Page 30

Chapter Thirty

I was on thin fucking ice.

Figuratively, of course, since the ice beneath my feet was thick enough to hold our entire team, plus my coach, who was currently ripping me a new one.

“Can you give me one goddamn reason why news of this fight you had won’t die down?” Coach’s face was red and furious.

The rest of the team stood in a line beside me, their faces impassive. They respected Coach enough not to step in when he was laying down the law with one of us.

“Because people have nothing going on in their lives?” I responded, bored by the whole ordeal.

Who the fuck cared if people were still talking about it? No one got anything on video as far as I knew. All that was circulating were a few rumored reports from ‘witnesses.’ It didn’t fucking matter.

“Because you make headlines when you so much as take a piss, Brynn!” Coach fumed. “And you sure as hell know that. So it was your responsibility to keep a clean reputation, if not for you, then for your team! ”

I stared at him. What could I say? That I was sorry? I wasn’t.

“And on top of it all, we can’t even deny the rumors because the reporters are all attesting to the fact that your ass wasn’t in the locker room where it should’ve been for your mandated post-game interviews!”

I exhaled heavily, rolling my eyes. I was twenty-six years old. Not a kid playing hockey for his high school. The stakes were technically higher, but if I showed up and helped bring the Wolves to victory, then what the hell did it matter what I did outside of the game?

“Brynn, you’re a damn good player, and you know that, but goddamn it if that doesn’t bite you in the ass. You think you can do whatever you want because you’re a good hockey player?” Coach’s arms flailed around. “Well, newsflash: the world is full of kids waiting to take your spot. Kids who would jump when their coach told them to fucking jump.”

“And what does that mean?” I bit out, a bit of panic rising in my chest.

This game was everything to me. Everything.

Was he seriously telling me that I had to participate in the media circus and cater to the vultures just to keep my spot?

No one told me that signing with the NHL meant selling my soul to the fucking devil.

“It means you need to work like hell to fix this mess. It means that at that charity gala, you are going to be on your goddamn best behavior. You’re going to be on that stage, smiling and waiting to accept the offer of the highest bidder, you got it?”

“No.”

“Damn it, Brynn, you have been a pain in my ass since the day you joined this team. And you know what? Some of the time, it’s worked for you. God knows why, but they ate that up. The hockey kid with an attitude. But now? Fighting with a fan?” He shook his head in disappointment. “You need to fix this.”

“I didn’t fight with a fan,” I corrected, feeling like steam was about to come out of my ears. “I punched a guy who deserved it, and it wasn’t a random fucking fan. It was private. ”

“Well, you don’t get privacy at TD fucking Garden after you win a game! I mean, come on, Brynn! I thought you had a better head on your shoulders than that! Do you want to lose your career because you can’t keep it together?”

The answer was no. No, I fucking did not.

“I’ll keep it together,” I said through gritted teeth.

“I’m holding you to that.” Coach nodded, finger-pointing at my chest. “And you’re going to prove it at the auction.”

Fucking hell.