Pucked Over (Pucked 3)

A few whispers break out, and Coach clears his throat, silencing the room. “This is Evan Smart, the new team trainer. He’s been training professional athletes for the past seven years. He’s got a great track record, and we’re happy to have him on board. Whatever he says goes. You will work with him as a team. If there’s a workout scheduled, you will be there. Unless you have some kind of injury, or a life-and-death situation you have made me and Evan aware of in advance, you’ll be at training. Everyone understand?”

There’s a murmur of acknowledgement.

“Anyone who misses a training session without notifying me and Evan will be benched for a game.” Coach gives me a hard stare. “Ballistic, you missed yesterday, so you’ll be warming the bench tonight.”

“Yes, Coach. Sorry, Coach.” Arguing would be a seriously bad idea, based on the somber mood in the room. Also, the fact that Tash has been replaced is a shock.

Coach sighs, lifts his hat, and runs a hand through his thinning hair before replacing it. “All of you will take home the team rules and regulations book and read it over, so I can be sure you understand what they mean. There will be a test. If you guys are gonna act like you’re in high school, I will treat you like you’re in high school. I’d like you to pay particular attention to the fraternization policy with support staff. He looks to Lance. “Romero, you’re on a three-game suspension.”

Lance glances up and gives him a curt nod. The muscle in his jaw tics. “Yes, Coach.”

Coach claps his hands together. “Get yourselves suited up and on the ice.” When Lance doesn’t move, Coach snaps his fingers. “You too, Romero. You might not get to play, but you sure need to learn how to be part of this team if you want to stay on it.”

“Yes, Coach. Sorry, Coach.”

“Anything else you want to say, Romero?”

He shakes his head. “No, Coach.”

“Then get moving.”

The room is quiet as we get ready for the pre-game skate. I have questions, but I can’t ask them right now. Practice isn’t easy. We’re all off, and it shows in the way we play. I don’t have much faith that we’ll be able to pull it together for the game tonight.

Lance takes off afterward without talking to anyone. I wait until me and Miller are alone before I ask any questions. “How’d Coach find out?”

“They were going at it in the locker room. Coach was the one who walked in on them, so Tash got let go, and they brought in this new guy.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“How’s Lance?”

“Not good. He’s not answering calls. I think this has been going on a lot longer than any of us realized. Tash’s career is shot—at least in terms of working with any pro team.” He stops in front of his car and spins his keys around his finger.

“This is a clusterfuck.”

“Yeah, man. He’s lucky he’s not getting traded. He’s gonna have to watch his ass from now on. Coach is seriously pissed. Tash’s been the team trainer for two years. These guys had a routine down, and now they gotta get used to a new one. There can’t be anymore bullshit like this or we’re gonna have more than new-trainer issues.”

“That’s kinda hypocritical coming from you, huh?”

Miller scoffs. “Even I knew better than to get all up in the staff.” His phone beeps. “Hold on.” He takes the call and walks away from me, his voice low. I can tell its Sunny since he calls her sweets.

I’m thinking it might be a good idea to stop by Lance’s later, if he still isn’t answering calls. He’s not good when he’s upset. He has a tendency to fly off the handle. And drink too much. I want to make sure he’s not face down on the bathroom floor or anything.

I send him a text while I wait for Miller to be done talking to Sunny. He’s doing a lot of pacing. I hope things are okay there. The last thing I need is more chick drama with my teammates. There’s already more than enough to last me a year. This is one of the reasons I’m wary about relationships; they mess with people’s heads.

I see it happen with my mom every so often. I think she’s tried to date a couple of times, but after the way my dad fucked her over—and sometimes still does if he feels like being a real asshole—she doesn’t trust men. I can’t blame her, either.

I scroll through my messages. I’ve got nothing from Lily. I get this twinge in the back of my neck. I rub it, but it doesn’t go away. It should be good that she’s not texting the day after. It means she’s not making this into more than what it is.