Page 107 of What We Knew Then
“Wait. No ticket. Were you drinking?” Troy asks, stepping closer to me.
“No, I wasn’t. Just driving Cora home.” Saying her name is like pouring lemon juice on an open wound.
I think that’s when it clocks for everyone.Cora.
“So, what’s the problem?” Troy continues to be the only one to speak, besides me. He looks at Coach and then back to me.
I take a deep breath and try to make it make sense for them. “I shouldn’t have been in a car with an open bottle. That’s the problem.”
A few guys glance at Coach, like maybe he’ll explain more.
“You swear you weren’t drinking?” Noah asks.
This time, Leo jumps in. “No. He wasn’t. I was there. I didn’t leave with them, but I didn’t see him take a drink the entire time.”
Coach’s eyes are like lasers and I don’t know if this makes this worse or better. He stretches his neck and crosses his arms against his chest.
“So, you’re just done for two weeks? That’s five games.” The guys start to think about what this means for the team.
I nod.
“Coach, this doesn’t make sense.” This time it’s Matty. Our pretty quiet and level headed goalie.
A part of me hurts deeper when I watch the guys try to understand. How do I have people who are trying to stick up for me? Or show up at least. When I cleaned out my locker in Ohio, there was barely any push back. A few claps on the back and handshakes, but mostly they moved on, like I wasn’t a key part of the team.
Maybe they were right.
But here? I’ve made my mark. Even if everyone doesn’t like me, I’ve clearly moved the needle in the right direction.
Coach takes a deep breath and addresses the team. “This is my decision. I expect you all to be good men when you’re not at this rink.”
That fucking hurts.
“Laneisa good person. Sounds like he was taking care of your daughter,” Matty says and I can’t believe it.
The room turns to our goalie and everyone is afraid to move, including me.
“Watch it. Or you can join him,” Coach snaps.
Matty quietly follows with, “Sorry, Coach.”
“Now, if you want to show me what you’re made of without Lane—we have some work to do.” Coach claps his hands, ending the meeting and walking out to the ice.
The players start to file out, some of them telling me they’re sorry or offering a sad smile.
Troy stands in front of me. He looks at me the way captains do when they’re trying to figure out if you’re about to fall apart or if you’re still solid enough to stand on your own.
“Two weeks?” he asks quietly.
I nod. “Yeah.”
He exhales through his nose and glances toward the door where the rest of the team has disappeared onto the ice. The sound of skates cutting across the rink filters faintly through the walls.
“Hell of a time for that,” he mutters.
“I know.”
We both know exactly what two weeks means this time of year. He shifts his weight, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s deciding whether to leave it alone or not.
