Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
“Is that all we do?” I asked with an edge.
She held a lot of control over me, but I wasn’t going to sit here and listen to her bitch that my teammates and I did nothing but ice-skate.
Mila folded her hands in front of her. “It’s literally all you guys do. We have the lowest average penalty minutes in the league.”
“Do you want us to win? We can’t score from the penalty box.”
“I know that, smartass. But it’s a hockey game, not a poetry reading. You guys have gotten too slick. You just execute your game and you’ve forgotten about the show people come here to see. They want fighting. Aggression. Heart.”
She’d absolutely right that we’ve cut down on the bullshit. Coach Maddox has drilled into us that we’re here to win, not have dick measuring contests with our opponents.
“You’d better talk to Coach about this,” I said, shaking my head.
“I have. He knows about this new direction. The thing is, you don’t have to choose between winning and playing harder.”
I met her gaze, well on my way to pissed. “Playing harder? Do you have any idea how hard we train to get up and down that ice as fast as we do? The game has evolved from the days you grew up watching it.”
“It’s not about the hockey you want to play, Beau,” she said icily. “It’s also about the hockey our fans pay to see. Season ticket holders who didn’t renew were polled about why and they overwhelmingly said the games have gotten stale and boring.”
I needed to calm down. I reminded myself that I wasn’t getting traded. And that I got paid a hell of a lot of money by Mila.
“So you want us to put on more of a show,” I said flatly. “More fighting.”
She smiled for the first time since this meeting started. “Exactly. Chirp at your opponents. You know, tell them you wore out their mom’s punch card for blow jobs.”
“I know how to chirp at opponents.”
Mila forged ahead, excited about the newer, more bloodthirsty approach she was forcing on us.
“I always want us to win, but I also want to see the Coyotes make the highlight reels on SportsCenter on game nights. I want our social media blowing up. Furious opposing team fans in every city we visit. Some blood on the ice would be nice.”
It was all I could do not to get up and storm out of her office. It was easy for her to request more blood when she wasn’t the one bleeding.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I said.
“You’re a leader on this team, Beau. You can bring up the energy level and make everyone want to play balls out. Less cuddly puppies and more cutthroat coyotes.”
“Got it, boss.”
“Okay, that’s all,” she said, going back to her computer.
I replayed our conversation as I walked back to the locker room, thinking about how I was going to tell the guys about it. But when I pushed open the locker room door, Sergei was standing there on crutches, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Out for the season. This shit sucked. And now wasn’t the time to discuss what Mila had said to me.
“He’s out for the season,” Colby told me in a low tone. “It’s bad.”
I went up to Sergei and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Sorry, man,” I said.
He nodded, and his anguished expression put things in perspective. Did I want to showboat and start pointless fights with my opponents? Hell no. But Sergei had it far worse than I did.
“Cuddly puppies?” Colby gaped at me over beers that evening at Mountain Top. “She said that?”
I nodded and took a pull from my bottle of Fat Tire.
“Jesus, she’s a piece of work,” Seth said.
Including me, six players had made it to this week’s roundtable meeting. We got together regularly to shoot the shit, and this week I’d started things off with telling them about my conversation with Mila.
As they let off steam about our owner’s new “balls out” approach, my gaze wandered over to the table I’d sat at with Shelby the night we’d met. A couple of college-aged guys were sitting there tonight, laughing, but I looked past them and remembered how intently Shelby had looked at me as she explained her dream.
I’d never met anyone as serious as she was. From what she’d told me about her parents, I knew she’d been through things kids shouldn’t have to experience. My mom had taught us to approach the new kids at school, and the ones no one else paid attention to. She’d actually told us that if she found out we bullied other kids, we’d have to have her shoe surgically removed from our asses.
Shelby had probably been one of those kids. Moving from place to place and not going to school regularly. It made sense that she was serious. Life had never been carefree for her.