Delay of Game

by Tracey Richardson

  Lynn’s face slackened. “That’s it?”

  Dan’s lip curled up condescendingly. “Oh no, that’s just the start for you. You’re fired with cause, of course, and suspended from working with Hockey Canada and any of its programs and players anywhere in the world for the next ten years. You’ll also forfeit the last three months’ pay. And that, believe it or not, I consider getting off lightly. It’s only because our organization doesn’t want the embarrassment of this ending up in the courts that you’re not being charged criminally. Megan will have more papers for you to sign. You can expect a lengthy suspension from the International Ice Hockey Federation, I’m sure, if not a lifetime ban. As well…” His jaw clenched and unclenched. “I want you away from here, out of the city as a matter of fact, before this press conference in two hours. You are to have no further contact with any of our players or staff from here on.”

  Lynn nodded, her face red and her eyes puffy as she stared into her lap. Niki knew she shouldn’t, but she felt sorry for her old friend. Greed, fear and ego had put her where she was today, had ruined a good piece of her future. She knew with certainty she’d never have done what Lynn did, but that didn’t mean it was up to her to be the judge, jury and the executioner. She held her hand out across the table to offer a handshake. She had more to think about right now than how Lynn had fucked over both her and the team.

  Lynn looked up in surprise, nodded once at her and shook her hand. She scribbled her signature on the papers like she couldn’t wait to get away, then rushed out the door without a look back. Niki knew she’d never see her again.

  Dan leaned back in his chair and sighed as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. “What a fucking nightmare,” he mumbled. He stared, unblinking, at Niki. “I regret what’s happened, Niki, but now’s not the time to have a debriefing on it. We’ve got a gold medal game to play tomorrow.”

  A flutter came to life in Niki’s stomach. So much had been happening that she hadn’t had a chance to turn her mind to tomorrow’s game. And yet making it to the final was the sole reason she came onboard to coach this team in the first place. It was the reason she’d sacrificed time away from her daughter, from her job at the university. It was the reason why Eva was on crutches and would, no doubt, never play competitive hockey again. That medal, she knew with razor-sharp awareness, still meant everything. Still meant all the sacrifices had a chance of being worth it. She wanted it.

  “What do you want me to do?” she said.

  “I want you,” Dan said as calmly and as matter-of-factly as if he were talking about the weather, “to coach this team to a gold medal. I’ll join you on the bench to be your assistant. It’s your baby.” His gaze turned apologetic for the briefest moment. “As it should have been all along. Now. Let’s get to work.”

  * * *

  Eva’s good leg tapped an erratic beat on the floor, but it was her stomach that was doing cartwheels. Hockey USA’s president and vice president of operations had moments before explained that Alison was on a plane back home and that the team, badly in disarray, needed strong leadership heading into the final game.

  “And that leader is going to be you,” said Jim Betts, the VP of operations. He was all but pointing a finger at Eva. “You’re now Team USA’s head coach.”

  “Me? But I’m not a coach.” The shock of Betts’s decision quickly morphed into disbelief. She’d expected that out of courtesy and because she was still technically the team’s captain and, more to the point, because she’d played a role in uncovering Alison’s unscrupulous and heinous actions, she’d be kept apprised of what was happening, maybe even be put on the game roster for ceremonial reasons. But to be named head coach? What did she know about coaching? She searched her mind, drawing only blanks, then searched for a way to wiggle out of it.

  “Look,” she said with a polite smile. “I’ll do anything you ask. I’ll assist on the bench. I’ll be the team’s number one cheerleader. But I can’t be head coach of this team.”

  “You can.” The organization’s president, Bob Smithson, sat back in his chair with a lazy grin that was in stark contrast to the tension in the room. “And you will.”

  “I’m a complete novice at this. Worse than a novice. And this is the biggest game on the planet. I can’t—”

  Betts leaned forward, looked her in the eye and gentled his voice. “In all the years I’ve known you, Eva Caruso, I’ve never once heard you say ‘I can’t.’ I want you to think about that for a moment.”

  It was the wake-up call she needed because it was true. “I can’t” was not part of her vocabulary, had never been part of who she was. She’d played the game so hobbled at times that she could barely walk, had urged her teammates on in games she knew were nearly impossible to win, had many times skated through five defenders to score a crucial goal. Of course she could do this if she wanted it badly enough. “You’re sure about this?”

  “We’re sure,” Smithson said. “You’re the logical choice. The only choice.”

  “What about Amanda Fox?” Amanda had been Alison’s assistant coach for the last couple of years.

  “Amanda’s gone too. We need a clean slate. There was no indication of any impropriety on Amanda’s part, but many people will assume she was part of it, and we can’t have a cloud of suspicion over this team.”

  “You see,” Betts weighed in, “you’re the only one who comes out of this looking honest, clean. You saw wrongs and tried to right them. That’s something fans, the team, the whole country can get behind. You alone can turn what’s very much a bad news story into a good news story for us.”

  Eva understood their point, although it didn’t escape her that they were using her as the quickest and most dramatic way to show the hockey world that Alison and Dani were aberrations, bad apples that had been excised from the team, and that in her hands, the good ship USA was back on course again.

  Slowly, Eva said, “I very much have reservations.” Which was the understatement of the year. “But you’re right. We have to try to make things right, to show the world that we want to make things right. But mostly why I’ll agree to do this is because of my teammates. They deserve a real chance out there. And they deserve to prove that they’re honest and hardworking. Now,” she added, “what about my assistant?”

  “We have a few candidates in mind,” Smithson said. “Do you have any suggestions?”

  Eva didn’t need to think about it. She wanted the one person associated with the team that she could trust absolutely. “I want Kathleen Benson.”

  “B-but she’s an athletic therapist,” Betts said. “You need an experienced coach at your side, someone—”

  “No,” Eva said flatly. “Benson is my price.”

  Smithson sighed as though granting her a huge favor. “All right, all right. Whatever makes you comfortable. And it goes without saying that when this is over, we’d very much like to consider moving you full time into the national coaching ranks. Maybe start at the under-18 level.”

  Eva stood up, reaching for her crutches. She didn’t need to think twice about her answer. “Thank you for your confidence. But after this is over, I’m retiring in all capacities from the national program.” Hockey as a job, as a way of life, was over for her.

  Both men looked at her with raised eyebrows. But hell, could they blame her? After everything that had happened? She smiled to herself. After all this, I deserve a month-long vacation on a hot beach with a cold drink in my hand. With Niki at my side.

  Slowly Eva began hobbling away. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” she said over her shoulder, “but I’ve got a big game to prepare for.”

  With the door closed behind her, Eva sagged against her crutches. What the hell was she going to do now? More to the point, how the hell was she going to coach her team to a gold medal? The worse thing about it was that the one person she wanted advice and support from, the one person she needed to lean on, was the person she would be going head-to-head with for the game’s biggest prize
. Oh, Niki, she thought with quiet desperation. I need you more than ever right now. And I can’t even talk to you about it.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Hat Trick

  As the two captains skated to center ice for the ceremonial puck drop, Niki glanced at Eva on the opposite bench. She was standing as straight and as poised as she could, given her injury. She leaned slightly on one crutch, her dark wavy hair cascading behind her, her navy blue sport coat and slacks pressed to military perfection. A crisp white collared shirt and a red scarf at her throat completed her wardrobe. Nice touch wearing the country’s colors, Niki thought with a prideful scratch in her throat that threatened to erupt into a sob if she didn’t keep control.

  It had come like lightning out of a blue sky when Kathleen texted her late yesterday afternoon to say Eva was about to be announced as Alison’s replacement. She apologized on behalf of Eva, explained that team policy prohibited the two from communicating until after the gold medal game and that she’d discreetly send someone around to collect Eva’s things from her hotel room. Seeing Eva now, on the world’s biggest stage, with twenty thousand people in the stands and millions more at home watching the game on television, was almost more than Niki could handle.

  She squared her shoulders and tried to force her attention to the task that lay ahead. She was confident Eva would handle herself and her team just fine. Nobody knew the game, or her team, better than Eva. And nobody understood pressure—and succeeded under that pressure—better than Eva did. But it didn’t mean Niki wasn’t nervous for her lover, because in spite of Eva’s calm and authoritative demeanor, she was undoubtedly quaking in her hand-tooled leather boots. Niki smiled. She was proud of Eva, though there wasn’t a chance she would take it easy on her. And anyway, Eva wouldn’t want her taking it easy on her. Today it was war, and they’d both been around the game long enough to understand that the gloves were off. Exactly as it should be.

  As the players lined up for the center ice faceoff, Niki looked one last time at Eva and was rewarded with a confident wink. Niki responded with the thinnest of smiles. She wanted Eva to know that she was in for a dogfight. Bring it, a slight lift to Eva’s chin said.

  “Okay, ladies,” Niki said to her charges on the bench. “This is the game we’ve been working toward since last summer. There’s no tomorrow. There’s only now. Let’s do this!”

  Her heart beat wildly in her chest as the Americans won the faceoff, sent the puck back to their defense to regroup, then raced to spread out. It was clear they would use their speed to force Canada to play man-on-man coverage and then try to slip behind that coverage. Which wasn’t unexpected. Niki’s players were good at covering their man.

  “Make sure you close down the passing lanes,” she yelled down the bench. “Don’t let them pass. They want to skate, let them skate. Just make sure they’ve got nobody to pass it to.” If the Americans broke out of their coverage and skated with the puck, Canada would simply close down the zone. It was nothing they’d hadn’t worked on and perfected during countless hours of practice. But if the Americans broke from their coverage and got their passes through, Canada was in tough. “Stick to the plan, ladies. Stick to the plan!”

  An American forward’s pass was intercepted by one of Niki’s wily veterans, who broke away with the puck on the end of her stick. A speedier defender caught up to her before it became a true breakaway, but the Canadian managed to get a shot off. The rebound skittered to the corner as the crowd emitted a collective groan. It’s okay, Niki thought. We’ll get more chances. She gave a reassuring pat on the shoulders to the players in front of her, before casting her eyes up at the boisterous crowd. It was a sea of red and white jerseys. And flags. And pompoms and hand-painted posters urging Canada on. There was nothing like playing in front of a home crowd. The energy was contagious. It was that kind of lift to the team’s spirits that made the players’ legs feel light as feathers and their lungs strong as iron. The crowd, Niki knew from experience, was like a seventh player on the ice.

  Another shot from Canada that missed only by inches. The crowd banged on the glass, demanded a goal. Niki drew in an exultant breath. Somewhere in that clamorous crowd was Rory, in her Team Canada jersey that had dutifully been signed by all the players. She’d been so excited this morning, barely able to eat any breakfast and wanting her aunt to make sure they were at the game two hours early. It was at the breakfast table that Niki caught a glimpse of blue and white beneath Rory’s jersey.

  “What have you got under there, honey?” She’d demanded with a raised eyebrow, already having a pretty good idea what it was.

  “Nothing,” Rory answered sheepishly. “Just a T-shirt.”

  Niki could always tell when her daughter was fibbing or being coy. She reached over and tugged Rory’s jersey up, biting back a smile at the USA Hockey T-shirt. “What are you doing wearing this?” she said in the most reprimanding voice she could muster. Which wasn’t much.

  Rory’s face colored. “Nothing, Mom. It’s just a shirt.”

  Niki shook her head before wielding a grin at her daughter. “I’ll let it go this once, sport, because I know you want to support Eva. But after this, we’re back to our number one rule.”

  “I know, I know,” Rory mumbled. “No wearing the enemy’s colors on game days.”

  Niki’s attention was drawn back to the game as Canada chased down a puck in the offensive corner. Her player scooped it on her stick and with a no-look pass dumped it out to the high slot, where a teammate was cutting across. With a quick flick of the player’s wrist, the puck was in the back of the American net. As the crowd erupted, Niki let out her breath in a whoosh. Getting on the board first was her main priority. It would allow her team to set the tone, to put the Americans in the unenviable position of chasing the game.

  “Well done, women, well done!” she shouted to her players, who were still high-fiving in front of the bench. “They’ll be out for blood now, so let’s keep shutting them down!”

  * * *

  Eva didn’t dare let her disappointment and fear show as she entered the locker room minutes before the second period was to start. She knew what it meant to be chasing the game. Knew too what it meant when the opposing goalie saw every shot and stopped every puck as though it were a beach ball and not a small rubber disc. Her stomach had dropped to her shoes when the Canadian goalie stretched to the far post at the very last second to kick away a shot that was about to sneak in. Ditto when she reacted with lightning speed to get a pad on a puck that had ricocheted off a skate and was headed for the back of the net. The American bench was left wondering what other magic the goalie had up her sleeve. And how the hell they were ever going to score on her. On one power play alone, Eva’s team had peppered the Canadian net with eight shots, none of which went in.

  The locker room was as quiet as a church nave. Heads were bowed, shoulders were slumped. Maybe they were praying, because everything about their body language told Eva they’d given up already.

  “Okay, women, listen up.” Eva drew herself up to her full height, tilting slightly on her toes with the assistance of a single crutch under her armpit. “It’s only been one period. And we’re only down a goal. If you’ve already lost this game in your mind and in your heart, then there’s no sense in going back out there. You might as well hit the showers now. Is that what you all want? You all want to give up?”

  Two players looked up at her in challenge. Another set of eyes, then another and another, rose to meet her gaze as well. The players were looking for leadership. Looking for someone—some thing—to get them going again. And Eva would have to be it.

  “We didn’t work this hard,” she said, looking at each player in turn, “come this far, or go through all the shit we’ve gone through the last couple of weeks to give up now. Have we?”

  “No,” a few players chimed in.

  “Good. And there’s something I want you all to remember. And not just for this game, but always, no matter what happens to you
in your life.” She cast her eyes around the room, waiting until she had everyone’s attention. “When you’ve been disappointed, when you’ve screwed up, when you’ve fallen short or when unfair shit happens to you, you have two choices. You can either wallow in it and stay in that miserable place full of regret and self-pity, or you can move on and do something. You can’t change the past, but you can move forward. You can start again. You can make your own future.”

  She thought for a moment about her own failings and missed opportunities, both on the ice and in her personal life. She’d spent her fair share of time wallowing in regret and self-pity. And many times in denial. In the end, it had gotten her nowhere. If anything, those times had set her back, stalled her journey, made her miss opportunities. She’d been lucky to get a do-over with Niki. Damned lucky. But it was a rare thing, something that could never be anticipated or counted on. She should have taken her future with Niki by the balls twelve years ago instead of waiting on the fickleness of fate. She’d never make that mistake again, and she didn’t want her players making a mistake like that either.

  “You have a choice,” she continued. “Right here. Right now. So what’s it going to be? Are you going to take control of events or are you going to let events control you?”

  The players sat up straighter, their resolve hardening before Eva’s eyes.

  “Not going to quit,” said one.

  “We’re gonna go out there and win,” shouted another, to the eruption of cheers.

  Eva nodded. She didn’t have the experience or the skills of a great coach, but she knew herself and this game really, really well. And that would have to be enough.

  “All right, good,” she said. “But desire alone is not enough to win. You need a plan. So let’s figure out how we’re going to beat this team.” She limped to the large erase board that was shaped and marked up like an ice rink. She picked up a dry erase marker and began scratching out a new breakout strategy.