Page 35 of Brace and Chase

I guess Nikolay did bother because I’m there alone for about ten minutes.

The ten longest minutes of my life, where I stew, then I think, and then... I panic.

What the fuck did I just do?

THIRTEEN

SANTA

Regret stiflesmy movements as I shrug off my sweater and pads, as I take off my skates and the rest of my gear, then pull up my shorts and slide on my flip-flops.

I shouldn’t have said anything to Charlie. I should’ve kept my stupid mouth shut, but he just... brings out the worst in me.

I walk to the conference room with my head down, not daring to risk meeting anyone’s eyes, though I don’t see another soul in sight. Not until I open the door and see Heart, still in full gear except for the helmet that’s on the table next to his elbow.

His head is in his hands, and I can’t see his expression, obviously, but I think I hear him muttering.

If he’s trying to say anything to me, then he’s going to have to speak the fuck up. I’m not about to try to decipher whatever it is he’s saying.

I sit in the gallery—where the reporters are normally, I suppose—and look right at the wall. It’s probably less than ten minutes until Laney comes in, but every second feels like an eon. That’s why when the door opens with a bang and he comes comes in, smoke practically coming out of his nose, I jump about a foot in the air.

I risk a quick glance at Heart and see he’s just staring at Laney like a man perched under the guillotine would stare at his executioner.

Does he think he’s going to get traded again?

Fuck, would they do that to him?

Would they do that tome?

Fear grips my heart in a vise and I feel like I can’t breathe as Laney starts his rant.

“Never in twenty fucking years in this league have I ever seen the level of stupidity you two have shown this season. What the fuck is your problem, Brotnik?” He stares daggers at me, then rounds on Heart. “And you, Heart, what the fuck do you have to say for yourself?”

We both stay silent, not that Laney seems to need any input from us.

“You’re both fucking embarrassments to this organization and to this sport. You’re better than this. I know you’re fucking better, but still you can’t figure out how to pull your heads out of your asses? You didn’t want to be on the same line, so I put you on different lines.” He points at my face. “Then you fucked up everyone’s mood, and finally things are starting to look better but you’ve left the team’smorale way too fragile.Youare the ones who did this.You?—”

The door swings open again, with less force this time, and I have to swallow hard when I see Barlow, our GM, come in with the scariest look on his face. He looks like he’s the reaper with his lip in a snarl, his jaw tense, and his eyes cold.

“What thefuck”—he starts with a shout right out of the gate—“is wrong with you two? I get that you’re two old fucks, but have you really hit your head so many times that you forgot you’re on the same fucking team?”

I lean a back a little in my seat because I’m starting to sweat.

They can’t trade me, they can’t trade me, they can’t trade me.

It’s the mantra that my brain is repeating over and over as some kind of self-defense mechanism.

Laney keeps staring daggers at me as Barlow turns to Charlie now.

“You’re supposed to be the best defenseman this league has ever fucking seen! Is this how they run things in Atlanta, huh? Do they let you beat up teammates on the ice there? Huh?Answer me,” he shouts when Charlie just stares.

“No, sir.”

“Then why the fuck are you doing ithere?”

My eyes are wide open as I see Charlie open his mouth, scared he’s going to make everything worse by answeringsomething he shouldn’t be answering. Not because I want him to protect me or anything like that, I just know damn well that Barlow’s question was rhetorical and he’s about to go off on a tangent.

And sure enough . . .

---