Knox approaches, but I’m on a roll now, and I still have eight pucks left in my bucket.
Eight pucks to burn off the fury that feels like it might consume me.
I’ve never been so angry in my life. Not when Summer Montgomery hid my leotard before regionals. Not when my mom refused to tell me who my father was. Not when Declan Savage told me I had to pay my dues and took credit for my winter blues clinics.
It’s like every crappy thing in my life has built toward this one moment, and if I don’t get it out, I’ll explode.
“Whoa, Ava.” Knox stops a few feet away, his voice soft, his hands held up in surrender. “Look at me, darlin’.”
I fire another puck at the door, tears blurring my vision.
“Hey. Look at me, Ava.”
Knox’s voice is low and soothing, impossible to resist. My gaze finds his, and it’s so full of compassion and understanding that I want to scream because how can he be so calm right now when everything is going to shit?
I reach for another puck, but the bucket is empty.
Knox steps closer, and for an instant, I think he’s going to pull me into his arms, but that’s stupid because we have an audience. “It’s okay, Ava. You’re okay.”
Curling my hands into fists, I turn on my heel to face him. “I am not okay! You’re not okay. This team is definitely not okay!”
He stares at me, jaw slack, but I’m just getting warmed up.
“I’m going to lose my job, and I’ll probably never get another one, and my father was right because somehow all y’all are actually getting worse, and I honestly don’t know how that’s even possible.” I throw up my hands. “And now I’m crying because I’m so dang mad, and I never cry at work.” I swipe at a tear, scanning all the sober faces in the room. “So I’m giving up. This is me giving up because Banks was right, and my father was right, and I’m shit at my job. I thought I could handle the pros. I thought I could handle some rowdy hockey players, and now y’all are a joke, and I’m a joke, and I might as well quit because I’m failing you. None of you listen to me. Heck, you don’t even listen to each other!”
Exhausted, I drop into the empty stall holding my bag and bury my face in my hands. Angry tears stream down my cheeks, but what difference does it make? I’m done here. I have nothing more to offer. Nothing that will make a difference, anyway.
“Ava.” Knox takes my hands in his, and when I finally look up, he’s squatting before me. His eyes lock on mine, and they say everything his mouth doesn’t. He’s as frustrated as I am that it’s come to this, but it doesn’t change the facts. “Don’t you dare think about quitting. You are not failing. If anyone is failinghere, it’s me. I’m the captain of this team, and I’ve been doing a shit job. That’s on me, not you.”
It’s a nice sentiment, but he’s wrong. It’s literally my job to help this team build mental toughness and camaraderie so they can win some freaking games.
“He’s right.” McGinnis ambles forward, pushing sweat-slick hair off his forehead. “It’s definitely not you.”
Knox turns to glare at his roommate, and Dvorak steps up, smacking the rookie with the back of his hand.
“Ow!” McGinnis glares at Dvorak as he rubs his chest. “Jesus, I meant it’s on all of us, not just St. James.”
“I think what the kid is trying to say is that we’ve been assholes,”—Dvorak shifts his weight, looking uncomfortable—”and we’re sorry.”
“Yeah.” Smitty joins the others, nodding aggressively, fingers twisted in the collar of his jersey. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Ava. This is on us.”
“Don’t let these jagoffs get you down,” Johnson says, voice gruff. “I like having you around, even if some of your exercises are goofy.”
I laugh in spite of myself, and a fresh tear rolls down my cheek.
“You’re really good at your job.” Schultz leans in to hand me a tissue. “Please don’t cry.”
“We’ll do better,” Bernier promises earnestly, joining the group. “We shouldn’t have made you cry. It’ll never happen again.”
Soon, the entire team is gathered, forming a loose semi-circle around me. They look so sincere, so disappointed in themselves and their actions.
Is this really all it takes to break these big, tough hockey players? A woman crying?
If I’d known that, I would’ve done it weeks ago.
I stare up at the team, marveling at how they’ve all come together—for me.
“I’m sorry.” I wipe my cheeks and suck in a steadying breath. “I didn’t mean to crash out. I’ve never done that before.”