Chapter 25
Shea
The next day.
Last night, Ilya and Brooksy managed to lure the entire team out to dinner—and afterward, to the bar.
“A hair of the dog that bit ya, that's all,” Brooksy told us.
I had to admit—a beer sounded decent. But while I kept it limited to a beer, some of the other guys on the team got carried away. And Coach caught wind of our activities when a few guys staggered back to the hotel wasted, worse yet, after curfew.
Coach, of course, wasn't pleased.
During the next day's practice, Coach exacted his revenge on the Boston Boozehounds with a grueling, hours-long practice. Drills, drills, drills, until our stomachs were weak and flighty. Line rushes until our legs were weak and trembling. Scrimmage until lunch came and went and no one had any gas left in the tank.
“Hustle. Hustle! Harder, damn it!” Coach barked at us, never satisfied with our effort.
I started to wonder if Coach was ever going to put an end to this madness, or if his plan was to skate us to death.
“You're looking awfully pale today, Brooksy! What's the matter, gentlemen? I thought a little 'hair of the dog' was supposed to do us wonders? I thought we were supposed to be feeling great today?”
After hours of torture, the moment finally came when Coach had seen enough, and he blew his whistle and told us to hit the showers. We practically crawled off the ice to the dressing room.
Coach strutted into the room last. He paced around the room, staring us down, letting us marinate in the physical pain before he delivered his final sermon. No one dared meet his angry gaze; it'd be like trying to stare down a pit bull. Instead, we sat in terse silence and studied the floor as we struggled to peel the sweat-drenched pads off our bodies.
“If you're going to hurt the day after,” Coach finally snarled at the team, “I want you to hurt because of hockey. Not because you're out late drinking.”
Everyone nodded with agreement.
“Time to get serious, boys. Curfew's at six tonight.”
“Six!” Brooks protested.
Coach whipped around to face him. “You got a problem with that, Brooksy? You wanna sit Game 1?”
Brooks grumbled in surrender.
“Didn't think so.”
***
Back at the hotel hours later, I tried reaching the girls again. Brynn didn't answer her phone. Chloe didn't answer either, but she did send a quick follow-up text message.
“Hi Dad, what's up? I'm with friends, I can't talk right now.”
“You can text but you can't talk?”
“I guess I can talk if you really need to, but we're just about to sit down and eat dinner with Nicole's family.”
“I just want to make sure everything's going good with you and Brynn.”
“Everything's fine, thanks Dad, love you.”
I grumbled.
I tried calling Brynn one last time before I called it a night.
This time, she answered. “Hello?”
I couldn't believe it had only been a day since I heard her voice. Having her in my ear again made my heart skip a beat and brought a smile to my face.
“Brynn,” I said.
“Hi, Shea. You sound surprised.”
“I am. I haven't been able to get a hold of you all day yesterday or today.” I paused. “Started to wonder if you were mad at me.”
“Sorry. I'm not mad. I've just been busy.”
“That's okay. How's everything with you and Chloe?”
“It's going well. We worked things out over breakfast yesterday, so everything's fine now. Today, she did photography in the park with Nicole. As for me, same ol', nothin' new. How are you?”
“Beat,” I said with a yawn. “Coach is furious with us because a few of the guys broke curfew last night and came back wasted. He really rode us hard today during practice.”
“Oh,” she said, with a distinct lack of interest in her voice.
“But I guess I won't bore you with my war stories,” I said, a touch defensively.
“Oh, okay,” she said without much concern.
I frowned. I didn't want her to be cold towards me. I wanted things to be normal. You know, normal, where we'd talk to each other about our days, and our conversations were always fun and playful … and maybe a little flirtatious, too?
“Is something wrong, Brynn?” I blurted out.
She went silent for a moment or two. “We can't keep doing this.”
“Doing what?” I chuckled. “I just called you to get an update, that's all.”
“And I gave it to you. But you want something more from me—friendship, companionship, someone to tell your day to. And I don't blame you for wanting that, but I can't be that person for you, Shea. I'm just your nanny, and we're supposed to be strictly professional, remember?”
“Oh. Okay,” I said dryly. “Yeah, if that's how you want it.”
She didn't reply.
I thought I'd hold her feet to the fire and see if that was what she really wanted. “In that case, thanks again for watching Chloe, and I'll see you in a few days when I get back from Tampa.”
“Wait. Shea.”
I smiled—I knew she'd change her mind once she saw I could be stern and serious, too. “Yes?”
“Do you remember where you put my thong? I've been looking all over for it, but I can't find it.”
Oof. That wasn't what I was expecting.
“Have you looked under the bed?” I asked as I stood and slowly made my way to the bathroom.
“Yes, I've looked everywhere for it. I can't find it. It's not a big deal, I just don't want it lying around the house somewhere.”
Guiltily, I opened the bathroom door and spied the lacy intimates, which were hanging from the towel rack to dry.
“Weird. I don't remember where I put it.”
“Okay. Just thought I'd ask. If you do remember, let me know.”
“Will do.”
I hung up my phone, grabbed the TV remote, and started flipping through a thousand dumb channels on the big screen TV, feeling like the world's biggest liar.
If that was how Brynn wanted things—then fine.
It's not how she wants it, genius. It's how you told her you want it.
I sighed.
I was only days away from my last playoffs, and I wasn't feeling it at all.
This sucks.