Page 9 of My Wife
His gaze flits toward me again, the enforcer, my brute strength unleashed during extenuating circumstances like a game against the Storm, who’re known for unnecessary roughness.
“Whether pressure is coming from people in your life or you’re putting it on yourself, remember you have nothing to lose, except for a few teeth … and everything to gain if you give your all.”
Grimaldi elbows me. “And a time out.”
Badaszek’s eyes narrow. “After a brief leave of absence, that I trust gave Ellis some time to reset and realign his priorities, I’m pleased to announce that he’s our new captain.”
I don’t know the technicalities of how sound travels or how the ear works, for that matter, but like when in the shower this morning, I must be hearing things.
Grimaldi grumbles, “If that’s the case, I’m going to get the whistle more often and start wearing my time in the penalty box with a badge of honor.”
Assistant Coach Vohn Brandt all but growls at him in warning.
“Congratulations, Ellis,” Coach says, confirming what I heard.
All eyes are on me, some approving, others filled with the same question I have.
Why?
I fight the urge to sit on the floor and put my head between my legs and breathe into a paper bag. Instead, I tell them to do their job and walk to the front of the room. Maybe I strut. I can’t be sure. Never mind my arm, my entire body feels numb.
Coach extends his hand for me to shake. His grip is firm. Mine is too. But my grasp on reality feels slippery.
“Sir, this means a lot, but I couldn’t possibly be team captain.” I try not to glance around the room at the third-string players. Wouldn’t he announce this to the whole team, or at the very least, have me practice with the A-list? Or pick someone from that group?
Then I realize. This is a joke. On me.
Appointing me team captain after I laughed in Coach Badaszek’s face during the Titans game is ludicrous.
He’s using me as an example, showing the players whose egos might be bloated enough to think they can get away with mischief that they will be remanded to hockey joke jail.
I can’t see my expression, but I’m not the slightest bit amused. Except for that one lapse in judgment, I’ve been nothing but an asset to this organization. I work hard and show up early—until recently.
Meanwhile, my phone has been vibrating in my pocket. I worry that it’s Mrs. Kirby, meaning I probably won’t get away with staying late. She told me to be back at four and not a second later.
Vohn, who rivals me in surliness—at least that’s what I’ve been told—asks, “Done?”
Badaszek rubs his hands together. “No, we’re just getting started.”
“I mean with Ellis. I need to go over the code of conduct and expectations with our new captain. Cara has some papers for him to sign, too.” Vohn barely disguises the roll of his eyes.
I never knew being captain was so formal, but this can’t be real.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Sir, with all due respect, I sincerely apologize for what happened during the game, but I cannot?—”
Badaszek gives a short nod. “Yes, I read your letter.”
A few of the guys snicker.
Yeah, I wrote the coach a letter of apology. When the incident happened, I was running on less than two hours of sleep and handfuls of Goldfish Crackers and Gummy Bears—I’m convinced they’re both kid-crack. Not that I admitted any of that to him. More like I took responsibility for being a disrespectful idiot.
“I cannot accept this position.”
He claps me on the back, hard. Either that or an earthquake struck Nebraska and jostled me. “Time to man up. Step into a leadership role.”
My mouth opens and closes as my coach scrutinizes me, practically dares me with his eyes.
He leans in and says, “We’re a team. No one wins alone. Focus, prepare, and expect the best from yourself and the guys.” He pauses before adding, “The key is knowing when to press and when to ask forhelp.”
