A Prey Among Predators

The following morning, most of the Brave are dressing up for practice. Their conversing and fluttering of gear fills the room, as usual. Clayton, in his sweatpants and jacket, marches into view and halts at the opening. He swipes his clipboard hanging on the wall by his spot, picks up the pen attached, and stares down at it.

“Chychrun!”

Jakub looks up from slipping on his suspenders. “Here!”

“Clague!”

Kale swings his head out from doing his skates. “Hi, Coach!”

“Hart!”

Silence meets him.

Clayton, narrowed eyes, lifts his head up ahead.

Staring back at him is Carter’s empty spot next to Brett from across the room. He looks down and scribbles on his clipboard. Then:

“Howden!”

Brett is taping up his stick with a smirk. “You already know I’m here.”

“Hague!”

Nic is slipping on his socks. “Hello!”

“Jones!”

Max halts his cracker eating abruptly. “Here, Coach…!”

“Jost!”

Tyson looks at Clayton from tying his skates. “Yup!”

“Kel…!” His voice fades and he grumbles, “Ugh, I gotta remember that’s myself—” He writes quickly then proceeds:

“Laine!”

Patrik rises from next to him, his eyes glued on him. Clayton turns to him, only to shoot him a bewildered look. He turns back to his clipboard as his teammate sinks back onto his bench.

“Middleton!”

Keaton halts from taping his socks. “‘Sup, Coach!”

“Oettinger!”

Jake pokes up from strapping his leg pads. “Woof!”

“Patrick!”

Silence answers him back.

Clayton flicks his sharp eyes. His eyebrows are furrowed.

The emptiness of Nolen’s spot burns at him. All alone on the bench, Brett helplessly shrugs.

Straightening up, Clayton’s ears slick back with a growing expression of disapproval. He then throws his clipboard and pen against the foam flooring and storms out of the room.

Everyone gawks at their coach’s actions.

“Uh—” Brett jumps up to his skates’ blades, only wearing his full lower body equipment, and strides after his friend.

Gripping onto the top of his hockey pants to keep them from slipping, Brett comes after him through the dim winding pathway of the hallway. “Kelly! Kellllllly!”

He emerges into the bright main room where the ice rink is located, keeping his focus on his friend’s back and swishing tail. “Hey, Kelly! Kelly, Kelly—”

Clayton makes a left turn to go up the stairs. Brett hops after him and turns right to catch the closing door to his office. Brett pushes the door open and lumbers in just as Clayton settles behind his desk.

“Kelly, hey!”

Clayton puts on his glasses and begins typing on his computer.

Brett sits on the edge of his desk and lets go of his pants. “Okay, I know you’re upset because you’re two players short—”

Clayton whirls to him and throws his hands against the desk. “AND WE NEED THEM!” He whips his glasses off and slightly stands up. “HOW can we lose two players when we have a critical series game tomorrow?!”

Brett scoffs. “We didn’t LOSE them—”

“So why hasn’t that bear shown up in the past two days?!” He hunches over his desk, his palms plastered against the desk’s surface. “And where’s our new bunny recruitee?”

Brett tilts his head to aside as he states, “Harty’s in jail; Pat’s at home.”

Clayton stays still, gaping at his desk. “WHAT?” He lifts his eyes at him. “He’s in JAIL?”

Brett nods with pressed lips. “Yup. Got arrested yesterday.”

Clayton throws himself into a straightened posture, leaving his glasses on his desk. “FOR WHAT?”

“Violent assault. I witnessed it and so did Pat.”

“Oh great!” He spins around to face the window behind his desk and throws his hands in the air; his tail sways toward his left in agitation. “Now the POLICE is on our tails!”

“It’s not as bad as it seems; Hartsy’ll get out—”

Clayton whirls around, austere. “—and that rabbit?”

Brett gazes at him with a calm demeanor. “He’s at home.”

“Why? He’s supposed to be—” Clayton guides his pointer finger to the desk’s surface. “—here.”

“Uh…” Brett darts his eyes around. “I actually don’t know why.” He lands them back on him.

Clayton straightens up, simmering with his fists by his sides. “Did you try to get him out?”

“Yup.” He presses his lips. “He won’t budge.”

“Are you sure you tried hard enough?”

“As humane as possible.”

Clayton has his ears back as his frustration melts into skepticism. “I guess I’ll get him out myself.” He then rounds the desk and breezes past Brett.

“Tell the cat he gets to lead practice today!” he calls out to the alternate captain as he crosses his office.

Brett twists his body to follow him with his eyes. “But what about me—?”

Clayton halts while holding the door open and stares at him. “What about you; you’re coming with me.” He then slips out.

With a sigh, Brett slips down onto his skates, holds onto his pants again, and clumps out of the office.

Notes