Melting the Ice

Six.

>Sebastian

Despite my better judgment, I did turn on the notifications for the team group chat again. And they were silenced before I went to bed. Smith got rejected by the writer’s agent, the girls devoured a large platter of wings and fries, and finally, they vanished from Bub’s.

I didn’t really care what Lynlee Scott and her obnoxious friends did. Who hung out with their agent, anyway? I paid mine to handle s**t, not go to the bar with me. The redhead probably worked for her, too. Maybe she made sure Lynlee didn’t use the wrong form of ‘there’ in her books or something. She looked like she struggled with that kind of thing.

The team chat seemed enraptured by these women and Smith getting rejected. As soon as they started taking bets on Johnston or Smith getting their d***s wet first, I turned off notifications. I hadn’t come back to the group chat to talk about everyone’s odds of getting laid by Lynlee or her agent. I had come back to be part of my team.

I was barely in a better mood the next morning when I got to practice. I parked my car in the half-full lot. As I slid out and headed to the doors, I shot off a text to the nutritionist, telling him we needed to meet. I was too f*****g hungry, and it was pissing me off. I was in my prime, not even close to retirement.

“Gahhh!” I heard a frustrated growl. I looked up as I approached the door. Lynlee Scott was furiously swiping her access card. The lock made its little rejection beep each time. A lilac backpack with cats all over it hung on her shoulders. “Seriously, not today!”

Amusement flowed through me. I cleared my throat. She turned around, hopeful for just a moment, until she looked at me. “Problem?” I grunted. The skirt was replaced with skinny jeans today. A Harthford Hogs team polo graced her shoulders under a pink sweater that was too big, this one without cats. Her pink hair wasn’t done up today except for her bangs being clipped back from her forehead.

“This card they gave me won’t work,” she said, holding it up. “I’m late. I’m never late. But I can’t get inside, and I didn’t save any of the phone numbers Sylvia gave me.”

“That sucks,” I said. I moved forward, and she stepped back. I swiped my card, opened the door, and stepped inside. I brushed against her, getting a lung full of her cherry scent. Of course, she smelled like fruit. As she went to step forward and thank me, I pulled the door closed. Her mouth fell open. With a satisfied smirk, I spoke loudly, so she’d hear through the door, “Sorry. Policy. We can’t let anyone in this door without valid credentials.”

Her doltish grey eyes widened further like no one had ever dared to slight her. She was probably used to being cute and getting her way. Then, her shock morphed into anger. Her mouth snapped shut as her eyebrows dipped. It was comical.

“Hey!” she pounded on the glass of the door. “Hey! You can’t do that! You know I’m supposed to be in there! What’s your problem?”

“You should go around to the front ticket office. Someone will help you there,” I laughed. Turning on my heel, I strode down the hall and headed for the locker room, no longer able to hear her shouts. I knew it wouldn’t keep her out of the building. Someone would show up for practice shortly and let her in, someone more willing to have her around. But keeping her outside was a win for now.

>>>>>

“AGAIN!” Coach shouted. I could barely suck in enough air before my skates were moving again. My lungs and thighs burned from the exersion. I wasn’t sure what crawled up his ass. A few days before the season opener was not the time to kill us with conditioning.

One of the assistant coaches called out the groups as we hurled ourselves from one blue line to the next and back. Seguin face planted next to me as we returned.

“AGAIN!”

“Come on!” Caufield shouted. Coach rounded on him, clearly waiting for someone to call him out for this s**t. “This is cruel and unusual!”

“It’s an attitude adjustment!” Coach shouted, coming further out onto the ice. “Apparently, I didn’t make myself very clear the other day.”

We all watched, a few of the guys barely standing. Coach looked down the line, staring at each of us in turn. His eyes stopped on me just a little longer than the others. “I don’t like getting called about my players before practice, and I like it even less when it’s about a guest in this arena!”

Murmurs erupted through the heavy breaths. Coach held his hand up. “I won’t say this again, so listen. Lynlee Scott has a job to do just like all of you. You will accommodate her within reason, answer whatever questions you agreed to in your disclosures, and be decent human beings off this ice. No one will lock her out of the building! The people that sign your checks have decided she’s here, so deal with it.”

Lark nudged my shoulder with his. I turned and gave him a look to keep his mouth shut.

“Am I clear?”

“Yes, Coach!” the group called.

“Will there be any more problems with Lynlee Scott?”

“No Coach!”

“Then get off my ice!” The tension in the air didn’t break with Coach’s dismissal. I held my breath. If I moved for the locker room first, I was admitting I was the reason for almost a half hour of extra conditioning drills.

Davies moved first, skating toward me. I pulled off my helmet as he approached, acting unbothered. He stopped in front of me, preventing me from going anywhere. “You can hate de women. You still act with honor,” he growled in his subpar English. I never bothered to remember where he came from.

“Step away,” I snarled. Seguin grabbed my shoulder as Beddard came over to grab Davies.

“It’s over,” Seguin said, trying to get between us. “Finished.”

“Apology for de women,” Davies growled.

“He will,” Beddard said, trying to pull him back.

“Like hell I will,” I snapped.

“Kingsley, stop,” Seguin said, getting in my face now. “Move, now.”

I let him push me back, my eyes locked on the backup goalie. I was Captain; this was my team, and he wasn’t going to start that d**k-swinging s**t with me. After a few feet, I turned and moved on my own off the ice. Seguin stayed right on my heels.

“Lynlee had to reschedule my interview this morning. She was late, and someone wouldn’t help her get inside the arena. I guess we know who that was now,” he said as I stormed to the locker room. He spoke low enough to keep the conversation between us.

“So?” I grunted.

“You could have just let her in? Why did you taunt her?” he asked. “What did she do? And why did you disappear last night? You wouldn’t answer your phone either!”

“Other s**t to do,” I dismissed him.

Seguin grabbed my shoulder, yanking me back with more force than I expected. I stumbled to a stop, and he got in my face. “I don’t know what your hang-up about her is, but stop it. It’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t have a hang-up,” I denied.

He shook his head, his usual chipper, good-guy demeanor gone. “You’ve been in this shell since-”

“Don’t say it,” I warned him.

“Since Marissa. She’s gone, dude. It’s over. Lynlee Scott didn’t do anything to you,” he trudged on.

“She’s a distraction. We don’t need it. Since when do we need ridiculous PR like this? We play well, and everything else falls into place,” I argued.

He shook his head. “You need to apologize. Before the afternoon session. There was no reason for that shit.”

“Fat chance,” I said. I turned and left him standing in the hall. I might have been a d**k, but I wasn’t going to apologize for it. Lynlee Scott didn’t belong in my arena.