he wants.”
“I’m taking it up with you. That was racist.”
“I’m not a racist!” Coach’s face reddens.
“That’s not what I said.” I keep my voice calm. “I don’t think language like that has a place here. And…you physically abused him.”
Coach says nothing, just getting redder. “We’ll discuss this later.” He stomps out of the dressing room.
I close my eyes and sit back down. Yep, I’m pretty sure my career is over.
It was a good run.
I open my eyes and see Jammer looking at me. He gives me a small smile and a nod. My gaze sweeps around the rest of the room and Wendy starts clapping. Then Jammer. Then everyone is clapping.
Heat washes down through me. My heart feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest. I swallow, my throat thick, and wave my hands. “Stop, stop.”
I rub my mouth and resume undressing.
I keep my head up as I board the bus. Coach is already there along with our assistant coach, seated at the front of the bus, and I move past them to swing into a seat. Cookie joins me.
“See,” he says. “You have your moments.”
We exchange wry smiles. “I’ll probably never play again. It was nice knowing you.” I say it jokingly, even though I’m terrified it could really be the end of my career.
He shakes his head. “Not gonna happen. You contributed to all three goals tonight.”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “I was having a great game. Until that bullshit happened.”
* * *
—
I don’t hear a word from Coach the next day, not during our practice nor after. The guys all go out Saturday night again. I tag along, but this time I can’t even force myself to have a good time. I feel a sense of impending doom but keep trying to tell myself as time passes that maybe it’ll all be fine.
Ha. I know better than that. My motto is to always expect the worst, then you’re never disappointed.
We win again on Sunday afternoon in Long Beach, although it doesn’t feel as good. We get down by two goals early and have to fight back in the third to tie it up, and when JBo scores with four minutes left in the period we’re ecstatic. But we have to hang on for those last four minutes and the Long Beach Golden Eagles throw everything they have at us. We pull it off and wow, what a road trip, seven out of eight possible points.
We get home late Sunday. I text Lilly to let her know I’m back so she can bring Otis over, as we arranged.
Fuck, I missed her.
And Otis. I missed him too.
It doesn’t take her long to walk over. I hear her come in and I head to the door. Otis scrambles across the hardwood floor toward me, his nails clicking. I grin at him, but immediately look to Lilly.
“Christ, you’re beautiful,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her mouth curves into a smile. The cold air outside has made her cheeks and nose pink. She has a black knit cap pulled over her hair and a big scarf around her neck so all I can see is her face, and damn.
“Thank you.”
I have to give Otis some attention or he’ll never leave me alone, but I just want to wrap my arms around Lilly and carry her into my bedroom and bury myself in her sweet heat. “Can you stay?”
“Yes.” She unwraps her scarf and unzips her jacket. “Have you eaten?”
“I’m starving.” I meet her eyes and she laughs softly.