Page 40 of No Shot (The Toronto Tundra #2)

Penn

Brooks Family Chat

Dad: Flights are booked for Mom & I

Jack: Nice! Looking forward to seeing you both!

Mom: Can ’ t wait to have all my boys together.

Reid: Can ’ t wait to see the Vortex crush the

Tundra.

Mom: Reid Carter Brooks. Unkind.

Dad: Odds are in our favor dear, either way, we

will be the proud parents of the winning team.

Just be sure to pack your extra jersey to change

into depending on what the scoreboard says. If I

was a betting man, I ’ d say I like our chances.

Reid: The question is, which jersey will you be

wearing to the game, and which will be stuffed

in your bag?

Mom: I simply wouldn ’ t be able to choose, I ’ ll

be wearing a sweater.

Reid: Booooo

Jack: Don ’ t listen to him, Nancy. Wear what

you ’ re most comfortable in.

Reid: Suck up.

Penn: Yeah, what is this?! Pick a favorite, Mom.

We know you have one.

Mom: We absolutely do not have favorites,

honey.

Reid: I ’ m the favorite. She just doesn ’ t want to

hurt your feelings Penn.

Mom: Not true!

Dad: Jack is my favorite.

Mom: NEILL! Don ’ t you dare say that!

Reid: I ’ m appalled.

Penn: Rude.

Jack: You and Nancy are my favorites too. Your

sons are ungrateful bothers.

Reid: Jack-ass.

Penn: … honestly, I always kind of knew it.

“ Brooksy,” Scott ’ s deep voice captures my attention effortlessly as he walks over to my stall. I drop my phone back in my bag as Jack, the golden child , snickers into his screen. He ’ s a foot away from me and texting in our chat like I can ’ t fucking see him.

“ Sup, Cap?”

“ Coach wants to see you in the office.”

Now, I ’ ve never been kicked in the balls, but I imagine this is exactly what it ’ d feel like. Instant pain, full body discomfort, a struggle to catch your breath, topped off with racing thoughts.

Getting called into a one-on-one with your Coach? Not usually a good thing. Getting called in when you ’ ve been playing like shit? Possibly life-altering.

I drag my feet the entire way there. We ’ re still on the road, so the leadership team are all cooped up in an older wing of this practice arena.

Not as nice as you ’ d expect, but it gets the job done.

If this is the last place I see as a member of the Tundra organization, at least it’s run-down.

My tears won ’ t stain any fancy blue carpeting or the Tundra Emblem in the center of the locker room of our home rink.

Instead, they ’ d fall onto this motel-type carpeting.

The main door to the offices looks closed, but it ’ s cracked open just an inch. There ’ s definitely chattering happening on the other side, but it ’ s not until I take another step forward that I ’ m able to place the voices.

“ I need support out there.” Theo ’ s voice is as serious as ever. It ’ s not altogether surprising, considering it usually is when he ’ s discussing anything hockey-related. There ’ s a somberness to it, though, that feels worrisome.

“ We ’ ll get there. Give it some time.” Coach sounds firm. I ’ m not afraid of him, per se. I know he ’ s a good guy and a great coach, but he holds the fate of my contract in his hands. Well, he and the Tundra ’ s general manager, but either way, it ’ s more than a little daunting.

“ Something has to change.” Theo is unwavering, sounding equally as dominant as Coach. He ’ s not usually so outspoken. It ’ s like he ’ s shaken—or angry? Hard to tell, but it ’ s unusual.

“ I hear you. Thanks for coming to speak with me.” A chair scuffs against the floor, footsteps echo out of the room, and Theo emerges.

His entire face is brimming with tension, mouth turned down into some frown-scowl hybrid I ’ ve never seen him wear.

The kicker? He doesn ’ t look me in the eyes as he walks by me.

“ Brooks.” Oh damn, this is serious. I nod my head, even though Coach can ’ t see me, and walk through the door. The office is plain, but functional. Desk, some beat-up filing cabinets, two chairs, and a computer. I pull out my seat and slump down, holding my breath until he breaks the silence.

“ How you feeling?”

Like I ’ m going to yak. I take a deep, shaky breath. “ Fine, Coach.”

“ The new line, do you find it to be an improvement? Finding your footing more?”

“ I ’ m trying my best to show up any way I can.”

He nods, but it feels more like pity than anything. “ I know you ’ ve been struggling.”

I don ’ t know what to say, so I keep my mouth shut and try to keep eye contact with him out of respect for the man in front of me.

“ You ’ re a good player, son.” Oh man, here it is.

The compliment to cushion the blow. You ’ re good, but we ’ re moving in another direction.

You ’ ve done well for us, but we have no more need for you.

You were decent, but pack your bags. My body freezes, waiting for the next words, praying I don ’ t pass out from lack of oxygen.

“ But we have a lot of great players this year.” Don ’ t I know it. We’re still good enough to make a playoff run because I was the only weak link on the first line.

“ I know it hasn ’ t been as easy this season settling into your place, but I don ’ t want you to give up.

You can ’ t get complacent. We all have rough patches, but I need you to go out there every day and show me why I brought you to this team.

Show me why you belong on this team. Fight like hell or we ’ ll need to have a very different discussion. ”

I blink twice, trying to replay the words in my head. That isn ’ t as dooming as I thought. It ’ s a warning. Just a warning, right?

“ Am I understood?” he asks, snapping me out of my haze.

“ Absolutely, sir.”

He nods again, and I know this conversation is over. It ’ s my first and last verbal warning. If I get called in here again, the news will be a lot more final.

“ Good. Get some rest, Brooksy.”

It feels like my whole world is teetering on the edge—stumble and I ’ ll lose everything. I have to do whatever it takes. I ’ m going to cling on for dear life.

** *

When we landed last night, I didn ’ t have the energy to stop by her place.

She texted me to have a safe flight, and all I could reply was thanks.

I hate feeling like this. I know how I ’ m acting, but I can ’ t shake this dread.

It ’ s impossible not to feel like everything is slowly slipping away from me, and the pressure is eating me alive.

All night, Coach ’ s words kept replaying in my head, keeping me from sleep.

‘ Show me why you belong on this team. ’

‘ Fight like hell or we ’ ll need to have a very different discussion. ’

It was supposed to motivate me, that much I ’ m sure, but instead it feels like it ’ s just prolonging the blow.

I haven ’ t been playing like myself since the year started.

The panic of not being cut out for this league has taken over every ounce of my being.

I ’ m nearing my breaking point, and the fact that everyone else is taking notice makes this struggle that much worse.

The thought of getting traded shouldn ’ t feel like a death sentence.

I came into this knowing it would probably happen to me a few times in my career.

Sure, I ’ d miss the boys, I ’ d miss Toronto, and I ’ d miss being a member of the Tundra.

But a trade could be exactly what I need to revitalize my game.

Now, though, there ’ s something new I ’ d be giving up. The thing I ’ d miss the most? The reason why this has been consuming everything inside me? A trade means I ’ d lose her.

When I walk into Java, my eyes scan across the room for Bri.

It ’ s been days since I last saw her, and I search a little desperately through the small crowd of patrons.

I zero in on a wisp of her deep chocolate hair, excitement coursing through me like it does every time I spot her.

She ’ s busy in the back, head bopping back and forth as she works on inventory or something.

I make my way toward where she ’ s hiding, leaning my body as far over the bar as I can.

“ Pssst,” I whisper-shout loud enough to catch her attention .

Her eyes shoot up to mine, face painted in surprise. I love that little moment, the second of vulnerability, where her mask slips just long enough to show exactly how she ’ s feeling. She composes herself quickly, as she always does, popping the clipboard she ’ s holding on her hip.

“ Did you just psst me?”

Fuck, I ’ ve missed this girl.

“ Damn right I did.”

“ Want to try again?”

“ Not particularly. I wanted your attention, and it worked, didn ’ t it?”

She shakes her head, but a smile has crept onto her face. Just seeing her in front of me makes my heart beat faster. She ’ s like a rush of oxygen to my system, even as she stands there glaring, trying to look tough. Yep, my refreshing little angry chipmunk.

“ Can I drive you to class?” I ask, barely trying to diffuse the tension. I like sitting in it, waiting to see which one of us will crack and give in. It ’ s the fucking best. Today though? Today, I wanted to make sure I got here bright and early so that, ugh, gag , Clark, didn ’ t drive her.

The fact that he went on a date with her still boils my blood, but when I ’ m out of town or headed to practice, I like that she doesn ’ t have to bus to school.

Clark is basically a glorified Uber who gets her where she needs to be.

That ’ s the only way I can compartmentalize it in my brain to keep me from ripping him to shreds.

“ I get off in ten,” she replies casually, looking back down at the list on her clipboard. “ What coffee do you want?” She mumbles the words to the floor, not bothering to look up.

I start to smirk. Oh my spicy Soup is not so spicy anymore. “ I ’ m sorry, what was that?” I play it up, cupping my hand against my ear.

The eyeroll she gives me? I wish I fucking recorded it. Bridgette Campbell summed up in one motion, and my dick thinks it ’ s time to play. I will it to go down to focus on her response.

She huffs. “ I said… what coffee can I get you?”