“You better, son, because you’ve burned just about every bridge in the league. You’re still young, and you know you’re one of the best players on the ice right now, but you’ve let it go to your head. If you hadn’t, there’s no way you would’ve ever considered getting involved with Greer. Think with your head and not your fucking dick. Greer is a good coach.” He pauses a moment, overcome with emotion himself. After his long history with her, bringing her up onto the Olympic teams and getting her into coaching, seeing her make such a huge mistake must feel like watching his own daughter destroy her career. “Can you separate your history with her from that and just play?”
I nod immediately. “For as long as I have to.”
I don’t want them to fire Greer. She doesn’t deserve to pay like that just because she got involved with me. I can play for Greer. At least, that’s what I’m trying to convince myself.
Even though I found myself glancing at her on the bench far too many times. Even though I cringed at every frustrated or angry look she gave. Even though I’ve imagined her in my arms and under me a thousand times since we walked away from each other.
I can do it.
Bob leans back in his chair and shakes his head. “You two have really put me in a shit position, Bash. You know there’s no way I can keep her as coach and keep you here after this season no matter what you both say.”
“I know that.”
And so does Greer.
We both knew it the moment he exposed us.
The fact that he hasn’t decided what he’s going to do yet surprises the fuck out of me. When he asked me to stay behind, I was sure it was to emphasize how important Greer is, not only to the team, but also to the NHL and to Bob personally.
They share a long, close history. I thought he would pick her over me, that she is the obvious choice in this situation. But maybe I’m underestimating my own worth here.
The threatening words I said to her during our first confrontation in that tunnel ring in my ears—my jab about my contract and how they would always choose me over her.
Back then, I was so angry and intent on proving a point. Now, bile climbs my throat knowing I might have been right.
“If I brought in another coach, can you shelve the attitude you had with Greer when you got here? I don’t want to have to go through that again with a new coach.”
I nod. No one will ever get under my skin the way Greer Waterson has. “I want to stay with the Scorpions. I’ll do what it takes to make it work.”
No more moves. No more trades. I’m staying put. Whether that’s with Greer as the coach or someone else is in Bob’s hands.
“Good.” He waves toward the door. “Then get out of here. And I expect to see a win in game four.”
I stand and nod. When I reach the door and turn the handle, Bob clears his throat. I glance back at him.
“And Bash…stay the hell away from Greer unless it’s on the ice.”
“That won’t be a problem.”
24
BASH
Talk about an absolute shit show—like watching a train wreck and not being able to look away. Though, it’s really impossible to look away when you’re part of the team and on the ice.
Game four—our only chance to stay in the goddamn playoffs and my opportunity to prove to Bob he needs to keep me here…and we played like a bunch of fucking ten-year-olds. Actually, those kids from The Mighty Ducks movie probably would’ve done better than us.
Pierre let in six shots in the first period alone, and even though Greer pulled him in the second, it just wasn’t enough because our offense sucked, too.
Shots ricocheted off the poles left and right. Pucks flew wide and over the net. It was like we were playing blind and drunk.
Epic shit show.
And to top off an epically horrible night, when Salinski slammed me into the boards in the third period, I really got my bell rung.
My head still pounds like a jackhammer on my brain. Concussions are just a part of the game, and I’ve had my share of them, but having to get pulled to get checked by medical was the perfect fucking icing on the pile of turd cake that was that game.
Now, the season is over, and I can’t wait to get the fuck out of here.