Lorra Laven

TWENTY - FOUR -- AMBUSHED 

While Lisa sipped champagne and nibbled on a decadent chocolate torte, Danny endured another harrowing confrontation with Coach Kevin Burke. Per tradition, the coach had called the team together to give players an opportunity to skate together a final time before turning in their equipment and cleaning out their lockers. Since the captains had coached the scrimmage, allotting equal ice time to every player, bench‑warmers like Danny were exhilarated by the time they hobbled on their skates to the locker room.

Burke wandered among the players, patting sweaty heads and shaking seniors’ hands. "You guys did a great job this season. I don’t want you to be discouraged. I’m just sorry the seniors had to end their high school careers during a rebuilding year." 

"As for the rest of you, I want you to focus on your skating and on getting in shape during the off‑season. Now get this place cleaned up and get your asses out of here. Mackenzie, you’re on cleanup," he said before gliding out of the locker room.

Many of the boys, especially the seniors, hung around joking and throwing tape balls at one another. Since they were cleaning out a six‑month’s accumulation of trash, the locker room resembled the aftermath of a gypsy encampment by the time the last straggler left Danny to his chores.

Alone, Danny was initially spooked in the echoing, dismal space with security lights and exit signs as his only means of illumination. Maintenance, believing the locker room to be empty, had turned off the lights at an electrical panel that was kept locked to thwart pranksters. Danny hustled to gather up the mess, pitching it -- Michael Jordan style -- into the trash before hurrying to the rear of the locker room to check the showers. He almost passed out when Burke stepped out of the shadows directly into his path.

Struggling to conceal his fear, Danny prattled nervously.  "So Coach, you think we’ll have a good season next year? I mean we probably should, since we’ll have twelve seniors and both goalies are comin’ back." He kept pace with Burke as the man steadily advanced on him. "I think most of the guys are playing a lot of hockey this summer and lifting weights and . . ."

Burke’s snarl cut short the babble. "Shut your mouth you little fucker. You don’t know anything about my team and you’re lying your ass off by pretending you care." He backed Danny against a locker and leaned menacingly into his face, placing his hands against the locker on either side of Danny's head.

Danny’s eyes were enormous as he looked into Burke’s. With the coach so close, he could see angry slashes of violet coloring the man’s cheeks.

Burke continued seething. "I’ve heard what you’ve been saying about me behind my back. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?"

Despite his terror, Danny mentally combed the roster for the name of Burke’s current spy. Everyone knew he recruited kids to eavesdrop on conversations and report on what players had done over the weekend. Danny believed he was up to date on the latest informant, but apparently a new weasel had been embedded without his knowledge.

"Yeah, Trip says you’ve been telling everyone I don’t know how to coach and that I’m a faggot. Is that what you’ve been saying behind my back?"

Burke leaned into Danny's face, his breath caressing Danny’s cheek. Narrowing his eyes, Danny met Burke’s gaze with open defiance, never flinching.

Burke grabbed a handful of Danny’s hair and yanked his head back painfully. "I asked you a question, asswipe, and I expect an answer."

 "Take your filthy hands off me, faggot!" Danny bellowed, gripping Burke’s wrist and wrenching his hair free. He ducked under Burke’s arm and crouched, defensively, a few feet away.

Burke recoiled, shock registering on his face.

Bolstered by the coach’s reaction, Danny lowered his head and fisted his hands, looking at Burke through hooded eyes.

Burke assumed a penitential tone, creeping forward at an almost‑imperceptible pace. "Danny, I’m sorry I grabbed your hair. It’s just that it really hurts me and it hurts the team when you talk behind my back."

"Stop right there mother fucker or I will kill you," Danny said.

Burke obeyed, holding up his hands placatingly, speaking in a sing‑song voice. "We can be friends again. I’m going to need you on defense next year and we can have a great year if you can just get past your anger."

Knowing it was all bullshit, Danny called his bluff. "All I want to know is why I haven’t been playing for the last two years. What’d I do?"

"You know what you did," Burke said in a buttery voice.

"No I don’t!"

"You do know. You just have to think about it."

The exit signs reflecting from the blackness of Burke’s dilated pupils, reminded Danny of the perpetual flames, presumably, burning in hell.

Burke started Danny again. "We can still fix this."