Fuuuck.
I mentally replay our early interactions, when he was constantly reminding me of his draft position. Maybe he wasn’t trying to get under my skin. Maybe he just wanted me to know that he had skills and would be an asset to the team, as if there had ever been any doubt.
Game recognizes game.
“Let’s talk about pressure,” Ava says, voice slicing through my chaotic thoughts. I’m not sure if she’s truly oblivious, or if she’s trying to honor her commitment to anonymity, but I figure if a guy writes something so obvious, he wants us to know it’s him. It’s brave as hell. “Has anyone else ever felt like the pressure was too much? Like it was impacting your game?”
Every hand in the room goes up.
“How did you deal with it?” she asks, nudging the conversation along.
D-Vo keeps his hand up, and she nods at him. “Sometimes I think the game, the fans, the organization, they all put too much pressure on us. Even the best athletes have off days.” He turns to Ginny, amplifying the tension in the room. “This is a team sport. No matter what bullshit the media spins, one player can’t carry an entire team. That’s not how it works. If I’m having a bad day, I know St. James will step up, and he knows I’ll do the same for him. That’s real, and that’s what I remind myself when it feels like it’s getting to be too much.”
“Yeah, we’re human beings, not machines,” Bates adds, shaking his hair back. “It sucks when the media hypes you up like the second coming of Christ, but you have to block it out. Stop reading the news, and for the love of all that is holy, don’t read the comments.”
A few of the guys laugh, breaking the tension that hangs over the room like a storm cloud, and I join in.
It feels good to laugh after weeks of struggling to put points on the board. It feels even better to do it as a team.
I clear my throat. “I think I speak for the entire team when I say that you’re well on your way to a breakout rookie season, Ginny. It’s still early days, but you’ve proven you can play at the pro level. The only person here who might be disappointed with your performance is you. All I can ask as your captain, all any of us can ask, is that you give us your best.” I hope he can hear the sincerity in my words because I mean every damn one of them. “If you’re doing that, we’re golden.”
McGinnis fidgets in his seat, but when he meets my eyes, he’s serious for what might be the first time since I met him. “It’s just a lot. I mean, I’ve dreamed of playing in the NHL since I was a kid, and now I’m doing it alongside guys I’ve watched on TV. I’m only twenty years old. I can’t even buy a beer at the club, and I might have already peaked.”
I grin. “You’re not even close to peaking. Hell, you haven’t even grown into your pads yet.”
“Hit me up if you ever need to talk,” Fontaine offers. “My first year was rough, but it gets easier. Leaning on the guys around you can help.”
Hardy snickers. “Trust us, Ginny. The only thing that’s peaked is your chirps.”
“Alright,” Ava says, making a quiet down motion before the guys can even get started. “Let’s stay focused.”
She holds the bag out to Forey, and he pulls a paper slip.
“I’m afraid I’m not the leader this team needs me to be,” Forey says, reading slowly, “and that I’m letting them down.” Forey sits up straighter. “Cap?”
“The point of the exercise was to be honest.” I hold my chin high. “This is as honest as it gets. If you want to know what keeps me up at night, it’s letting you guys down. You put your trust in me, even when you didn’t have to, and there are some nights, like this one, when I feel like I’m failing you.”
Fedorov ducks his head, but it’s Lindholm who speaks up. “No way, Cap. Trust me, I’ve been on teams with shit leaders, and you’re not one of them.”
“It’s like D-Vo said, you’re one guy.” Cunningham stretches his legs out, looking ready to ditch his pads. “We all have a part to play, but when it comes to leadership, you’re steady. All the guys on the team see it. That’s why we voted for you.” He grins. “Despite what you think, we didn’t make you captain so you could shoulder all the responsibility and blame alone.”
I guess he’d know. As a goalie, he gets more than his fair share of shit.
“Lindy’s right,” Schultz adds. “We’ve all suffered shit captains, guys who laid blame for losses, guys who didn’t give a fuck about helping younger players develop out of fear they’d be displaced, but that’s not you, St. James. You’re always helping the younger guys out, giving them tips at practice and talking them up.”
Except McGinnis.
That’s going to change, starting today.
I scrub a hand over my face. “I guess I just feel like I should be doing more, you know?”
“I feel the same way every time we give up a goal,” MacKenzie admits. “I know it’s not realistic to think I can stop them all, but tell it to my brain.”
Doyle shrugs. “I think everybody feels that way, but we’ve all been conditioned not to say the quiet part out loud.”
“That’s a great insight,” Ava says, a gorgeous smile curing her perfect lips. “In our society, athletes and men in general have been encouraged to “suck it up,” but that’s a toxic mindset. Talking about your feelings, whether it’s with me, Dr. Banks, or each other, is far healthier than keeping things bottled up.”
We continue to work our way around the room, and listening to my teammates, it’s clear I’m not the only one who feelsresponsible for the team’s poor performance. It sucks to know these guys are struggling with some of the same issues I am, but it also helps to know I’m not alone, and that maybe I never was.