My stomach rolls with nausea at the thought. “A break” would give Coach an opening to slide Easy onto the first line, and I wouldn’t get my spot back once that happened.
“No. Look, I know my numbers have been bad lately.”
“It’s not just your numbers, Vic. You’re phoning it in. At this level, I can’t have that.”
I exhale hard, my shoulders slumping as I stare at the floor. “I know. I’ll work harder. Just give me a chance to turn things around.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing going on? Nothing I can help with?”
“Yeah, it’s not…my mind’s been elsewhere, that’s true. But I’ll get refocused.”
Coach Johnson’s typically hard expression softens. “You know, son, any offensive line of an NHL team is still pretty damned elite. It’s not—”
Bile rises in the back of my throat and I cut him off midsentence. “I know, but…just give me a chance. I can turn things around.”
He considers this while looking frustrated. “I’m under pressure. I have bosses, too.”
“I get that. I do. I’m just asking for a chance.”
“Two games.” He holds up two fingers to reinforce his point. “If I don’t see the best of you in the next two games, I’m moving you to the third line.”
“The…third line?” I swallow back the queasy feeling that just won’t go away. “Okay. Thanks, Coach.”
I stand up, hoping to end this conversation. Now that I know where I stand, I need to be alone for a few minutes. I’ve fallen hard and fast in the past six months. I know for sure that it wasn’t the breakup with Kristen that caused my game to tank, but no one else knows that.
It was embarrassing finding out my girlfriend was cheating on me in a tabloid. But this—losing control of my whole career and having the world think she’s the reason—it makes me want to get drunk off my ass and hop the next available flight to a remote country.
“I’m here if you need to talk,” Coach says, dismissing me.
I laugh inwardly as I exit his office. If I hit Coach up with what’s bothering me, he wouldn’t have the first clue what to say. No one would.
This is all on me. I have to find a way to bury the stress and figure out why I can’t seem to get to the puck or keep control of it lately.
I haven’t been able to face my numbers, because I know how bad they are this season. Anton and Luca can only make up for my lousy play so much. The top article on a popular hockey blog last week had the headline, “Victor? Uh, not so much.”
It was all about how I used to be a winner and now I’m just dead weight on the ice. And though I blew it off when I saw it, it fucking sucks to be pegged a loser.
The other guys on my team all have someone. Wives, children, parents…someone. But not me. This team I’ve played on for the past four years is the only family I’ve got that’s worth a shit. And hockey’s my life. I won’t let myself fall from grace and lose the one thing I’ve ever been good at.
I don’t have all the answers about how I lost my edge, but I know where to start. My college coach helped me elevate my game to the pro level with just one tenet—work harder than those around you. By being the first one at the rink and the last one out, I became his star forward.
I’ll have to start drilling on my own at the rink during off hours. I can also get cleaner with my diet and ask our conditioning coach to help me train legs harder than I do now. No more drinking either.
I’ve been lazy. Distracted. It ends now. My after-hours extra practice starts tonight.Chapter FiveLindyThe soft serve ice cream machine’s motor whirs and the dispenser sputters as the sanitized water starts cycling through. Two down, four to go.
I’m working alone, pulling the once-a-week overnight shift that is spent sanitizing concession machines. No one else likes getting stuck with this job, but I do. No Bruce breathing down my neck, no long lines of customers and I can listen to music on my headphones.
Being in the Carson Center from midnight to 8:00 a.m. was spooky the first few times I had this shift, but I’m used to it now. I keep an air horn clipped to a belt loop on my pants, and if I sounded it, security guards would come running.
Well, hopefully. I’ve never had to test it out.
The sound notification of an incoming text interrupts the Ed Sheeran song I’m listening to. I grab my bucket and head for the arena’s next concession area, reading the message from Ari on my way.
Ari: Ughhhhhhhhh that date was a total fail girl!