Page 78 of Sleepless Nights and Hockey Fights

Uh oh.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Bobby

Coach leans in, the fury behind his eyes enough to have me wincing. “I ought to call back every single team that had an interest in you. One more game even close to the absolute shit show of last night and your ass is done with the Storm Chasers. You got me?”

I nod, anger like I’ve never felt before coursing through me, along with an ache in the right side of my ribs. Sammie, a smartass young player on the Gold Rush, started rough housing me every time I took a shot and missed. By the third period, I saw that Molly was missing from the stands and I tripped my own fucking teammate, and Sammie stole the puck to sink it into our net. Coach was so pissed he couldn’t even look at me last night. Our assistant coach had to be the one to tell me to show up this morning at seven to have a meeting.

But what really has me pissed is that I didn’t resort to fighting like I so badly wanted to. And I’m still in deep shit. All that work, and I’m in the same fucking hot seat with my career on the line.

“Answer me when I talk to you,” Coach barks, making me wince yet again.

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”

Coach sneers. “Where have I heard that before?” He shakes his head and moves back around his desk to sit down. He folds his hands over his belly and leans back. “Frankly, Bobby, I feel sorry for you.”

Well, I don’t like that one fucking bit. My spine straightens, my whole body ready to defend itself. But Coach is on a roll.

“You have so much potential. You’re phenomenal out on the ice. And then you go and fuck it all up. Letting your emotions run wild.” He keeps shaking his head and it’s pissing me off. Then again, everything is pissing me off since Molly ruined everything between us. “I don’t know who hurt you, but you need to figure that shit out. For you, for this team, for everyone around you. Fix your shit and grow up, son. Now get out of here. I’m sick of looking at your face.”

I grit my teeth and offer a nod of acknowledgment, pushing up from the chair and hightailing it out of his office before I do any further damage to my career. My phone pings as I leave the practice arena. We have five whole days off in a row for Christmas. I planned to spend every single minute with Molly and Matthew, but it looks like my schedule is wide open again.

Ashley: Call in five minutes.

I give her message a thumbs up as I make my way back to my vehicle, trying to breathe out the anger that’s strangling me. I called Ashley last night and requested daily sessions for a few weeks. She obliged, but only if I also started seeing a certified psychologist alongside our anger management sessions. Probably should've been seeing a shrink all along. I’m more fucked up than any of us realized. I’m parked outside thepractice rink sitting in Wolverine when Ashley calls right on time.

“Did you schedule with Dr. Barnhardt?”

“Yep. I’ll see him this afternoon.” I rest my head back and close my eyes. I’m going through the motions again, doing all the things Coach and Kaitlyn want me to do, but it seems pointless. It won’t get Molly back. It won’t make her see that we’re perfect together. She’s made up her mind that I couldn’t possibly love her for the long term. And after my kindergarten-level play out on the ice, I might actually agree that I shouldn’t be distracted dating someone.

“What are your holiday plans?” Ashley asks out of the blue. She normally gets right down to business, so this idle chit chat isn’t what I expect. Or want. I just want to fix whatever’s broken inside me. Maybe then I can turn my attention to getting over Molly.

“Um, not sure.”

“Why don’t you and Richie fly home and spend the holidays with your family?”

My eyes fling open. “The whole point of these sessions is so I quit getting in fights, Ashley.”

She sighs, probably not appreciating my sarcastic tone. “I know. The best way to do that is to go to the source. Your behaviors were learned in your home growing up. You need to go there and talk to the adults who should have given you and your brothers better coping mechanisms. You need to confront those memories and have those conversations. It’s easy to blow up and walk away. It’s not easy to confront the things that make you angry and choose to work it out. Your team. Molly. They want you long term, Bobby. You can’t blow up and walk away like you do with your family.”

“No, that’s what Molly does. Just walks away,” I grouse, feeling sorry for myself. I’m not sure what’s worse. Feeling angry or feeling devastatingly sad.

Ashley’s voice is so damn patient. “I’m sure Molly has her own past and her own reasons for what she did. But we’re talking about you, Bobby. You can’t make her do what you want. You can only work on yourself. So are you going to mope around the whole week you have off or will you take that time off to work on yourself?”

I scrub my hand over my face, knowing what my answer should be and yet not wanting to say it out loud where I’ll have to actually follow through with it. “Ugh!”

A giggle comes through my speakers.

“I’m glad my agony is entertainment for you,” I snap.

The giggle just gets louder. “Oh, Bobby. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be laughing, it’s just you are the cutest grump I’ve ever heard! You’re usually so funny and right now I’m picturing you wearing grumpy pants with your arms folded over your chest and a big ol’ frown.”

My lips twitch, the closest I’ve gotten to a smile in twenty-four hours. “Grumpy pants? Really, Ashley?”

That only sends her into another peal of laughter. I roll my eyes and check the time. If I leave now, I can work on Richie, convince him to fly home with me, pack, and then book our flights for tonight.

“Maybe when you’re done laughing, you can give me something useful to work on,” I say loudly, firing up the car to head home. Ashley composes herself and is thrilled to hear I’m going to talk to Richie.

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