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Oscar loved the excitement and commotion of the hockey game. Lynn had brought ear protection so the buzzers and whistles and shouts of the crowd wouldn’t overwhelm him. She’d chosen seats down by the glass behind the Canyon Cats goal and he stared, wide-eyed and entranced, as the enormous young men crashed and banged right in front of him.
Now the game was over, he was fractious and cranky. She guessed he wouldn’t be the only one out of sorts. Benjamin had to be frustrated at yet another loss. She was by no means an expert on hockey, but even she had noticed missed opportunities and lazy mistakes.
The disgruntled fans had melted away and the stands were deserted except for the cleanup crew and a few members of the media up in the press box. Unfortunately, she couldn’t take her son home quite yet. The Adopt-a-Pet event had been a great success, but all the animals were returning to the shelter for the night to allow the SPCA time to arrange the adoptions formally over the next few days. She needed to stick around until they were all packed up.
She lugged an increasingly heavy and highly irritated Oscar to the area where the kennels and crates had been set up. He’d started walking a couple weeks ago and though he was still unsteady on his feet could make rapid progress when he wanted. Her choices were risk a fall onto the filthy concourse floor or dropping him as he struggled and squirmed in her arms.
Walking it is. She put him down and he made a beeline for the exterior wall. The window came almost to the floor and he smashed his hands against the glass, chattering at his reflection.
She kept one eye on her son and the other on the SPCA staff as they hauled crates and kennels outside to waiting vans. The larger dogs were led out on leashes, and one of these, still a puppy by its gangly legs and fish-on-a-line behavior, made a bolt for freedom, yanking out of the attendant’s hold. Lynn scooped Oscar up as the puppy raced by.
“Rascal. Come. Come, Rascal.” The red-headed leader followed the careening dog. She spoke firmly but calmly and walked slowly. Rascal, true to his name, barked with hysterical glee, his toenails clattering on the polished concrete floor.
If he’d stayed on the concourse they might have been able to corral him by coming at him from both sides. But he spied the wide stairs leading to ice level and flew down, ears flapping, tail windmilling. Lynn hustled in the wake of the SPCA staff, Oscar in her arms. She sucked in a breath, certain the puppy would lose its footing and take a terrible tumble. That particular disaster was averted, however, and by the time the humans reached the lower level, he was galumphing excitedly down the hall.
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LEVI GHOSTKEEPER’S accusing stare bore into Benjamin. The coaching staff had gathered in the hallway after the team had disappeared into the locker room.
“This has got to stop.” Levi’s disgust wasn’t a surprise. What did concern him was that the other staff, who had been supportive from the start of the season, couldn’t look him in the face. A revolt might be in the works, and if it was, he knew who was fomenting it. “If this doesn’t get you fired, I don’t know what will.”
Lynn had been certain Brewster’s plans to break his contract were a closely guarded secret, but that hadn’t stopped Benjamin from wondering who else might know. Levi’s mounting frustration at both the team’s losses and Brewster’s refusal to make any coaching changes appeared to confirm he, at least, had no knowledge of the owner’s ulterior motive. Benjamin doubted he was that good an actor.
If Lynn hadn’t broken her pact with her boss, he would be wondering the same thing as Levi. So in an odd way he owed Brewster a favour. Knowing he didn’t care about the losses—in fact, actively wanted them—meant Benjamin only worried about losing his job seventy-five percent of the time, instead of ninety-nine.
It didn’t make losing games—especially the way they’d lost today—any easier to take.
There was no answer he could make to Levi so ignored him. “I’ll handle this. See you all back here tomorrow.”
Levi shared a couple more pointed comments but, when he refused to engage, the assistant coach drifted off muttering darkly, followed by the other staff. Benjamin gave himself a couple minutes to gather his thoughts and control his temper before entering the dressing room. What he saw and heard there, however, lit his fuse again.
The players were in various stages of undress, equipment loosened or tossed to the side. Half the team were lazing about in convivial groups while ribald jokes and friendly curses blued the air. The other half were already on their phones checking god knows what. Valeri Nechayev was surrounded by several players, all laughing at something he was displaying on his screen. Not one gave any indication they were upset about the depths of their failure this afternoon.
Benjamin snapped. “Shut the fuck up!”
All talking stopped instantly. Only the tinny music coming from Nechayev’s phone broke the startled silence. Players stared at Benjamin. He had never raised his voice before, used profanity only rarely. That soft-shoe approach was obviously not working.
Nechayev leaned back negligently and crossed his ankle over his knee, skates still on though untied. Since joining the Canyon Cats, his actions on and off the ice had balanced on a knife-edge—not destructive enough to force Benjamin to make good on his threat to bench him, yet not productive enough to bring the team out of its doldrums.
He pointed at the phone. “Turn that off. Now. Or I’ll turn it off permanently.”
Nechayev hesitated just long enough to show defiance but not quite long enough for Benjamin to snatch the device from his hand and crush it under his heel as he longed to do.
He let his gaze sweep the room, meeting each player’s eyes. Many shied away, others held his stare while guilt flitted across their expressions. Only a few showed no emotion.
Intent on keeping the players off balance, he reverted to his usual mild tone, knowing they expected him to yell and shout. “It doesn’t surprise me to see how much energy you still have. Not after the little you expended on the ice this afternoon.” A couple players shifted restlessly and he waited for the motion to subside.
“I’m cancelling tomorrow’s mandatory practice.” That got everyone’s attention. Eyebrows raised on almost every face. “Instead, there will be an optional one. At five a.m.” He waited through the groans. “I said optional. If you don’t want to attend, fine. After all, you seem to think showing up for a game is a choice, so why not a practice, too?”
He spun around and pushed through the dressing room door. The safety hinges prevented him from slamming it shut as he’d like to.
Barking and whistles assaulted his ears. He turned to his left and saw a large, shaggy creature barrelling toward him, several blue-jacketed persons in pursuit.
His foul mood left absolutely no room for any more bullshit.
“Sit!” He held up his hand, palm facing the escapee.
Paws scrabbling for purchase, the dog slid to a stop at his feet, planted his butt on the floor, and gazed up with mischievous eyes. Benjamin grabbed his collar.
The SPCA staff, led by a red-headed woman, jogged toward them. “Thanks.” She clipped a leash to the puppy’s collar. “He was on his second lap.”
Lynn and Oscar hovered at the back of the scrum. She spoke over the heads of the crowd. “I think Rascal likes you.”
Her wide, amused grin softened his temper as a heavy weight pressed his knee. He looked down to see the motley-coloured, long-legged creature slide down his calf and onto his back, begging for a belly rub. Benjamin crouched down to oblige.
“You wouldn’t be interested in adopting him, would you?” the red-headed woman asked. “He’s one of the few we didn’t match up tonight, and he certainly seems to have connected with you.”
Benjamin shook his head. “I’d love to. But I live in an apartment and I’m on the road far too often. It wouldn’t be much of a life for the guy.” He found the right place and set Rascal’s rear leg vibrating.
“That’s too bad. All right, Rascal. Time to go home.” She tugged and the puppy bounced to his feet.
As the SPCA staff headed back to the stairs, Rascal looked over his shoulder with tragic eyes. Benjamin held firm. Maybe someday he’d have time for a dog. But today was not that day.
“Thanks for the rescue.” Lynn stood at his shoulder.
“No problem.” Oscar held out his arms and without even thinking about it, Benjamin accepted the invitation, taking the boy from Lynn and settling him on his hip.
“Seems you’re the hero for boys and puppies tonight.” Her smile held nothing but friendly pleasure. “Sorry about the game.”
“I don’t want to think about it.” He meant it, too. For a few hours he wanted to forget all about unmotivated players and conniving assistant coaches and Machiavellian owners. He heaved a sigh. “Not until tomorrow, anyway.”
“Why don’t you come for dinner?”
“Tonight?” Her offer sparked a yearning he had trouble swallowing down.
“Not if it’s inconvenient for you. But it looks like you could use a break. I have sausage and peppers in the slow cooker. There’s plenty.”
An evening with Lynn and Oscar or one in solitary splendor in his quiet apartment? It wasn’t a contest. “I have a couple things to do here. Can you give me an hour?”
“Of course. I’ll text you the address. It’s only a few minutes away.”