Delay of Game (The Baltimore Banners Book 6) Read Free

head, taking his time as he brought one foot then the other up to rest on the desk. The chair squeaked with each movement, the sound grating at the base of Justin's skull.
    "I had you on the front line the beginning of the season, playing you for twenty minutes or more each game." Sonny shifted in the chair, making it squeak again. "Now you're on the fourth line. Your ice time is pathetic, but not nearly as pathetic as your play. I'll ask you again. Is there anything going on you want to tell me about?"
    "I—" Justin's throat closed up and he snapped his mouth closed. What the hell was he supposed to say? He didn't know, had no idea how to even begin explaining what was going on, not when he barely understood himself.
    What was going on? Nothing, just him being a fuck-up, just like always. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced the accusing voice to the back of his mind. Then he looked down at his lap, at the skin pulled tight across his knuckles, pale and clammy. His leg was shaking, the sole of his shoe making soft thumping noises against the carpet.
    Justin unclenched his hands and placed the palms flat against each knee, forcing his leg to remain still. Then he cleared his throat and looked back at Coach, his eyes focusing on a spot just behind the man's left shoulder.
    "Just some personal stuff, Coach. Nothing I can't handle."
    "Is that a fact?"
    "Yes sir."
    "Hm." Sonny watched him for several minutes, long minutes that stretched Justin's already worn nerves. Then the man sighed and dropped both feet back to the ground, each one hitting with a loud thump that echoed in the room. He leaned forward and pushed some papers around the desk, then stopped suddenly and fixed Justin with another steady look.
    "Playoffs are in four weeks and I need everyone at the top of their game if we want to win that Cup again. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't send you back to the minors right now."
    The bottom of Justin's stomach dropped open, filling him with icy paralysis. Everything around him faded, disappearing into a gray mist that threatened to suffocate him. The only thing he could see was Sonny's face, those emotionless steel gray eyes fixed on him. Hard, pointed, seeing everything, seeing too much.
    Think, Tome, think. Sonny asked him for a reason. Why the hell was he just sitting here, not saying a fucking word? Everything he had worked for, everything he had ever wanted, was seconds away from being destroyed, tossed to the side like garbage.
    His old man was right. He was a fuck-up.
    Justin opened his mouth to speak, with no idea what he could say. But it was too late. Sonny waved him off with a sharp movement of one hand and a loud exhalation of breath.
    And an expression of disappointment that cut deep into Justin's chest.
    "You're a scratch tonight. 'Personal reasons'. Go home, think about why I shouldn't break every rule and pull every string I can to send you down. I don't want to see you until practice tomorrow. And I'm telling you right now, I catch just one whiff of alcohol, even mouthwash, on your breath—tomorrow or the next day or even next month—and you'll be packing your bags and moving north. Is that understood?"
    "Yes sir."
    "Go, get out of here. And think about what I said."
    "Yes sir." Justin flew from the chair, nearly knocking it over in his haste to leave, wanting nothing more than to escape before Sonny changed his mind.
    A scratch. He was a fucking scratch tonight. Anger bubbled just below the surface of his chest and he pushed it away. There was no reason for him to be angry, not when he knew it could have been so much worse.
    It could still get so much worse.
    The door closed behind him with a loud click, the sound bouncing off the painted concrete walls. Justin stopped in front of the large logo painted just outside Coach's office. A large eagle, its wings outstretched, its center colored red, white, and blue. Two crossed hockey sticks framed the ferocious bird, the bottoms clutched in its