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Chapter Twenty-One
Cole
I pace the floor of Coach’s office for a few minutes before retaking my seat, fidgeting until I find a comfortable position. I kick my leg out in front of me, resting my forearm on it to give my injured shoulder a break for a few moments.
It’s only a few moments before Coach returns, finding me relaxed and waiting, though I’m anything but calm. He slowly makes his way around the desk, dropping into his seat before resting his forearms on the desk in front of him. Neither one of us says a word. The silence is full of tension as we size each other up, neither wanting to be the first one to speak.
Coach’s eyes remain locked on mine as he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over her chest. “What game are you playing?”
I fidget in my chair, trying to discern what he’s asking me. “Playing? Nothing, other than trying to stop myself from getting my ass kicked off the team before the season starts.”
“How do you think you're doing with that so far?”
I could spin some bullshit about trying to get back into the swing of things and feeling out the other members of the team, but I have a feeling that’s not what Coach is asking me. “I think I have a fifty-fifty shot of making it to at least the first scrimmage of the season.”
“I’d agree with you on that front. I’m sure you are aware I don’t like you.”
“I’m well aware of that fact.” I shrug, not knowing what else to say.
“I’m used to being the one to choose my team because I want players who will gel. Who follows direction and will always put the team before their own needs. Someone like your brothers. But you are nothing like your brothers.”
“You already have a carbon copy of Cooper with Beau. I can understand why you wouldn’t want to deal with the potential of having another one.”
This isn’t the first time someone has alluded to the fact that they’d rather have one of my brothers instead of me, and it won’t be the last. But ?this time, it stings. When I originally met Coach Mercer during my visit last season, he came across to me as a fair man. Someone who gives every player who steps on the ice a fair shake, but I guess he’s just like everyone else.
“That shows how much you know about your older brothers, Cole.” Coach scoffs, pushing back from his desk. “Beau and Cooper are entirely different people. Sure, they’re both dedicated to bettering the sport, but that’s where their similarities end.”
Coach comes around his desk and takes a seat on the edge, a few inches away from me. “No one wants you to be a carbon copy of either of them, but what I want is someone I can depend on, like your brothers, to put the team before everything else. I want someone who can leave all their other bullshit at the door when they step onto the ice.”
“And I assume you’ve decided I’m not that person. If you don’t want me here, I’m gone.” I push to my feet, but his hand shoots out and shoves me back into the chair.
“Sit your ass down and listen for once in your life, Cole.”
“I’ve listened to every word you’ve had to say, Coach Mercer. I’m sorry that I can’t be the player you want me to be. I’ve always put my team before myself, and look what it got me. A fucked-up shoulder and traded to the highest bidder.”
“You and I both know that’s not the entire story.” Coach pins me in place with his stare, his eyes scanning my face as if he’s searching for something. “Care to tell me the rest?”
No, I don’t want to live out one of the lowest points in my life. One of the many times over the years, I couldn’t keep the rage burning inside of me, and it cost me everything. He deserved what happened to him, and I deserved to be fined and suspended for three games, but none of that mattered to them. In their eyes, it was my fault their two best players weren’t able to play in one of the most important games of the season, and it was my fault that we lost our chance at the Cup that year, and I’ve been paying for it ever since.
“What’s the point? You already know what happened. I fucked up and cost the Wolverines a chance at the Cup two years ago. And they never let me forget it.”
“I know what happened. It was all over the news and in your trade report from the Wolverines. What I’m asking is why it happened in the first place. If what you say is true, that you have always put the team above everyone else, that should’ve never happened. Please explain it to me.”
I push to my feet and step around the chair, resting my hands on the back so I don’t lash out. This is what Coach is asking about: the uncontrollable rage that overtakes me. The burning need to destroy and make someone pay for what happened to me. I need my pills. I need the calm and numbness they bring me, but I can’t. Not now with Coach watching me like a hawk. He can’t know. No one can know.
“Why does it matter?” My grip tightens on the back of the chair, the skin on my hands turning white from the pressure. “You’ve already made up your mind about what happened, just like the Wolverines’ management did.”
I did everything they asked of me from the moment the ink dried on the dotted line, but I’ve never been one to hold the party line. When someone is out of line, I tell them. I always have, and Leon was out of line that day, just like he was when he socked me after I missed the penalty shot this past season.
“Sit down, Hendrix,” he commands. My body moves before I even realize what’s happening. I plop down in the chair, head down, as I pinch the skin on my wrist between my fingers.
“If I’d already made up my mind, we’d be having a much different conversation right about now. If I’d already made up my mind, you would never have been given the chance to step foot on the ice, wearing the Timberwolves jersey. This is your chance to tell me something different. To convince me you aren’t a complete waste of my time and the team’s resources.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Coach.”
“I want you to tell me what happened. Why did you attack your teammate and put him in the hospital the practice before one of the most important games of your career?”
“Is that what they said? I didn’t attack him, Coach. He had been chirping at me all practice, and he—” I clench my eyes shut, wanting to escape the memories of what happened that day, but they play behind my eyelids like a movie reel.
“Take your time, son.” Coach lays a gentle hand on my shoulder, and I inhale deeply, trying to focus on the here and now.
I take a few moments to find the best way to tell this story without letting Coach Mercer know all my darkest secrets, but to tell this story the right way, I have to go back a lot farther than a few years ago. “After showing up to a few games, trashed out of my mind during the season, the team forced me to go to a joke of a rehab facility somewhere in Utah. But by some stroke of luck, I managed to stick with it.”
“Yes, that’s also in your file. Getting sober is a hard thing to do, especially when you are so young, but staying that way is even harder.”
“I haven’t had a drink since the day they dropped me off,” I respond, knowing that I can’t exactly call myself sober any longer. “I had been sober for almost a year at that point, but ?that night, I was on edge. It was a few days before the anniversary of Dad’s death. Couple that with my nerves about the game, and I was a mess.”
The familiar feeling of guilt when remembering that night fills my mind. My shoulders round forward from the weight of what I had done. How I had cost everyone on the team a shot at their dreams.
My fault. My fault. My fault.
The skin on my wrist burns as I pinch the flesh tightly between my fingers, the pain coursing through me like retribution for my selfish actions. How, once again, my desires have brought pain to someone else I care about.
“I used to drink my way out of those situations, but I was determined to stay sober. The numbness I craved from the alcohol was gone, leaving me downright irate when I walked into the arena that night.”
My fault. My fault. My fault.
My nails dig deeper into my skin, needing to make sure I continue to pay for what I’ve done because I let them down. That team became my family when I turned my back on my own. They became my brothers, the people I could depend on, because I didn’t have anyone else. I felt so betrayed by how they turned their backs on me, the whispers in the locker room about wishing I were one of my brothers, but deep down, I knew they were right. If I were more like them, none of those things would’ve happened. I wouldn’t need tiny red pills to function like a normal human being.
“Everyone on the team knew to steer clear of me when I was in one of my moods, but that night, Leon was also itching for a fight. At first, it was just the usual chirping out on the ice, but he wouldn’t let up. I warned him to lay off, that I was in no mood for his bullshit. I don’t even remember what he said anymore, but I just snapped.”
I need them. I want them. I need them. I want them.
“You didn’t just snap. You broke two of his ribs, his nose, and gave him a concussion,” Coach responds, but I don’t look up at him because I don’t want to see the look of disappointment in his eyes.
That night, after everything was said and done, one of my teammates called to ask if I needed something to take the edge off. At first, I declined, wanting to remain clear-minded, but that didn’t last long. He promised that if I took one of those tiny red pills, it'd leave me feeling free of all emotions in a way I’d never felt before, and he was right.
Ever since that night, I’ve been taking them religiously. Some days, I need more pills than others, especially when my stress levels are high, but they always chase away the pain. They keep the anger and regret locked tightly in the cage buried deep inside me. But the only thing they can’t do is make me forget I cost my team everything that day.
I need them. I want them. I need them. I want them.
A part of me wants to pop a few more pills and allow the numbness to take over, but a larger part of me knows I deserve this. The pain and regret for costing my team everything. For potentially doing something like that again, for ratting Jensen out to Coach. What he said was wrong, but I know better. Chirping happens. It's a part of playing hockey, but my selfish ass wanted to be the knight in shining armor. The person to defend her honor and let everyone know she was off limits, but all I did was make things worse for her and the team.
“Is that what happened with Jensen today? Did you just snap?” Coach questions, causing my head to snap up and look up at him.
I blink back tears as I try to calm the anger raging inside me, threatening to explode. I want to rage against him for even insinuating that this was the same thing. When I beat the crap out of Leon, I was out of control, but this time was different. Jensen deserved the beating he got after what he said about Michele. I want to tell him that no one will ever speak about her in that way, not with me around to protect her, but I do nothing but continue to pinch at the raw skin of my wrist.
“No, I didn’t just snap. I knew exactly what I was doing, and I would do it again if given the chance. If you expect me to apologize, don’t hold your breath.”
“There’s no need to apologize to anyone because Jensen is no longer a member of this team. He’s been dismissed and won’t be able to even get a job selling tickets to a game if I have anything to say about it.”
“Good,” I respond, my eyes never leaving Coach’s face as he chuckles softly. “Did you expect me to say something else? You already told me I didn’t have to apologize for beating the shit out of him, so I won’t. Are we done with today’s question-and-answer session?” I push to my feet and turn to leave, but Coach has other plans.
“Sit your fucking ass down. You haven’t been dismissed.” He points at the seat in front of him, leaving no room for argument.
“Dismissed? What is this, the military?” I drop back into my seat, quickly losing my patience.
“As far as you are concerned, yes, it is.” Coach rests his elbows on the end of his desk, staring at me pensively before speaking. “Given you and your brothers’…history, why did you come here?”
“History? That’s a nice way to put it,” I scoff. “Because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. With the injury to my shoulder, no one, including my team, wanted to take a chance that I wouldn’t be back in shape in time for the season.”
“What you did on the ice today goes a long way with me. I don’t stand for my players disrespecting anyone when out on the ice, whether it be a team employee or another player. We are all a team here. A team is only as strong as its weakest link. And you are our weakest link, Cole Hendrix.” Coach reaches for a folder sitting on the edge of his desk and slides it toward me.
My heart rate picks up as I reach for it, already having a feeling of what I’m going to find. I open the folder and focus on the results of my most recent anti-doping test. I knew the results would be in soon, but I didn’t think that it’d be a problem.
“You tested positive for opioids and secobarbital.”
“You already knew that was going to happen, Coach. I have a valid and current prescription from my doctor for both because of my surgery.”
Sweat starts pebbling at my hairline as I try to think of a way out of this situation. I have a perfectly valid prescription for the Dilaudid tablets I’ve been taking for pain due to my surgery, but I can’t say I’ve been taking them specifically for pain anymore.
Pinch. Pinch. Twist. Pinch. Pinch, Twist.
Before I made it back to Boise a few weeks ago to get a few months’ supply, I needed something to take the edge off, and the pain pills did the job just fine. However, if Coach or anyone looks deep enough into my test, they’ll know that the specific chemical compounds of the drugs showing up on my test do not match my prescriptions.
“That’s true, but you shouldn’t have those amounts or that specific secobarbital in your system. It isn’t what was prescribed by your doctor.”
When I was in Boise, the training staff was more than happy to look the other way as long as I wasn’t causing problems. I’ve had a prescription for standard Valium from the team doctor, but they weren't cutting it, which is evidenced from the fact that I beat my teammate to a pulp for basically looking at me wrong, so the red devils are the only thing that helps.
The basic compound is the same as Valium, but they are cut with something that helps take off the edge. What that something is, I have no idea. It’s different depending on who my supplier is, but for me, it doesn’t matter. As long as they fucking work, that’s all that I care about.
“And you know this, how? Did you get a doctorate that we weren’t aware of? Congratulations.”
Pinch. Pinch. Twist. Pinch. Pinch, Twist.
“Cut the bullshit, Hendrix.”
“I’m not bullshitting you. I have valid reasons for taking both prescriptions, and you know it. If you want to get rid of me that badly, I’m sure you can find more plausible excuses.”
“Why does everything have to boil down to me trying to get rid of you, Cole? I’m not the one abusing drugs. I’m not the one whose temper cost them the trust of their team and teammates, and I’m sure as fuck not that one begging for another chance to prove myself.”
Coach made it seem like he was planning to give me a second chance. A chance to make up for the mistakes of my past, but it seems he was just looking for more ammunition to use against me.
Pinch. Pinch. Twist. Pinch. Pinch. Twist.
“You’re right. I’m in this situation because of my own actions. Actions that I’ve been trying to make amends for over the last few years.”
Blood trickles down my wrist as I twist. My skin burns as it breaks and cracks from the pressure of the repeated movement. I need the reminder to keep it together. To find a solution to this situation because there’s nothing I can’t talk my way out of.
“This is your one and only warning. Whatever you’re taking, it ends now. No more opioids or pills of anything kind. If we find anything more than ibuprofen in your system the next time we test, you’re finished.”
“And how do you propose I do that? The tests are random, although I have a feeling I’ll be participating in every test for the foreseeable future. But it takes a minute for opioids to work their way through your system, Coach. Even if I were to stop taking them right now, there will still be traces in my tests.”
Pinch. Pinch. Twist. Pinch. Pinch. Twist.
I know I should just stop taking them and find some other way to cope, but right now, I need them. Not only the pain pills, but the others, as well. It’s the only thing that helps keep the anger and anxiety at bay. Without them, I don’t know how I’ll be able to make it through the day, let alone on the ice for practice.
Pinch. Pinch. Twist. Pinch. Pinch. Twist.
He continues to sit and stare at me, not uttering a word, so I decide to take a different approach. “Coach, you need to be reasonable. I need both of these medications for the foreseeable future, especially if I want to get back to full strength at the start of the season. I admit I may be taking them too much, but I can’t cut them cold turkey. It’s medically impossible.”
Coach has to know how dangerous it is to stop taking opiods cold turkey. I could cause irreparable damage to my body. I offered the best solution for both of us. Decrease the amount I’m taking so it's easier to explain away my test results for Coach, and I can still continue to function and keep living my life in the best way possible, because without these pills I don’t know if that’s going to even be possible.
“Then stop pushing yourself so hard,” he responds, as if it’s that easy.
“There’s no time, Coach. You and I both know that if I don’t show my worth to the owner soon, he’s going to cut me loose no matter what my brothers say. Cooper called in a favor, yes, but nothing speaks more than money.”
“Your brothers aren’t going to keep you on the team either.”
My fucking brothers. Why does everything always come back to those two? I didn’t get here because of my brothers. I didn’t become one of the leading scorers in the league because of my brothers. I sure as fuck didn’t fuck up my career because of my brothers. But no one can see past the fact that they are my brothers, and I’m sick of it.
“And I’m not asking them to. I’m asking you to allow me to have a successful recovery and the fresh start I’ve been looking for.”
Pinch. Pinch. Twist. Pinch. Pinch. Twist.
“A fresh start is what I want to give you. A chance to prove to me and everyone else that you are stronger than those pills. The same way you proved you were stronger than the bottle.”
I shake my head and push to my feet, tucking my hand behind my back to hide the evidence of my punishment. There is no sense in continuing this conversation. Coach wants me to stop using my pills, and not only do I not want to, I can't, especially if I plan on being ready to start the season.
“You are going to stand in the way of my recovery to prove a point? How many times do I need to be punished for the same mistake? I was fined, suspended, and now traded to a rival team. Please, Coach, tell me how that is going to help me grow as a player or learn my lesson?”
I turn and head for the door, but Coach calls my name. “We aren’t done talking.”
“Yes, we are. You want me to stop taking my legally prescribed medication and potentially hinder my recovery, and I refuse to do so. So either cut me loose or let me grab a shower so I can be ready for training in the morning.”
I stand there and wait for him to make a choice, but he says nothing. I’m fucking sick and tired of his shit. Either he is going to cut me or not, but I’ll be damned if I keep begging him to keep me around. Coach Mercer is going to do whatever the fuck he wants, whether I give in to his demands or not.
“If that’s all you’ve got for me, I’m going to get going.”
“One more thing.” Coach holds out his hand for me to shake, and I grasp it on instinct. “Thanks for what you did for Michele today, but stay the fuck away from my baby girl.”
His baby girl? Oh, fuck.