Chapter Twenty-Seven

 

"What the fuck do you mean, he's not available? Where the fuck is he?"

Coach Donovan's desperate voice echoed down the hallway, bouncing off the concrete walls and spilling through the open door of the locker room. Caleb rested his arms on his knees, trying to pretend he couldn't hear every single word.

Just like the rest of the team.

His gaze slid across the room, stopping to rest on Corbin Gauthier. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back and resting against the wall. His chest rose with each deep breath, fell with each silent exhalation. If Caleb didn't know better, he'd think the goalie was sleeping. But he did know better, knew the man was simply meditating, or doing whatever the hell that whole breathing thing was to mentally prepare. He'd done the same thing before every game since he'd been back. The only thing that surprised Caleb was the fact that he was doing it here, instead of the spare room down the hall where Dan Lory usually went before games. Gauthier was going to be in net tonight, not playing backup like he had been, so there was no reason he couldn't use that room now.

Because Dan certainly wasn't using it, not when he was in the bathroom, throwing his guts up.

Another loud retch drifted in from the bathroom. Ryan Grant paled just the tiniest bit and looked away, a damp sheen breaking out on his forehead. He noticed Caleb watching him and forced a brittle smile. "I wish he'd just go home before he gets us all sick."

Caleb was pretty sure that Ryan was more concerned about puking his own guts up instead of catching whatever the hell Lory had, but he didn't say anything. And Christ, how many times could one man hurl? He'd been at it for the last hour, ever since he finally made it to the arena. Pale, sweating, shuffling like a condemned man taking his final steps to the gallows.

Donovan had taken one look at him and swore—then swore some more when Lory admitted he'd been throwing up since this morning and had just barely made it through game-day skate.

"Why the fuck didn't he tell anyone?" Logan asked the question to nobody in particular, his voice pitched low so it wouldn't be overheard by anyone except those around him. Caleb wondered the same thing. Only Dan could answer that, though—and he was in no position to talk, not with his head in the toilet bowl.

Ryan winced when more loud retching drifted from the bathroom. He got up and moved to the door, slamming it closed just as Dan started dry heaving—but not quick enough to hide the sound of bowels exploding.

"Oh for fuck's sake, you have got to be kidding me." Ryan hurried to the other side of the room, his face paling even more. "There's something seriously fucking wrong with him."

"Food poisoning."

Everyone turned to look at Jaxon. He shrugged, his gaze focused on the blade of his stick as he wrapped it with tape. "Vomiting. The shits. Just saying it sounds like food poisoning, is all."

More yelling drifted in from the coach's office, the words unintelligible. Caleb didn't need to hear them to know they were in trouble—none of them did. They were down a goalie and they couldn't play without a backup. Normally they'd pull someone up from the Bombers but the Bombers were a few hundred miles away. No way could either of their goalies get here in time for the game, not when puck drop was in forty-five minutes. If Lory had come clean this morning...maybe. But even then, it would have been cutting it close.

And apparently the team's EBUG—emergency backup goalie—was MIA. Listening to Coach Donovan's desperate yelling was enough to clue everyone into that little newsflash.

Hunter leaned forward. "You think he'll use Mitch Halterman?"

"No idea. Wouldn't be the first time a goalie coach was used as backup."

"True. Of course, he could always use one of us. That's happened before."

Evan Leeds laughed, the sound short and sarcastic. "Yeah, but how long ago has that been? And who would he use? The only one of us who ever played in net was Ilya."

The other man's eyes widened and he shook his head. "Da nyet. Too many long ago. Not good."

Caleb wasn't sure if Ilya meant not good in that he wasn't any good, or not good in that the whole situation sucked. He didn't have a chance to ask because Coach Donovan barreled into the room, with the assistant coaches John Solon and Terry Dreistadt right behind him. John kept going, straight into the bathroom—probably to check on Lory. Hopefully to take the man to the hospital.

Or at least get him out of earshot before everyone else started hurling.

Donovan's fingers tightened around the papers curled in his hand as his gaze swept the room. He pulled in a deep breath then ran his free hand over his jaw, the rasp of his beard whispering in the silence surrounding them. "We need an EBUG."

Nobody said anything. And Caleb had to choke back a laugh when Ilya actually slid down on the bench, trying to hide behind Jacob. Did the big Russian think that would work, when Jacob was at least a head shorter and fifty pounds lighter?

The laughter Caleb had been choking back abruptly died. He started to speak, swallowed back the words, shook his head. No. It was ridiculous. There was no way—

"Got something to say, Johnson?"

He started to shake his head again, thought about joining Ilya in hiding behind Jacob. Then he stopped. Why not? The worst thing that could happen was everyone would laugh at him and think he'd lost his mind.

But he hadn't. And the more he thought about it—

"Well, Johnson? Out with it."

"I just remembered that the Blades are here tonight. For that whole intermission thing they do."

Silence descended over the room, quick and complete. Heat filled his face but he refused to back down, refused to shrink under the weight of every single gaze focused on him.

Shane was the first one to speak up, his voice filled with surprised laughter. "You're out of your fucking mind. No fucking way."

A few more voices joined in, echoing Shane's words. But only a few, their tone not quite as disbelieving.

Coach Donovan wasn't one of them. In fact, the man said absolutely nothing. He just stood there, staring at Caleb, his expression carefully blank.

Then surprisingly thoughtful.

"They're here now?"

Caleb glanced at the clock hanging on the back wall then nodded. "Yeah, I think so."

Donovan ran a hand along his jaw again then shifted, turning back to exchange a look with Terry. "Are you coming up with anything else?"

"Not a fucking thing."

"Coach, you can't be serious." Disbelief filled Shane's voice as he started to stand, his hands waving frantically in front of him. Donovan leveled a dark glare in his direction and Shane quickly sat back down, not saying another word.

"Gauthier, how are you feeling tonight?"

Corbin opened his eyes, meeting Coach's direct gaze with his own. "Fine." The chilly tone in his voice matched the coach's and Caleb wondered once more what had caused the tension between the two men.

It didn't matter, not now. Not when Coach Donovan was watching him now. And why the hell was he looking at him that way, like he'd suddenly grown two heads? Caleb wanted to look away, to drop his gaze and pretend he hadn't said a fucking word. But he didn't, because Coach was suddenly talking to him, asking him a question he never thought he'd hear.

"You going to be okay with her sitting on the bench?"

Her. Shannon. Because holy shit, Coach was actually considering using her as the EBUG. He had to be, or he wouldn't ask.

"Yes, Coach." Caleb didn't try to hide his smile. "I'm more than okay with her being on the bench with us." Because unless something happened to Corbin, she wouldn't leave the bench. She'd be there as a backup only, just in case something did happen. And if something happened and she ended up in the net? He'd be fine with that, too. Shannon was a great goalie, he knew that from firsthand experience.

Donovan glanced around the room, his gaze resting on each player before moving to the next. "Anyone else have a problem with it?"

Nobody said a word, not even Shane.

Donovan finally nodded, almost like he was trying to convince himself, then turned toward Terry. "Find her and get the paperwork signed."