Page 6 of Puck You Very Much
“You probably thought you got away with something, too,” the coach continued. “I’ve been in this game long enough to know that people who think they’re getting away with something aren’t really getting off scot-free with the perfect crime. They’re not getting away with anything. Not as much as they think they are, anyway.
“I want all of you to think about that in case this comes off as funny. Worse, you all compromised yourselves before what we can all agree was a very important game.”
“I wasn’t there,” Jimbo Mancuso said, hand raised like he’d mistaken our team room for a third-grade classroom.
I snatched his hand away and dragged it down.
Hardison shook his head and paced the room. Jimbo might’ve mistaken this for an elementary school, but our coach seemed to believe he was serving up a parental lecture. Neither seemed too wonderful considering each of us was too old for any of that.
It also seemed excessive since we’d won the freaking game. That contest had been harder fought than most, I won’t lie. We only beat those guys by a single goal, and even that’d only come right before the buzzer. We’d beaten the Remington Riptides in the bar and now we’d handed them their asses on the ice (okay, I can dream) less than twenty-four hours later. If you ask me, we didn’t need a stupid lecture.
“You’re all lucky the Colter Bay Grill’s owner decided not to press charges,” he said. “Turns out he’s a hockey fan and has a soft spot for younger people, but it didn’t have to turn out that way. That’s what I meant when I said you never really get away with as much as you think you have. You managed to evade thecops. Good for you. I don’t give a shit about your grand escape. I only care about the distraction all of this caused.”
But we won,I nearly said aloud. Actually saying it would’ve made me as much of a dope as Jimbo.
To me, getting the W was all that mattered. Still, the mention of the bar owner’s decision to not press charges hit home for me. I realized that what seemed like fun and games (in a stupid and dangerous way) could’ve had massive, real-life consequences.
“I know that this rivalry has gone on a long time,” he said. “Longer than any of you have played for this team. Hell, it predates my time here as coach by a long stretch, and this is my tenth season. But you’ve all got a lot to learn about tradition and history.”
I found myself mouthing the coach’s words to mock him without realizing I was doing it. He snapped back around, eyes landing on me.
I froze.
“A comment, Jakob?” he asked.
“No, sir.”
“Fine. Since you all seem not to understand what’s expected of you, I’ll make it perfectly clear. This rivalry bullshit with Remington needs to stop. It might’ve been fun and games once upon a time—and I do mean a very long time ago—but now it’s clearly gone too far. We want to compete for a championship and bring the title back to Larkin University, like we did not that long ago. I know you have it in you to manage that, but it’s obvious that I need to set clear expectations.”
Ah yes, this would be the point at which he would tell us that flouting his rules would result in suspensions or other sanctions like having to clean the locker room for a week. He’d never been particularly creative on that front. This incident was more serious than most and involved the whole team, so he must’ve been serious.
“I’m going to lay it on the line for you,” he said. “If there’s any more trouble with Remington, the player—or players—starting the shit will be cut from the team, no ifs, ands, or buts.”
The room fell silent again. No fooling. I remembered the nauseous feeling deep in the pit of my stomach after that fight. I’d thrown only one punch, and had made it count, but had remained untouched. Despite it all, I swore I would barf. That feeling returned with a vengeance.
He couldn’t really cut us over that, could he? Like, it didn’t make sense. Besides, you couldn’t fault just one person for what’d happened. We’d visited the Colter Bay Grill as a team and kicked some serious ass as a team, too. Remington had started it. Were we supposed to just stand there and take it?
Hardison’s stoic look said he didn’t give a flying shit about any of that.
“Does anyone have questions?” the coach asked.
“Yeah, what happens if Remington starts something with one of us?” I asked the dumb question this time, prompting Jimbo to slap my arm.
“You should know better, Jakob,” he said. “I’m not interested in who started what. I’m only interested in the end result. We’re in the business of winning hockey games, nothing else.”
Oh yeah, I could’ve cracked wise about how we’d won the game, which made his point moot, but I knew better. In our world, the coach was never wrong—no matter how much stupid shit he said. Besides, I would’ve done anything to reach the end of his lecture at that point.
“Okay,” he said, “since I don’t hear any dissent, I’ll assume each and every one of you gets my meaning. Now, let’s get to work.”
He clapped his hands together as if to signal us to begin working. Everyone got up and headed to the locker room so we could finally hit the ice.
Coach Hardison might not have given the best lecture, but I would’ve probably tuned him out one way or another. Besides, ever since my fist had connected with his jaw, I couldn’t think of anything, or anyone, other than Zane Martin.
“Do you really think Hardison will follow through on his threat?” I asked Ryan Detenbeck as we strolled out of the locker room after practice.
“How can he?”
“I dunno, dude. He is the coach and everything.”
