Mistletoe Face Off (Chicago Blizzard Hockey #1)

Chapter 17Harrison

Chapter Seventeen

Harrison

As a player in the NHL I'm used to people looking at me. Be it on the ice or off, people seem to find me pretty dang fascinating. They want selfies, autographs, or simply to tell me their opinion on the way I played in the last game.

But today is different.

As I arrive at the arena, everyone from the security guards to my team mates are looking at me like I'm some kind of freak, all of them gawking at me as though I’m an alien from another planet.

Eventually, in the locker room during the build-up to the game, I snap. “Why the heck are you all staring at me? I'm still the same guy who played alongside you in the last game,” I say with my arms outstretched at my sides. “What that journalist wrote about me isn’t the truth. I’m no cheat.”

“Yeah, but you are a poncy figure skater in disguise,” Lorcan spits, and to my shock, several of my team mates snigger.

“So what if he was a figure skater. Anyone could work that out when he pranced around on the ice as Santa,” Chase says, in my corner.

Which I appreciate, even if he did refer to my figure skating moves as “prancing.”

“Were you doped up then, too, Clarke?” Dion asks, winning a snigger from Lorcan. About the only time those two get on is when they’re getting at someone else.

“I bet he was. Anything to get that huge belly off the ice,” Lorcan sneers.

I narrow my eyes at him. “You're a total comedian, you know that?”

“Yeah, Lorcan, you should go on the stage,” Casey says.

“As the cleaner after the show,” Chase adds and the two of them high five.

“Don't let them get to you,” Fletcher says beside me as he hands me my jersey.

I lift my chin. “Thanks, man.”

“Want me to deal to Lorcan and Celine out on the ice tonight?” Hunter offers, and despite the fact it may give me satisfaction to see Hunter pin both Lorcan and Dion up against the plexiglass in an uncompromising way, I know that's not the answer—particularly when we're all on the same team.

But it doesn't stop me picturing it.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” I say.

“Settle down, you lot,” Coach Newton says, walking into the room. He turns his attention to me. “Harrison. A word?”

I suck in a breath, trying to steady the nerves that suddenly kick right up. This is it, the moment when I need to defend myself to the people that matter—not the Lorcans or the Dions of this world, but to management.

I throw on my jersey and make my way into Coach’s office, where I find both Coach Newton and Abby Sinclair.

“Hey, Harrison,” she says with a grim smile.

Coach sits behind his desk and offers me a seat beside Abby.

I jump in first because, let's face it, I know why I'm here. “Before you say anything, I want you to know that it is true that I was involved in this, but I did not take any performance enhancing drugs, and that’s the honest truth.”

Coach throws Abby a look.

“The problem we've got on our hands right now, Harrison, is that rightly or wrongly, your name has been tarnished, and with it the team,” Abby begins.

“But it's not true,” I protest, sounding like a whining kid, even to my own ears.

“Why don't you give us your version of events,” Coach suggests.

“Okay. I was working with Garth Gluckman and we were at the regional champs when he suggested the only way I could beat out the competition was if I took drugs. He had a supply. I took the bottle from him and went home to talk to my mom about it. I didn't take a single pill. You have my word on that.”

“What happened next?” Abby asks.

“My mom went to see Garth and told him that I wouldn't be taking anything. I wasn't there, but she told me that it didn't go down well with him and the next thing we knew, he fabricated a story about me in the media. He said I was the one who was taking the drugs and he tried to stop me. After that, my fledgling career as a figure skater was over. Dead in the water. No one was going to trust me again, not when the great Garth Gluckman was going around telling everyone I was a cheat.”

By now I'm worked up, the desperation I felt at the time filling my chest. “It was then my mom told me we needed to leave Oregon. We moved here to the city and we started a life here. I changed my name to my mom’s maiden name.”

“And that's when you started playing hockey?” Abby asks.

“Yeah. I thought the story was dead and gone, that it was an unfortunate incident that happened in my past. I was only sixteen. I couldn't deal with all of that. If it wasn't for my mom taking decisive action? Well, I don't know what would have happened.”

“That's quite a story,” Coach says, studying me from behind his desk, his fingers steepled. “Do you swear it's the truth?”

“Of course I do, Coach. One hundred percent.”

He nods, his lips pulled into a stern line. “I know you as a man of your word, so I accept what you tell me as the truth.”

Relief rolls over me. “Thanks, Coach. That means a lot.”

“Whether this story in the press is true or not, the problem we've got is perception,” Abby says. “I met with management earlier today and they’ve recommended you don't play tonight.”

“What?” I snap. “But this has nothing to do with hockey.”

“As I said, Harrison, it's all about perception. Have you seen social media since the story dropped?” she asks, and I shake my head. After leaving the rink, Holly, Macy and I headed back to her apartment, where I lay low.

“I didn't want to.”

“Let’s just say they're not exactly saying complimentary things. We need to do what's right for the team as a whole,” she says.

“But I want to be out there, doing my part for the team,” I grind out, fear gripping my chest.

“I know you do, Harrison. But we need to let this storm die down before we let you out there again,” Coach says.

I blink at him, open mouthed. “You're dropping me from the team?”

He leans his elbows on his desk. “It's only temporary, until this thing blows over.”

I look from him to Abby and back again. “What about the captaincy?” I ask carefully.

The two of them share a look and my heart plummets to the floor.

“It's like that, is it?” I say through gritted teeth.

“Give it time. Take a break and let's talk about this some more in a couple days,” Coach replies.

“In a couple days? But there's a game tonight and tomorrow, and then we're due to head to D.C.” I protest with my heart hammering against my ribs.

This cannot be happening.

In the blink of an eye I've gone from feeling at the top of my game, the captaincy within my grasp, falling for the most incredible woman I've known in my life, to this. Dropped, no longer in contention for the captaincy. Told to stay away so I don't harm the other guys.

“That's just the way it's got to be right now,” Coach replies and I know I've lost the battle.

“I've given this team everything I've got. All I ask in return is that you let me play my part.”

“You can, just not now. Let it blow over. This will be tomorrow's news before too long and people will be on to the next thing. Go home. Take some time. We'll be in touch soon enough,” Coach says, signaling the end of our conversation.

With a heavy heart I leave Coach’s office and head back to the locker room, now empty but for Dan.

“What have you got to say to me?” I ask, not bothering to keep the bitterness from my tone.

Dan places his hand on my shoulder. “I know this is tough, and I want you to know I don't believe you're capable of what they're saying about you right now. You're a good man, on and off the ice.”

My throat is tight and hot. “Thanks,” I say quietly.

He gives my shoulder a squeeze before he strides out of the room to join the rest of the team in tonight's game, leaving me alone with my thoughts, defeated, and utterly hollow, as useless as a broken stick on center ice.