Page 22 of Weak Side

“No one is begging you,” Emory joked, “except every single puck bunny in the stands right now.” He laughed as we all began skating to the bench before taking off toward the locker room, the crowd cheering and banging against the glass.

Silver and black took precedence in the stands as the Westin fans began exiting the rink, defeat making their heads hang low. We played a hell of a game and beat them 3-1. It wasn’t bad for our first time playing with a few new players and a new team dynamic. There was room for improvement on our third line, but at least there weren’t any major penalties like last year’s opening game.

The thing about hockey players? We were hotheads. Every single one of us. It was an instinct I think we were born with. Some of us were testier than others, but nonetheless, we could get downright dirty if provoked.

Just as I began taking my pads off, something caught my eye, and I saw the locker room door shut before someone slipped out. Emory snagged my line of sight, and there was a faint shout in the hall, and that could only mean one thing. “For fuck’s sake,” Emory mumbled, following behind me.

“What the hell is he doing? I’m the fighter on the team.” Emory stood beside me as we watched Aasher holding a Westin player up against the tiled wall by his throat.

“Wolf! Who the fuck is out there?” I ignored Coach’s question as the locker room door shut behind me.

The Westin player that was talking shit the entire game smirked at Aasher before he saw me coming up behind him. His smile wavered as I popped beside Aasher and glared at the side of his face. “Let him go before the reporters come down here and see you holding him by the throat. What the fuck are you doing? And why the fuck are you even in our hallway?” I directed my last question to the Westin player, knowing that there must have been some shit-talking going on during the game that led to him meeting Aasher here for a sparring.

The Westin player’s ungloved hand went to Aasher’s wrist as he tried to free himself from the death grip he was trapped in.

“Get the fuck in the locker room!” Coach shouted, opening the locker room door with a beet-red face.

“Aasher,” I gritted, seconds from lifting my arm up and giving him a snap elbow.Snap the fuck out of it.Emory went on the other side of Aasher and pushed on his chest as he finally let go of the player.

“You deserve a fucking punch for the way you played that game,” I seethed. “Go before I let him land one.”

The Westin player chuckled as he began walking away. Emory was pushing Aasher back into the locker room, and the very second the hallway disappeared behind the door, I started my rant with Aasher. “What the hell was that? Can we get through one fucking game without there being some conflict? You’re lucky we weren’t on the ice when you pulled that shit.”

“We’re hockey players. There is always conflict.” That came from someone in the back, and I was pretty sure it was Jack, one of our younger players.

I reared back. “We can’t play that way in college. If we were on the ice, he would have gotten a penalty, and that hurts the team.”

Aasher was seething, clearly worked up. I nearly put him through a wall as I began getting fired up by the lack of self-control he was posing. “What was that?!” I roared. “You were fine during the game. And we won! Get it together, Aash.”

“You better give me a good fucking reason, son. Or your ass is going to be doing suicides at practice on Monday,”Coach said from behind me.

Aasher paused as he looked over my shoulder at Coach. I let go of his jersey and backed away, bending down to finish taking off my gear. “You sure you want to know?” he asked, voice vibrating with anger.

I glanced at my teammates and their wary expressions and wondered where this was going. This wasn’t good. Someone from the other side of the locker room said, “I don’t think you want the reason, Coach.”

“Well, this just got interesting,” I said. “What did I miss while I was apparently the only one fucking focused?” The last part of my sentence wasn’t necessary, but I was irritated.

Aasher huffed as he placed his hands on his hips angrily. Andrew spoke for him, and it was probably a good thing.

“They were bragging. Saying they were…” Andrew looked at Aasher but kept going. “They were talking about your daughter.”

“Excuse me?” Coach’s face turned an even brighter red than it was during the game. The one thing you didn’t fuck with was the coach’s daughter. It was rule number one with any sport you were in—especiallyCoach Lennon’s daughter.

“For fuck’s sake. This is why I cursed the moment my wife told me I was going to have a baby girl.” He threw his hands up and stalked off to his office before slamming the door shut and leaving us all to ourselves.

“What did they say?” I asked, looking over at Aasher, who was sweating more than usual beneath his uniform.

“They were talking about taking her V-card. Said they had heard she wanted a hockey player to take it.”

I cringed internally. “Where did they hear that? That sounds made-up and just a way to get someone riled up.”Apparently, that someone was Aasher.

Someone piped up from the showers. “I say fake news.”

“Whatever. I don’t want to fucking talk about it anymore. They deserved to have their fucking faces bashed in for even suggesting it.” Aasher scoffed before stomping off to the showers.

Berkley tore off his jersey. “They were talking about running a train on her, but honestly, I’m not sure if they were trying to get a rise out of anyone. I think they were discussing it among themselves, and Aasher overheard, and then they saw it was a soft spot, so they ran with it.”

A train?Jesus. That was what they were thinking about while we were playing the opening game? That was exactly why we won and they lost—they were too busy thinking of other things instead of making goals.

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