Roughing, page 5
Kirby gave my arm a squeeze and moved to another seat. I stared out the window of the plane, trying to sort out the conflicting emotions ping-ponging around in my head.
“My turn,” said Dash, our captain, as he plopped down in Kirby’s vacated seat.
“Great.” I blew out a frustrated sigh and rolled my eyes.
“That shitty attitude isn’t going to cut it anymore.” Dash prided himself on being an even-keeled guy, rarely prone to fits of temper or drastic changes in mood. His tone reverberated with the unspoken warning that he wasn’t tolerating my cranky ass. “I don’t understand why they gave you a second chance, but Coach still believes he can fix you.”
“And what do you believe?” I shot back.
“Doesn’t matter what I believe. What matters is your willingness to change to stay in this league. You do want to play hockey, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“I do,” I muttered, hating that I had made an admission and revealed my ultimate weakness.
“This team needs you, Briggs.”
“We’re the worst team in the league. We can’t go any lower.”
“That’s why we need you to be a hundred-percent committed to turning this around.”
I wasn’t part of his rah-rah group, which believed this team had potential. I did not. Every guy here was exposed in the draft for a reason. They weren’t valuable enough to be protected.
“We’re a bunch of rejects,” I muttered.
Dash studied me for a very long moment before he responded. “Are we really? Or are we guys who weren’t in good situations on other teams for various reasons? Now we have an opportunity, every one of us, to resurrect our careers and show our old teams what a mistake they’ve made.”
I grunted and shrugged, unable to deny the truth in his statement.
“Wouldn’t you love to show your old team how wrong they were about you?”
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.
“Slade, are you a quitter?” Dash challenged him.
Slade scowled but shook his head. Without their fearless leader guiding the ship, my gang of not-so-merry men was rudderless.
“Good.” Dash’s attention turned to me. I’d been hoping to avoid being singled out. “What about you, Briggs?”
I held his gaze. “We can win this.” I ignored the surprised gasps in the room and the mutters of agreement.
“Okay, boys, you heard Briggs, we can win this. That team isn’t beating us. We’re beating ourselves. We’re playing not to lose instead of playing to win. We may not be a playoff team, but we can make it hard on playoff-bound teams. We’re better than our record, but we have to play together, fight together, find a way to do this together.”
One by one, heads lifted and shoulders squared. Determination replaced despair. We rose to our feet and marched toward the ice, reenergized and ready to do battle. Dash stopped me in the hall.
“What you said might not seem like much, but it’s huge.”
“It was the truth.” I didn’t want Dash’s praise or to be held up as a good example. I hated that shit. Just let me play my game.
He slapped me on the back and chuckled. He moved on, fist-bumping the line of players in the hallway.
We went into the third fired up with guns blazing. I stole the puck in the defensive zone and sent a perfect stretch pass to Dash, who pivoted and slapped it in the net. We tied the game, and you’d have thought we’d tied game seven in the Cup finals. Exuberant, I joined the group hug after the goal, earning some odd looks from my teammates. Only then did I realize I hadn’t done that before. Of course they were shocked.
With fifteen seconds on the board, the puck careened off Braden’s stick, sailed past our goalie Roman Daniels, and into the net. The buzzer sounded. Despite our best efforts, we’d lost again. The story of our short lives as a team.
“If we didn’t have bad luck, we’d have no luck at all,” muttered Jarrett Bolton as we filed off the ice. Usually, I’d have added to the misery with a caustic remark of my own. This time I shut my mouth.
We stomped down the hallway to the locker room. I stopped in front of my stall and peeled off my jersey. Braden, my defensive partner, slumped on the bench beside me. He stared at his hands, blaming himself for the loss.
Braden had been in this league long enough to know shit happens, but he was taking this loss especially hard. We’d been on the brink of earning one elusive point, and now we had nothing. With a team dwelling in the cellar of the league, every loss hit us harder and chipped away at what little confidence we could muster. I’d been one of those guys who’d helped with the chipping. Hell, at times, I’d wielded my frustration and anger like a sledgehammer.
All around me, guys expressed their displeasure. I resisted the urge to jump in and add to the destruction because it’d become a bad habit of mine. Misery loves company.
“Hey, we live to fight another day.” I smacked Braden on the back.
He lifted his head and narrowed his gaze. I read his mind: Who the hell are you and what’d you do with my surly linemate? “Yeah.” He nodded slowly, but his voice lacked enthusiasm.
I wasn’t thrilled to be stuck playing on a team that had already been counted out of the playoffs, but I dug deeper. Being negative in this situation was easy. Keeping my confidence up was way harder, and helping my teammates rather than dragging them down with me was almost impossible. Best to keep my mouth shut.
We arrived at the team hotel an hour later, and Braden approached me in the lobby. “Want to get a beer?”
I hid my surprise at being asked. Most guys on this team avoided interaction with me, but Braden was my linemate. I needed a drink, but I didn’t really want company.
“Come on. You don’t want to sit in your room alone and wallow in self-pity, do you?”
Actually, I did.
“I’m not taking no for an answer.” Braden waited. I stared longingly at the elevator. “You can get your beauty rest later.” He snatched the room card from my hand and walked toward the bar. I opened my mouth to tell him what I thought of his bullshit when Coach walked by. Irritated, I had no choice but to follow him.
We both ordered a beer and drank in silence.
“Crappy game tonight,” Braden commented.
“They’re all crappy on this team,”
Braden gaped at me and drew back slightly. “We could’ve won.”
I shrugged, not interested in saying much more.
“While you’re not Sally Sunshine, you’ve had an attitude adjustment.”
“Had to.”
Braden sat back, took a long pull on his beer, and considered my answer. “Well, at least you’re trying.”
Another shrug. I hunkered down over my beer and gripped the glass in both hands.
“You’re staring at that glass as if the beer might part and reveal the answers to the universe.”
I grunted. This guy was getting under my skin. I wanted to be left alone, not sit here and trade meaningless bullshit, not that I was doing any trading.
“None of us asked to be on this team, but we’re here. This season has been brutal so far. We’ll probably be the first team eliminated from earning a playoff spot.”
“We pretty much are.”
“Feels like it. Briggs, you’re not the only one struggling. No one enjoys losing. Every guy on this team is dealing with similar shit.”
“And what shit are you dealing with?” My defensive partner was usually upbeat and even-tempered off the ice and known to be nasty on the ice. I appreciated being paired with him. We complemented each other well. I didn’t have to babysit him as I had Grady. Braden knew what to do and when to do it.
“You wouldn’t understand,” said Braden.
I thought about his statement and made a guess.
“I know what it’s like to lose a sibling. Only mine will never come back.” I didn’t know if it was the alcohol speaking, not that I’d had more than a beer, or my inability to suppress certain memories any longer. I instantly regretted opening my mouth. I never talked about my sister to anyone.
Braden blinked a few times and stared at me. “You lost a sibling?”
“It has to be tough not playing with your brother after all those years.” I ignored his question.
“It’s tougher than I’d ever imagined. Banks and I were tight. Not only did we play hockey together, but we were also each other’s best friends. It’s hard to lose that.”
“I know.” I did know, though I’d lost my sister long before she drew her last breath.
“I expected us to stay in touch regularly, but as the days go on, we grow further and further apart. He’s on a winning team, a contender, and I’m stuck on a basement dweller with three more years on my contract.”
“Sucks.” I considered his predicament, realizing I wasn’t the only guy with problems. Only mine went beyond being on a crappy team to not being on a team at all.
Braden appeared to be considering something, and I feared I knew exactly what it was. I braced myself and hoped he wouldn’t pry.
“Good beer,” I said to deflect his attention.
“You said you lost a sibling? Did that happen two years ago by chance?”
“Yeah.” I tensed, not wanting to talk about my greatest pain and biggest regret.
“I see.” Braden did see. He was putting two and two together and figuring out my loss had something to do with my attitude change.
Uncomfortable silence followed, and neither of us knew how to fill it. I was out of practice when it came to the art of conversation, and I didn’t have an interest in making Braden my new best friend, either.
Braden directed his attention to one of the many TVs in the bar. “Looks like LA lost.”
“Yeah.” I relaxed a little, grateful Braden wasn’t going to push for answers tonight. He seemed to understand I wasn’t interested in talking about my sister, and I’d told him more than anyone knew.
“Vegas will take over the top spot in the Pacific,” Braden noted.
“Still a lot of hockey left to play.”
I was certain both of us were wishing we were on a winning team.
Chapter Six
Need a Ride
~~Michella~~
My first week and a half of work consisted of tidying the office, filing the endless paperwork, and researching various topics at Carla’s request. I’d been tempted multiple times to quit and never go back, only to remind myself of all the times I’d abandoned a new career path in the past. Being an investigative assistant had shocked the majority of my friends and my family. My family, especially, thought I’d made a bad choice and wouldn’t last more than a month or two. Their doubt spurred me on to prove myself. My bestie Everly and I had bonded over our families’ disappointment in our inability to nail down a career. Recently Everly had found her niche, which gave me more incentive to find mine.
Carla didn’t make it easy. She didn’t want me here, gave me the shit jobs, kept me out of the loop regarding cases she was working on, and furnished minimal instruction when she did ask for assistance.
I refused to get down on myself. I’d prove I was worthy to her and all the doubters. I’d show them.
This afternoon Carla asked me to dig deep into a local company, Allied Professionals Limited, which she suspected of being a front for drug and human trafficking. This was the first job she’d assigned me with any meat to it, and I was determined to be as thorough as possible. If it was on the internet, I’d find it. I also called the businesses in the area near Allied to dig up any dirt I could. Unfortunately, no one had useful information, or they refused to share what they’d noticed.
