Inside, the rink is dim, only half the lights are on. The quiet hum of the building settles over me as I walk the familiar halls.
In the locker room, I yank on my skates, running over my plan for Jax in my head. Simple drills to start, then some targeted slap shot practice. He gets sloppy by the third period—right when we need those points the most.
I stomp toward the ice, balancing on my blades. Jax is already out there, looping the rink.
“Fucking took you long enough,” he shouts from across the arena. “You said five-thirty, bro.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m here now,” I shout back. It comes out snappier than I intended.
“Wow, so inspirational,captain,” he snipes, clapping slowly.
I ignore him and glide onto the ice. I need this to go well. We don’t have time for this shit. Every game counts right now. “Let’s start with some drills,” I say, “and talk about what’s not working. I want us to get to the playoffs this year.”
He snorts and skids to a stop in front of me, ice flying into the air. “What the fuck do you think you can teach me that I don’t already do a hundred times better than you?”
Okay, so we’re doing this.
I inhale slowly, biting back the urge to knock that cocky smirk off his face. “Jax, you’re a good player, but you play solo. That shit doesn’t work in the NHL.” I had rehearsed all these lines this morning on my way in. I wasn’t trying to start a fight, despite my current track record. I wanted us to win. I wanted us to play as a team. I actually wanted Jax to feel the kind of bonding experience a good team can have.
“Oh, and you’re so great at teamwork?” He shoves my shoulder, hard. I clench my fists at my side.Do not knock him out. Do not knock him out.“You’ve clocked the most fights in the entire fucking league this season, and you want to lecture me about working as a team? Kind of hard to be a team player from the fucking press box.”
I almost swing. Almost let my fist fly, because I know I could end him in one hit.
Instead, I breathe through it. Because I’m trying to be mature. And because he’s right.
“I’m working on that,” I grind out. “I know I haven’t been the best captain this season. I’ve got some stuff going o—”
“No shit, captain. We all have fucking stuff going on.” He’s yelling now, voice echoing off the high ceilings, hands and arms emphasizing his point.
A clattering sounds from behind us, and we both flip our heads toward the noise. Monroe is standing with amop and bucket near the stands, watching. Hazel eyes locked on the two of us.
Jax notices her staring too, and he nods in her direction. “Like the show, babe?” he calls over to her. “I’ll let you patch me up if we get into a real fight.” His sneer sharpens.
All right, that’s enough.
I shove him back, returning his attention to me. “Leave her alone, Jax. She’s working.” He rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath, but he lets it drop. I glance at Monroe. She’s still staring, expression unreadable.
“You’ve gotta start showing everyone some respect in practice and during games, “ I say, skating back toward him. “I’m trying to bring the team back together.”
He scoffs.
“You don’t deserve to be captain, McKnight,” he retorts sharply. “Don’t call me to another one of these fucking things. I won’t show up.”
The words land like a punch to the ribs.
Some captain you are, Rhodes.
He storms off the ice, slamming the door behind him.
I skate a few laps, hoping he’s out of the locker room before I have to go back in. I’m not really in the mood for round two. What bothers me the most is that so many of his comments were true.
The insults fly around my brain, cementing themselves into my psyche.
I am not a good leader.
I am not a good captain.
I am not a good team player.