In which Herb's last cut finds he wanted so much more than just a spot on the Olympic Team...and he won't be getting either.
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Ralph Cox didn't think it was possible for his heart to literally break. But here he is, sitting on some random street, in the cold and rain, thunder rolling over his head, holding the remains of a shattered bottle that represents his heart.
He lost much more than he bargained for earlier today. And he's grateful for the rain on which he can blame his tears. Coxy doesn't cry. Not usually...but today was anything but a usual day.
It started off that way. He got up, bantered with the boys, went to practice, bantered with the boys, took a shower, bantered with the boys. He was halfway through putting on a sweatshirt, and bantering with the boys, when the words from Coach Patrick cut through the air and landed on his ears.
Herb wants to see you.
He'd dreaded hearing that sentence. He wishes he could have said he knew in his heart he wouldn't, but he always had a niggling feeling he would. That he wasn't quite up to par. Yet, still, the words were a distant fear. Always in front of him, but rounding the corner ahead of him, just out of sight. But here and now, it seems they were waiting to mug him around the bend. He can only sit, frozen, heart growing heavy to accompany his muscles. An indescribable pain in his chest, tearing through him.
Herb wants to see you.
The way the words came out of Craig's mouth, he knew. He could hear the anguish behind his tone the older man tried desperately to hold captive. He could hear how he strained against himself not to say something else. The hurried sounds of his shoes accompanying his swift exit to keep himself from slipping something else up.
Coxy didn't blame him and he still doesn't. There's not a lot to say after that.
Herb wants to see you.
Eyes glued to the ground, as if he doesn't want to see the relief pass over his friend's faces, Coxy stares. There's emotions welling up in him he can't quite place and that he isn't going to let out right now. Not in front of his teammates. So as Rizzo looks at him, pain evident behind eyes that have lost their signature sparkle, he gives a small smile.
He doesn't feel it in his bones, but he knows it. It's gonna be okay. And Rizzo, who always felt the emotions of others so wholly, could only look away. Coxy wanted to say something. Looking at Jack, whose gaze went behind his Boston teammate and conveyed such sadness, the knife was twisted. He wanted to crack some sort of joke, even if he didn't feel it. He wanted to take that knife and cut the tension with it, but when he opened his mouth no words came forth.
Herb wants to see you.
He somehow told his arms to pull his sweatshirt over his head. He somehow got himself up to finish packing. This time adding all his belongings to his bag. Finding little spots to fill it to the brim with what he'd usually leave at the rink. He claims now he doesn't remember anything, but perhaps that's because he was thinking about so many things at once he wasn't really thinking about anything at all.
