A gaggle of fans linger in the hopes a player will exit from here and sign a jersey. The crowd grows to around 50 people, including a two-person news crew. The cameraman films B-roll of the ice being cleaned, and the reporter shoots a short segment about the win and the fight in the third period.
Security guards keep people from getting too close to the player exit, but they know me now. I slip past and wait where the locker area hallway bisects the broader concourse.
The video is on-fire viral. It doubles in views, reactions, and comments on every platform in the time it takes for players to filter out of the locker area.
What am I doing here?
Fans cheer as players exit, but the one I need to talk to most doesn’t emerge.
After a long stretch, voices prick at my attention.
Brad’s walking with Trick, and the two of them are arguing. I strain to listen.
“ . . . had a deal,” Brad says.
“You had an idea, that’s all,” Trick replies.
What? Since when do Brad and Trick coordinate?
“Don’t go back on your word now.”
“You’re lucky you’re a Cannon at all after that shit you pulled in the third, let alone captain.”
“If you kept your beta in check, we wouldn’t have a problem.”
Their voices are raised now. Even from around the corner, I can hear them clearly.
“Is that why you wanted to trade the captaincy? You’re unable to control your impulses?” Trick asks.
“Fuck you! We both know I’m the better leader ten times out of ten. There’s a reason Izzy’s picked me.”
“Don’t bring Izzy into this.”
“No? She’s why we’re talking, isn’t she? Why is she still in your house? We had a deal. The captain spot for Izzy. Unless you’re about to tell me that she’s packed her shit and is ready to head to my apartment, you’ve backed out.”
“I never—”
But I swing around the corner before Trick finishes his angry reply.
“What the fuck does that mean?” I scream.
They both pivot to me as if I’ve attacked them.
“Hey, baby,” Brad says. “Let’s get out of here. I can’t be around these guys any longer.”
Brad takes my arm and walks me out to the concourse, but I wrench out of his grip.
“I’m not going anywhere until you explain what you were arguing about,” I seethe.
“You weren’t giving in and I got scared. I made a deal with Trick—I’d give up the captain title and grease the wheels for him next year, and he makes you leave so you’ll come to me.”
“You mean he promised to kick me out.”
“Trick did what?” Vin asks, his tone acidic. He and Mason walk to the end of the tunnel with their hockey bags in hand.
“Apparently, a deal was struck to trade me for being captain. Is what he said true?” I ask Trick.
He’s already shaking his head, but I can feel the grain of truth in it.