Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
I should have done a million other things.
But what I actually did was pick up my phone and open Instagram.
Because I didn’t want to calm down.
I wanted to rage.
I wanted payback.
And I didn’t stop to think about the repercussions until it was too late.
Such a Little Brat
Vince
Coach McCabe looked ready to blow a gasket.
He reminded me a little of my father in that moment, the way my dad would hold in his anger until he could go to the gym or get out on the boat. He never wanted us kids to see it or be on the receiving end of it. I loved and admired him for that, how he could bottle it up and find the proper release.
Coach, on the other hand, was ready to unleash — and I was his target.
“Look, it’s not a huge deal,” Dick said, my general manager much calmer than the red-faced man standing against his office window. Coach could barely look at me without seething. “It pulled in some good publicity for you and for the team, and it was a kind thing to do. But—”
“But it’s against your fucking contract,” Coach filled in for him, nose flaring. “What the hell were you thinking, Tanev?”
I swallowed, knowing that wasn’t a question he wanted me to answer. I was expected to sit there and take my lashing like a good boy, and I was content to do just that.
But anger simmered in me, too.
Because I told Maven not to fucking post about that day.
Our away games had gone just how we wanted them to. We were on a five-win streak and back in our city to try to make it six. Yesterday was a hungover flight home for most of the guys, and we spent the rest of the day recovering. I hadn’t seen Maven, other than where she was already sleeping when I boarded the plane. She was in the back, hoodie on, pillow against the window, and headphones covering her ears.
When we got back to Tampa, she muttered something about seeing me later before she disappeared. I had no idea where she’d gone, and I hated to admit how much I missed having her around — especially since I wanted her to talk to me about what happened the night before.
She was so goddamn stubborn, it infuriated me as much as it made me want her more.
This morning, when I’d shown up to practice, I’d no sooner laced my skates up before Coach was pointing at the elevator. Wordlessly, I followed him, and when he hit the button for the executive floor and handed me his phone with his jaw clenched, I knew I was in trouble.
Maven had posted a video of me at the rink in Pittsburgh with Bobby and his kids.
I only watched a few seconds of it before I handed the phone back, knowing my ass was grass.
“Oh, come now, McCabe,” Dick said, leaning back in his chair with that jovial grin of his. “The boy is fine.”
“He could have gotten himself hurt. Before a game.”
“But he didn’t.”
The way Dick said those words told me he wanted Coach to back off, and the way Coach fumed told me that was the last thing he planned to do.
“I’m sorry,” I said to both of them, and I meant it. “I needed to clear my head, and I knew my buddy from Michigan was coaching at that rink. I promise, I didn’t do anything that would have put me at risk.”
“Being on the ice period put you at risk,” Coach argued. “You weren’t even wearing a mask. What if you got a puck to the jaw? What if one of those kids wanted to prove he was big and bad and shoved you into the boards? What if you pulled a fucking hamstring? Anything could have happened. And then what? You would have been out of the game. And what would you have told your teammates?”
“Alright, he said he was sorry,” Dick said, holding out his hands.
Coach let out a hot exhale through his nose, running his hands through his hair and turning away from me. I’d never seen him so pissed, but I knew without him saying so that he was less mad and more scared.
He didn’t want to have to figure out how to win a game without me on the ice.
Dick pointed at me next. “Let this be a one-time thing, okay? It was a nice gesture, and I’m sure those boys will remember that day for the rest of their lives. But Coach is right. We can’t afford to lose you, son.”
I nodded. “Understood.”
Coach didn’t talk to me the rest of practice. He hammered my ass, though, and made sure I was sweating and sore as hell by the time he called it for the day.
And where he ignored me, I ignored Maven.