I believed him. I also believed I was being the stubborn one, yet I couldn’t help myself. Instead of calling him back for a civil discussion, I let him go.

The room was empty and lonely the second he left. As if all the joy had been sucked out of it with his final words. He hadn’t delivered a threat, he’d delivered a promise.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

What I Wanted

~~Easton~~

Right after New Year’s Day, the team left on another road trip, and I was somewhat relieved to get out of town and away from my problems with Caro. The road trip gave me the time to clear my head and study the situation with a logical eye.

Caro thought I was the enemy, and I was far from the enemy. We both wanted what was best for Hailey and Heath. Couldn’t she see we shouldn’t be at odds?

I’d gone over and over our argument in my head until I was driving myself crazy. The only time I was able to banish her from my mind was on the ice. Our first away game of the road trip was with New Jersey. We played a hard-fought game but lost by one goal. Afterward the locker room was quiet. We hadn’t played well, and we were mad at ourselves. I’d played like crap, one of my worst games so far as an NHL player. Kaden and Steele hadn’t played any better. In fact, the entire team had been sluggish and uninspired.

Coach Gorst entered the room, flanked by his assistants. They were all grim-faced. We hung our heads low and waited for the dressing-down to come, and come it did. Gorst laid into us, berated us for sloppy puck handling, careless passes, shots so far off the net we appeared to be shooting for the glass. We deserved it, all of it.

None of us said a word as Gorst paced the floor and ranted. Not one guy was immune to his anger. He rattled off examples of crappy play by each one of us, not even stopping once to consult his clipboard. He’d committed our transgressions to memory. He stopped to take a breath during his tirade, and you could hear a pin drop in the locker room, except for—

I took a chance and glanced around the room as did several others.

What the fuck was that noise?

“Frontier! Are you snoring?” Coach whipped around and jabbed a finger at the offending player. A few of my teammates snickered and earned a scathing glare from the coach, which shut them up fast.

All heads turned to our backup goalie, Jacques “Jock” Frontier. He was a seasoned veteran who never caused problems, a real team player, always helping us young guys. Jock jerked to attention.

“Uh, sorry, Coach.” The man’s face flushed with embarrassment. I can say in all honesty, every one of us was grateful Gorst’s wrath wasn’t focused on us.

“Sorry? You’re sorry? What the fuck does that mean? You’re sorry you’re not fully engaged with this team enough to listen to what I have to say? You’ve disrespected me, your coaches, your teammates, and yourself.”