Icebreaker (20 page)
Authors: Deirdre Martin
Tags: #Women lawyers, #Contemporary, #Legal, #General, #Romance, #Hockey players, #Fiction
“Don’t you think that’s awful?”
“No. A lot of guys hunt. Deer apparently screw like bunnies, and shooting them keeps them from taking over the highways, or so I’ve heard.”
Christie came to the table, another scotch in hand for Oliver.
“Here you go.”
“Thank you, darlin’.” Oliver leaned across the table and in a stage whisper said to Sinead, “Does this woman know me or what?”
“You’re a regular customer, Oliver,” Sinead pointed out.
“No, it’s more than that,” Oliver insisted, looking at Christie seductively. “It’s some kind of magical . . .”
Christie walked away. “I don’t get it,” he said, looking genuinely baffled. “How can she be immune to my charms?”
“You’re just not her type.”
“What’s her type?”
“Anyone but you.” Sinead returned to the subject of hunting. “So you’re okay with a poor, innocent animal dying an agonizing death?”
“If it ends up on my dinner plate.”
“That’s what he said,” Sinead muttered. “It still doesn’t make it right.”
Oliver blinked confusedly. “Let me make sure I’m getting this right: you consider Adam’s hunting a roadblock to a serious relationship, yet you were willing to spend years with a snooty jackass who expected you to put your career on hold for kids.”
“At least he didn’t kill things.”
“Except your spirit and self-esteem.”
“I hate you. I really
do
hate you.”
do
hate you.”
“Are you getting my point here?”
Sinead squirmed. “I suppose.”
“Quit throwing up roadblocks before things have even started.”
“It’s just that we’re just so different . . .”
“You’re delusional. And if you had an ass, I’d kick it, I swear to God.”
“I have an ass!”
“Seriously, this could be your shot at getting a good guy, no pun intended. Try to remember that, okay?”
“I will.” Sinead came round from her side of the booth and gave Oliver a big hug. “Thanks. Despite being a crude, unethical lush, you do give good advice sometimes.”
“And it’s free! Just think: if you were my client, this would be costing you five hundred dollars an hour.”
She kissed his cheek before sitting back down. “Let’s order some dinner.”
“Number twenty-nine, two
minutes, elbowing.”
minutes, elbowing.”
It was the third period of an away game against Toronto, and so far, Adam had been sent to the penalty box twice: once for boarding, another time for charging. Both were borderline calls at best. It looked like the league had gotten to at least this set of officials about sending a message about physical play.
Adam skated over to the penalty box and sat down. Michael was screaming at the ref, who had his arms folded across his chest obstinately. “Are you fucking kidding me?” The ref was unmoved. Michael glanced up at the skybox where Ty sat, turned back to the ice, and threw his hands up in the air in disbelief.
Despite Adam’s three penalties, the Blades won, 3-2. They were on a hot streak, winning eight in a row. Ty and Michael were encouraging Adam, saying his will to win was pushing the team forward just as they had hoped.
He knew Ty and Michael would want to talk to him after the game, and he was right.
“I’m not even sure there’s anything to say about this,” Michael said resignedly. “We all know what’s up.”
“Teddy Rawson paid me a visit two days ago,” said Ty.
Adam and Michael waited for Ty to go on. Rawson, a former player and coach, served as Welsh’s special assistant for on-ice issues. He was, in effect, the league’s policeman.
“You’ll love this,” said Ty. “Said Welsh has been on
his
ass, pressuring him about coming down on Adam. He asked me to make Adam tone it down. Apparently Welsh has been making his life hell.”
his
ass, pressuring him about coming down on Adam. He asked me to make Adam tone it down. Apparently Welsh has been making his life hell.”
“Jesus Christ,” said Michael.
“I laughed at him,” said Ty. “I reminded him of the time he cross-checked that little SOB Kerry Howatt to the back of the head. ‘Welsh is your problem, not mine,’ I told him.”
“Sorry about this shit,” said Adam.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Ty. “I doubt Teddy will be back anytime soon. He just wants to be able to tell Welsh that he read me the riot act. This whole thing is going to blow over. The press is starting to pick up on what’s going on, and even the most weak-willed officials aren’t going to be able to make these calls in the playoffs.”
“True,” said Michael, “but in the meantime, we’re regularly having to play shorthanded with our best defenseman in the box.”
“Use it,” said Ty.
Michael looked puzzled for a moment and then broke out into a grin. “Right. Rally around the persecuted captain. They’re out to get us. Us against the powers that be. Tubs gave us that great speech back when you were the captain, Ty, remember? I think it’s time for me to give one of my table-kicking rants.”
Ty clapped Michael on the shoulder. “Like the old days. Old-time hockey.”
“Anything new with the lawsuit?” Ty asked Adam.
“Not as far as I know,” said Adam. “But I can talk to Sinead O’Brien.” Adam was glad he remembered to say her full name.
“Do that,” said Ty. “I’ll also have the in-house guys check in with her, if they haven’t been already. I would hate for that bullshit to follow us into the playoffs.”
“It won’t,” said Michael.
“What, you’ve got a crystal ball?” Ty scoffed.
“I’ve just got a feeling.”
Ty snorted as he turned to Adam. “He gets these ‘feelings.’ Usually they’re wrong.” He turned back to Michael. “Ask your cousin Gemma, the
strega
. She’s got the sight, right? Maybe she knows something we don’t.”
strega
. She’s got the sight, right? Maybe she knows something we don’t.”
“Will do,” said Michael with a big yawn. “Time to get lathered up.” He clapped Adam on the back. “You okay?”
“Yup,” said Adam.
“Remember: we’ve got your back,” said Michael.
He knew that. He just hoped Michael’s intuition was right.
16
As promised, Michael
gave the team one of his table-kicking rants at the Blades’ next practice. The “us against them” strategy seemed just what was needed to get the players even more fired up. They were pissed about Adam being scapegoated, and pissed that the league was once again trying to prettify hockey’s image. “They’ve tried it before and have always failed,” Michael pointed out. “We’ve got to show them that no matter how many bullshit calls they make, we’re not going to be cowed into changing our style of play. We play old-time hockey.”
gave the team one of his table-kicking rants at the Blades’ next practice. The “us against them” strategy seemed just what was needed to get the players even more fired up. They were pissed about Adam being scapegoated, and pissed that the league was once again trying to prettify hockey’s image. “They’ve tried it before and have always failed,” Michael pointed out. “We’ve got to show them that no matter how many bullshit calls they make, we’re not going to be cowed into changing our style of play. We play old-time hockey.”
Today, Adam wondered if the team still stood behind him after they heard what he had to add. Three days before, there had been a small item in the
Sentinel
reporting that a few of the Blades’ most talented young bucks, most notably Esa Saari, had shown up at a recent fashion industry gala with a gaggle of models in tow. According to the article, they then went to a private party hosted by Bon Jovi, who’d played Met Gar that night. The party went well into the morning hours. Adam did the math: that was the morning a couple of players were pitiful in practice. Adam had suspected it was because they were out partying. Now he had proof.
Sentinel
reporting that a few of the Blades’ most talented young bucks, most notably Esa Saari, had shown up at a recent fashion industry gala with a gaggle of models in tow. According to the article, they then went to a private party hosted by Bon Jovi, who’d played Met Gar that night. The party went well into the morning hours. Adam did the math: that was the morning a couple of players were pitiful in practice. Adam had suspected it was because they were out partying. Now he had proof.
This had to be nipped in the bud. Now. Adam didn’t give a shit if they were single and living in the most exciting city in the world. This same problem dogged the team after it won the Cup in 2002, and the necessary repair work to restore the team’s reputation had been extensive.
Adam asked the coaches if they could leave the room now because he wanted to hold a players-only meeting. The coaches complied. Adam could tell from the players’ expressions that they knew something serious was up; Adam wasn’t known for expending precious energy and time on talking if he didn’t have to. He’d also never called a players-only meeting before.
The team stood around the locker room, watching, waiting. Adam, moving deliberately slow, walked to his locker and pulled out the
Sentinel
, tossing it onto the floor, right on top of the Blades crest in the middle of the rug.
Sentinel
, tossing it onto the floor, right on top of the Blades crest in the middle of the rug.
“Interesting piece in there about some of you boys,” he said contemptuously. He stared at the team’s latest superstar and self-proclaimed ladies’ man. “Enjoy Bon Jovi’s after party the other night, Saari?” Adam then turned his formidable stare on Ulf Torkelson. “How about you, Torkelson? Aren’t you a bit long in the tooth to be hanging out with the squirts?” He shifted his attention to the other partygoers. “Thomas, Furness, Heinzerling? Models, huh?”
Their gazes darted away.
Adam glared at them. “What the fuck do you little shits think you’re doing? We’re in the home stretch of the season, and you’re out fucking around! I don’t give a damn what you do in the off-season, but the rest of us are busting our asses to win the Cup. When you fuck up like this, you disrespect yourself. You disrespect your fans. You disrespect hockey. And you disrespect your teammates.
The players in question hung their heads in shame—except for Saari. “But we won the game that night. Yeah, we were off our game at practice,” he said, the faintest tinge of defiance to his voice. “But it was just practice.”
Adam slowly walked over to where Saari was standing and came to a halt just in front of him, an inch or two closer than would be natural. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?”
The tension in the room was now so thick you could choke on it.
“You seriously need me to explain this to you?” Adam continued.
“Yeah,” Saari answered a bit hesitantly but unwilling to back down and lose face.
Adam said nothing. He just looked Saari in the eye, without blinking, until Saari finally lowered his gaze, unable to take the staring contest. Adam continued to stare for what felt like an eternity. Then he turned his back on Saari and walked to the center of the rug, where he stood on top of the newspaper.
“This is a
team
. No one is exempt from busting his ass: not the older guys with families, not the cocky bastards who are the current flavors of the month. There are guys on this team who have to go above and beyond every day just to make sure they stay in the league. They know the only thing standing between them and a lifetime coaching a Mites team in a two-bit town in Manitoba or Newfoundland is their effort. There are guys whose parents woke up every morning before dawn to drive them to the rink and who did without so they could afford new equipment. Players whose parents gave up family vacations so they could drive to tournaments. There are guys who would give an eye to be able to skate the Cup. And you little shits have the balls to screw off.”
team
. No one is exempt from busting his ass: not the older guys with families, not the cocky bastards who are the current flavors of the month. There are guys on this team who have to go above and beyond every day just to make sure they stay in the league. They know the only thing standing between them and a lifetime coaching a Mites team in a two-bit town in Manitoba or Newfoundland is their effort. There are guys whose parents woke up every morning before dawn to drive them to the rink and who did without so they could afford new equipment. Players whose parents gave up family vacations so they could drive to tournaments. There are guys who would give an eye to be able to skate the Cup. And you little shits have the balls to screw off.”
Shamed silence reigned.
Adam shook his head in disbelief. “Don’t you have any pride—not only in what you yourself can achieve, but in what you can achieve as part of a team? What you do for a living is a privilege.”
He let his fury burst through, the same anger he experienced on the ice that made him so formidable. “Listen up, you pieces of shit,” he growled. “I’ve spent my whole life chasing the Cup, and if you think I’m going to let a pack of fucking losers rob me and everyone else in this locker room at a real shot at skating the Cup, then you are sadly mistaken.
“As of this minute, you either start treating the game with seriousness and respect, or I will personally break your scrawny necks, drag your dead carcasses onto the ice, and dump them at the blue line before the next home game.
“I forgot to mention: when you behave this way, you also disrespect me.” He stood again in front of Saari. “And no one disrespects me.”
With a final contemptuous look at Saari, he stepped back, looking around the room at large. “Any questions?”
The only sound was that of the players exhaling with relief.
“Good. See you at practice tomorrow.”
17
“Christ, I needed
this.”
this.”
Adam chugged down the Heineken Anthony handed him. The Blades had lost three games in a row. Saari and the rest of the young guys were punctual to practice, but Saari projected an air of boredom, even though he was practicing up to par. Adam decided he’d let it go for now. If he rode Saari continually, there could be a backlash. He wanted the players to respect him, not think he was a dick.
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