Parental Guidance (Ice Knights #1)(22)
“She’s also in control of my dating life in the world’s stupidest play for public redemption.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted it. Petrov had been with him in the Uber that night, but he’d been smart enough to not run his mouth insulting the female half of Harbor City’s population when the video none of them knew about was rolling. Neither had Phillips. It had just been a couple of rookies acting like asshole players, but that didn’t matter. In the player hierarchy of the team, it had been his responsibility to set the rookies straight. It had been up to him to set the example for the other players to follow. He was the one who wanted to be a leader on the team, to get that A for assistant captain on his jersey. To make that happen, he had to act like a leader—a good one.
And he’d fucked up like a dumb-ass. Maybe his middle school teacher had been right. Maybe without hockey, he wouldn’t be able to be anything more than what that asshole voice in his head had decided was: a barely literate loser.
“Better you than me.” Petrov snorted. “I’m trying to imagine who my mom would pick out, and it scares the shit out of me.” He got set again behind the sled. “But I also don’t spill a metric shit-ton of BS.”
Then Petrov started pushing the sled, grunting with effort and bitching about “motherfucking cookies” with each agonizing step, effectively ending the conversation, which was fine with Caleb. It wasn’t like he wanted his current dating hellscape analyzed. He was here for the muscle burn and to sweat out the memory of yesterday’s almost-kiss with Zara.
Tomorrow, he’d be back at the TV station for the date number two recap video. He’d get to do a play-by-play breakdown for his mom then. Only a root canal could be any better than that.
He was halfway through the first round of right leg squat reps when Coach Peppers and a short guy in an expensive suit walked through. It took a second to place the other guy—what with never seeing him outside of a very limited number of team meet and greets—but once he made the connection, he didn’t have a single doubt. Herbie Dawson, principal owner of the Ice Knights, stood, scowling, just inside the doorway in what had to be a custom-made suit. He didn’t have a single close-cropped white hair out of place. Peppers, on the other hand, was in Ice Knights workout gear and his black hair was going every which way. Whatever the two had been discussing, it must have sucked balls, because Peppers had been through the wringer.
“Stuckey,” Dawson said, his trademark wheezy voice doing nothing to soften his harsh tone as he strode across the gym to where Caleb stood. “I understand your situation is being handled.”
A cold sweat broke out at the base of Caleb’s neck, and his heart rate picked up enough to get a little beep notification from his smart watch. “Yes, sir, Mr. Dawson.”
“And we’re not going to have to deal with any more problems on your watch?” Dawson asked, his gaze as sharp as the blades on Caleb’s skates.
His grip tightened on the weight he was still holding to his chest like an asshole. “No, sir.”
“The Ice Knights have a code, Stuckey.” Dawson had to tilt his chin up to look Caleb in the eye. “We don’t make fools of ourselves or one another. We do not embarrass the team. Ever.”
For half a heartbeat, he was back in sixth grade, standing at the front of the class, the piece of paper shaking in his clammy grip as everyone stared at him, their whispers sounding like shouts to his heated ears. Then he was back, staring down at the pissed-off man who was telling him in no uncertain terms that he was fucked if he didn’t make this Bramble thing work.
“I understand, sir.”
“Good.” He paused, just eye-stabbing Caleb for a few eternity-lasting seconds before turning and leaving the gym.
Caleb’s breath came out in a whoosh, and he slammed the fifty-pound weight down onto the rack. This wasn’t supposed to happen anymore. He’d worked too long to freeze in those moments, to fall back into shitty habits now. If he locked up on the ice, forget a viral video that made him—and the team—look like a bag of dicks, he’d never lace up again.
“What the hell, Coach?” he snarled at the one person in the room who had just as much on the line as he did.
“Don’t start with me, Stuckey,” Coach grumbled as he marched to the treadmill and began punching in an incline level before starting to run at a fast pace. “Just make this PR fix Lucy came up with work. Whatever it takes. Do not fuck this up.”
…
Zara had finally slid under the covers for the night after finishing up the costume for Maya Angelou for her current art piece when her phone buzzed on the bed. Anchovy laid his head on top of it, obviously casting his vote that it was too late for texts.
“You’re so bossy, dog,” she said as she slid her hand under his heavy head and retrieved her phone.
Caleb: So about tomorrow’s interview…
Zara: Wondering which neighborhood businesses my dad’s gonna be shilling for this time?
The three dots of a typing box appeared, disappeared, and reappeared several times before the message came through.
Caleb: He can do that the entire time if it keeps everyone’s attention on him.
Yeah, she could see that after Asha had put him on blast last time.
Zara: Worried about more blowback from the video?