Chapter Text
Chimney sat down with a thud next to Eddie.
“So what was that?”
Eddie wiped his nose and flinched when he saw crusty red across the back of his hand. Somehow between the fight, the other fight, and the game ending, Eddie had forgotten he had been gushing blood for a second there.
“You heard 87, Chim,” Eddie reached for a clean towel from the stack between them. “I’m not gonna let anyone skate past me saying shit like that unscathed.”
Chim tilted his head forward at Eddie, sweaty tendrils of black hair falling over themselves. Eddie had to give it to Chim, the goalie really was the sweatiest at the end of a game.
“Yeah, I wasn’t talking about that. I was talking about the shouting match?” Chimney etched a square in the air with his fingers. “With the fan in the stands?”
Eddie dabbed at his face, blood continuing to come away in varying shades of red.
“Oh…that.”
“You gonna…talk about it with me?” Chimney’s eyes darted around the locker room.
Eddie hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to talk to Chim. In fact, out of everyone on the team, Eddie had felt most comfortable opening up to the longtime goalie.
It’s just that whatever Eddie told Chim…Chim ended up telling, well, everyone.
Not intentionally, but they had only been able to throw a surprise party for Ravi two weeks ago because it had also been a surprise for Chimney.
Eddie flipped the dry washcloth and went back to dabbing his nose before saying, “To be fair, he started it.”
And to be fair, Eddie had taken the bait.
Chim handed Eddie another washcloth, this time soaked with water.
He had been so caught up in the adrenaline of the game, the rush of anger at fucking 87, that when this sly voice came up behind him in the penalty box, poking and prodding, he’d lost his cool.
“I mean the guy on the rink was a grade-a butthole, but like, from what you’re saying this was a fan who was just chirping you a bit. Nothing we haven’t heard.” Chimney shrugged.
Eddie twisted his mouth and continued to dab away at the dried blood. He could see the fan’s face in his mind, over and over again.
All sharp edges and rough words, but for some reason, Eddie kept focusing on the guy’s soft sandy curls and cool blue eyes.
“Alright, team!” Bobby’s voice thundered throughout the locker room. Everyone’s heads went up and Eddie felt his spine naturally snap straight. He winced at the crack he immediately felt. That hit from 87 might have more lasting impacts than he had thought.
“This is the first win of the season-“
The team erupted, hands clapping backs and feet pounding the floor.
“-and since I’ve been twice as hard on all of you for the past few weeks…”
The cheers died as fast as they had risen.
“…I’ve decided that tomorrow morning we’ll debrief and I’m cutting y’all loose for the rest of today.”
Eddie joined in the cheers, watching two of the defensive players rush at Bobby, intent on picking him up.
In the showers, everyone had small half panels that separated each stall. Eddie walked over to the number 11 shower, his LA Lights branded flip flops smacking against the wet floor, one hand barely holding the towel around his waist.
There were a handful of players left in the showers, chattering, most finishing up as fast as possible to get out of the stadium and back to the bright sunshine of an LA Saturday.
Eddie turned the silver knob to ice cold and let the shock of the water take over. An early out was great. It meant he could surprise Chris at home and give Carla the rest of the day off. For the first time in his life as a father, he was grateful his kid was sick at home. It meant that he had probably been sleeping off his cold instead of watching his dad get into two fights in one game.
What could he have done differently this time?
This was the question that the white tiled walls prompted after every game. How could you be better, Diaz? Faster, smarter, better than before? What could have made you a real winner?
Eddie’s hands automatically reached for the body wash on his little shelf, “EDMUNDO 11” scrawled over the bottle in black sharpie.
Instead of the usual gameplay running through his mind on repeat, he just kept thinking about those blue eyes and sandy hair. The sharp scent of pine hit his nose as he scrubbed at his body roughly, his skin tingling all over.
What did the owner call him? Chuck? Brock? He looked like a Brock. Nah, that couldn’t be right. Who could ever find a Brock attractive? Woah. Attractive? It wasn’t as if he liked the guy. He was good looking, no denying that, and Eddie always did appreciate someone who wasn’t afraid of a little push and pull. But the guy wasn’t even wearing an LA Lights jersey. Who is that invested in a game and doesn’t even show up to rep their team? Was he rooting for the Canadians? Could he like a Canadian?
“Diaz!”
Eddie’s head snapped up and out of his own thoughts. Coach Nash was standing at the doorway, facing him but looking politely at the ceiling. Eddie fought back a wince at the pain in his spine.
“Before you leave, stop by my office. I want to check in with you.”
With that, Coach walked back into the locker room. Eddie glanced around and found himself alone, water pooling at his feet.
—
“You’re not in trouble, by the way. I just wanted to talk about your penalty during the game.”
Despite the gentle reminder, Eddie found himself reverting to a teenager, shoulders bunched up, not really looking at his coach. Just like he used to do in high school, when he really got a reputation for rink fights. When he did look up, Coach Nash was sitting in an almost serene state, back straight and arms relaxed at his desk.
He nodded at the seats in front of him as if granting permission. Eddie slunk into one of the hard oak chairs, trying to not be so childish about being called to the principal’s office.
“You know, I’m aware it’s only the first few games of the season, but even during practice I don’t think I’ve ever seen you lose your cool like today.” Coach tapped his desk where the plays from today lay printed and scribbled on.
“87 wanted to get a rise out of me and sunk to using a slur,” Eddie shrugged.
Coach pursed his lips and nodded.
“Well, I can flag that behavior for their coach.”
Eddie shook his head. He had heard worse on the ice in college. Probably the worst when he was a kid.
“Nah. Not this time. I just needed to send a message. You’ll know if anyone tries it again, because you’ll see me in the penalty box.”
A small smile cracked the coach’s firm exterior.
“Normally I tell my players to avoid getting into fights in the third period, but for this…” Coach motioned loosely towards the rink on his left, the only thing left on the ice being the zamboni driving in lazy circles. He brought his attention back to Eddie.
“I am flagging this for their coach, but I’ll keep you out of it.”
Eddie twisted his mouth and nodded. His coach didn’t say anything next, just watched him carefully, as if deciding whether he should bring up something else. Eddie returned his gaze, hands gripping the armrests of his chair.
“So…can I go now? I gotta get home to my kid.”
“Oh, you can go, but I don’t want you to think I didn’t see the little shouting match you got into while you were in the box.”
That blush crept up real quick on Eddie.
“That was…that was just-”
“I know you don’t know Buckley, but don’t let his prodding get to you. He’s one of us.”
“Buckley?” Eddie’s brows furrowed.
Brock Buckley? Oh. Buck. Short for Buckley. Not Brock. Buck. Buck, he could live with. But, Buckley…
Eddie looked up at Coach.
“Buckley, like the athletic trainer Buckley?”
Coach nodded.
“Yep, that’s his sister.”
“Huh.”
Maddie was his sister. So he had to be an LA Lights fan. Maddie was nice. How’d her brother end up like that?
Eddie then remembered he was still sitting in the coach’s office.
“So, I can go now?”
Coach sighed and lifted his chin at the door. With that, Eddie gripped the armrests of the chair and swung himself up.
“Oh and speaking of Maddie-”
Eddie turned back to the coach, halfway to the door already.
“Better have her check that back of yours before you go home to Chris.”
Eddie smiled as he walked away.