Page 24 of Cold as (N)ice

“My agent is letting them know tomorrow.”

“Mine sent over a statement last night.”

“This evening,” Barrett said quietly. “It’s supposed to be for the five o’clock news broadcast. Quebec is dropping the bombshell at noon about the team and staggering out the announcements.”

“Have you told any of the team?”

“Whichteam?”

“This one – the Coyotes…”

And as if they had their answer already, they heard a loud bang as a phone suddenly flew out of the coach’s office, crashing into the wall across from it, followed by several papers.

“He knows…” Lafreniere whispered.

“We’re not just dead… we’re like dead-to-the-Nth-degree,” Barrett breathed as the man he respected came out of his office, his face flushed, and spotted them standing there talking. Boucher dropped another curse word under his breath as he tugged on his collar.

“YOU!” Coach Côte hollered. “Move it! Let’s go! Locker room! Everyone—RIGHT NOW!”

Barrett didn’t hesitate. The Band-Aid was coming off – and there was skin attached. This was going to hurt mentally and emotionally. He was doing this for all the right reasons, or at least, he kept telling himself that.

Stephen would have a private school to attend, Barrett would have a fresh start with a new team, the pay was incredible, andIrene would have a chance to stay at home to take care of her baby. Oh gosh, he was married… and had a ready-made family.

Everything was hitting him like a ton of bricks. He heard the coach yelling for them all to get in the locker room once more, and Barrett made his way, sitting down immediately on a bench. He knew his expression was somber.

“What’s going on?” Giroux asked.

“I have no idea,” Thierry whispered. “Lafreniere?”

“Yep,” the goalie said bluntly, taking a seat beside Barrett… and Boucher did the same. The three ‘traitors’ were on one side of the locker room and it didn’t slip past him, recognizing that the other three guys of the starting team were on the opposite side.

The team was sitting around the benches, not looking at each other, and Barrett wished the floor would just open up right now. He knew this was going to be bad, but dragging it out sure wasn’t helping things.

"All right," Coach Mike Côte snapped, his voice a sharp crack in the tense silence. He drew in a long, deliberate breath, his chest rising as he visibly forced himself to rein in his emotions. His jaw tightened, and his hands clenched at his sides before he slowly relaxed them. After a moment, he closed his eyes, his grimace deepening as though the weight of the situation was physically bearing down on him. When he finally opened his eyes, they locked on the right side of the locker room.

Barrett swallowed.

"I need to know how long this has been going on – and why you didn’t come to me," Coach Côte began tersely. The words seemed to hover in the charged air, echoing off the concrete walls like an accusation. He saw several glances, but before he could speak, Lafreniere was already there.

Lafreniere lifted his head slowly, deliberately, beside Barrett, almost as if the very act of meeting the coach’s gaze took an inordinate amount of strength.

“My hip is still bothering me," Lafreniere began, his voice low but steady. It wasn’t an excuse—it was a confession. "And I’m not sure how much I have left in me, Coach. It’s getting better, but..."

"But what?" Coach Mike’s tone was razor-sharp, demanding answers, unwilling to let the matter slide.

“But…” Lafreniere hesitated, his eyes dropping to the floor again. He exhaled heavily as though releasing the truth might ease some of the pressure crushing him. “But they said they’d pay me more to be a backup goalie – so I took the shot. I’m trading to the Quebec Wolverines.”

There it was.

The truth was out there.

The man could have been saying, ‘I’m wearing a T-shirt’ for all the enthusiasm he showed right now, and it was obvious. His tone was flat—no emotion, no regret, no remorse. Just a simple, matter-of-fact statement that shattered the fragile stillness. It was like a ripple, the shock spreading outward through the room, growing into something uncontrollable.

“Eh,” Batiste chuckled, breaking the stunned silence with a disbelieving laugh. He stood, his arms crossing over his chest as he glared at Lafreniere. “Quebec does not ‘ave a ‘ockey team since the Nordiques moved to Colorado…”

“They do now,” Coach Mike interrupted grimly, the words heavy with resignation.

"They do now," Barrett interjected as if he was throwing a gauntlet down, meeting the coach’s stricken gaze of awareness – only to hear it echo from either side of him.

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