Page 17 of Famous Last Words
I’m stopped on my way out of the training center, turning to see my defense coach, Coach Bromley, leaning over the railing from the upper mezzanine of the lobby.
“Coach?”
“Draper’s office,” is all he says before turning and disappearing out of sight.
My shoulders sag in resignation because what the fuck now? Gripping my bag strap, I make my way up the stairs and follow the corridor lined with glass meeting rooms to the very end, where Coach Draper’s office is situated.
I pause at the door, taking a few breaths before knocking.
“Come in,” the deep voice barks from the other side.
Tentatively, I open the door and continue inside, a little taken aback to see not only Coach Draper, but Bromley too, and one of the assistant coaches I haven’t yet had anything to do with.
“Sit.” Coach Draper points to the chair directly opposite him, and like a fucking dog, I do as I’m told.
I like to think I’m a pretty confident guy, but right now, I have no idea what’s going on. Are they done with me already? Fuck. I go over the last few hours in my head, thinking what it was I might’ve done to fuck up bad enough to be shown the door after my first on-ice practice.
Coach looks up at me from his phone, tugging his wireframe glasses off, steely blue eyes intense when they meet mine. “Do you know what I did when Chris Garret told me he wanted to sign you?”
I’m not sure if this is a rhetorical question, so I say nothing.
“I laughed in his goddamn face.” He slaps his big paw on the desk so unexpectedly, I can’t help but flinch. “Because sure as shit he had to be pulling my damn leg.”
I cast a furtive glance in Coach Bromley’s direction, but he gives nothing away.
“Why the hell would we want to risk signing the biggest liability in the NHL?”
I swallow hard, forced to bite my tongue.
Coach looks down at the papers in front of him. “Drinking. Partying.Drugs.”
“I’ve never touched a drug in my life, Coach,” I interject, because fuck it. I’ll cop a lot on my chin, but not that. “I don’t even take Tylenol.”
Coach says nothing, but the smirk ghosting his lips tells me he doesn’t believe a word I say. I suppose I can’t blame him. The media royally screwed me over.
“Fighting with your own teammates,” Coach scoffs as he reads the paper in front of him. He glances up at me with one quirked brow. “They’re saying Ben Harris might miss the whole season because of you.”
Fuck Ben Harris. He’s a pussy ass bitch, milking it for all he can.
When I remain silent, Coach continues, “Promiscuity with your little internet…fangirls.”
I almost laugh at that because Lola Grey sure as hell ain’t no “fangirl,” and if she knew this old man was referring to her as one, with condescending air quotes and all, she would lose her ever-loving shit.
“Lola was a mistake in judgment, Coach.” I don’t add that she was nothing but a rebound. One I wish I’d stayed the hell away from. And that, frankly, it was all Ben fucking Harris’s fault. Instead, I clear my throat, sitting up a little straighter. “I’ve settled down. I’ve got a girlfriend now, Coach. A real nice girl I’ve known since high school.” Honestly, it takes all I have not to gag at my own words.
Coach studies me for a few silent moments. “Well, I hope for your sake you have settled down. Because we spent more money signing you than any other player on our roster.”
Probably the reason you’ve sucked ass the last two years, I don’t say.
“Half the fans have turned on us because of the decision Chris made offering you a contract,” Coach adds.
Frustrated, I pull on the back of my neck, because there’s only so many proverbial kicks a guy can take when he’s already down.
“So, what I wanna know is where the fuck is Robbie Mason, three time Stanley Cup champion and MVP last two years in a row, because I sure as shit didn’t see him out on that ice today.” Coach sags back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest, watching me, waiting.
He’s right. But I’m at a loss, and all I can do is shake my head because honestly, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. When I skated out onto the ice today, it was like coming home. But there was something off, and I don’t even know what it is so that I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.
“I’ll be better, Coach.” I look him straight in his eyes. “I promise you; I will be the best damn decision Chris Garret’s ever made for this team.”
