Thank you for reading! Just a warning: there is strong language in this chapter and probably throughout the rest of the story so if that offends you then don't read! Thanks!
Three Days Later…
"This is un-fucking-believable," growled Matt Hendricks as he stormed into the locker room, "First we lose to the goddamned Penguins and now this shit. Un-fucking-believable!"
Mike Green sneered in agreement as he sat down on one of the benches and ran his hands through his dark hair, "As if we needed any more issues," he grumbled.
"Who the hell told them?" asked John Carlson, the young rookie looked scared and confused, "I mean…I don't think any of us are doing that crap, but…who would have told them we are?"
"Guess we made an enemy," suggested Alex Semin in a thick, Russian accent.
"Who?" asked Carlson, "Who the hell would hate us this much?"
"Maybe the feds will tell us," said Carl Alzner.
"The feds?" asked Matt Bradley, whirling around in surprise, "Who said anything about feds? I thought this was an in-house issue?"
"No, dude," said Alzner, "They called the feds on us. They're sending an FBI agent over to start interrogating us."
"Aw shit!" hissed Tom Poti, "Talk about your bad PR."
"I swear if any of you are guilty of what they accused us of, I'll kill you," threatened Jason Chimera as he glared around the locker room.
"Oh please," scoffed Mathieu Perreault as he sat down next to Mike Green, "I don't think anyone here is that stupid."
"Well we're about to find out," said Alex Ovechkin as he walked into the locker room, "The fed is here. She's gonna start calling us in one by one."
"Great," grumbled Hendricks, irritably, "Can't wait to be strapped up in a chair with a bunch of probes and some damn machine determining whether or not I'm telling the truth."
"Well if you haven't done anything then you have nothing to worry about," snapped Ovechkin, his patience clearly waning, "Just answer the questions so we can all be done with this and move on, okay?"
Hendricks rolled his eyes but nodded in compliance as he slammed his locker door shut, "Alright…who's on the chopping block first?"
…
Brooks Laich lay in bed, his eyes shut tight against the morning light that filtered into his room. He was awake but the thought of opening his eyes and getting out of bed was nauseating. Opening his eyes and climbing out of bed meant accepting the reality of his life…the reality that the love of his life was dead…and that wasn't something he wanted to deal with. Deep down he knew he had to deal with it but everything inside him screamed to just keep sleeping. He didn't have to think when he was asleep…he didn't have to remember…
The shrill ringing of his phone jolted him from his thoughts and forced him to open his eyes. He groaned in complaint as he reached over and grabbed the receiver.
"Yeah?" he asked his voice deep and rough from the past few days of mourning his loss.
"Brooks? It's Coach."
"Oh…Coach, hi," said Brooks Laich as he sat up in bed and cleared his throat, "What's going on?"
"I'm sorry to bother you, know you're on some personal time, but we need you to come back in for a few minutes. There's…a situation at Kettler."
"A situation?" asked Brooks, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion, "What happened?"
"Can't say…we just need you here as soon as possible. It shouldn't take very long."
Brooks frowned at that, "Yeah, okay I'll be right over."
He hung up the phone and sighed as he forced himself to get up out of bed. The last thing he wanted to do right now was go to Kettler. As much as he loved his team and the sport he played, he didn't want to see the sympathetic looks from his friends. The sympathy forced him to constantly think about what had happened. It made him feel weak and vulnerable. He hated it.
"Suck it up, Brooks," he said as he studied the reflection in his bathroom mirror, "It's just for a few minutes…"
…
"You called Brooksy back?" exclaimed an outraged Mike Green, "The man needs space! He doesn't need to be called back here!"
"Mike, trust me I know, alright?" argued Coach Boudreau as he glanced around at his team in the locker room, "But the feds want to question everyone on the team, including Brooksy."
Mike sneered, "Oh yeah like Brooks would be the one to use steroids. This whole thing is stupid."
"May be, but we don't really have much say in the matter," argued Coach, "Might as well cooperate and send the feds home happy. We don't need the papers tomorrow morning to say that the Washington Capitals refused to comply with drug tests and interrogations."
Mike looked like he wanted to belabor the point but he refrained. Nicklas Backstrom gave his friend a sympathetic pat on the back.
"It's alright Mikey," he murmured quietly, "This shouldn't take long and we can get back to practice and Brooksy can get back to his personal time."
Mike sighed but nodded in consent. He was letting his temper get the best of him again. Now was not the time for angry outbursts. He needed to stay calm and collected so that he and his team could get through this process as fast as possible.
…
Brooks Laich sauntered into the locker room and was greeted by cheers from his teammates, hugs and pats on the back. He forced a smile and thanked his friends as he maneuvered over to where Mike, Nicklas and Alex Ovechkin were sitting.
"So what is this all about?" he asked as he sat down between Nicklas and Mike.
"Apparently some idiot reported that we were using drugs," grumbled Mike.
"What? Who?" asked Brooks, looking thoroughly confused.
"We don't know," answered Alex, "Someone we pissed off probably."
"Or someone looking to make a buck," sneered Backstrom in annoyance.
Brooks frowned, "Great…so what do we have to do? Be polygraphed or something?"
"Yep," grumbled Green, "It's so stupid…I hate feds."
Alex and Nicklas nodded in agreement as Coach Boudreau sauntered back into the locker room.
"Nicklas, you're up first," he announced.
"Shit," muttered Nicklas, "Wish me luck guys."
The team wished Nicklas luck as they watched him leave the room and head out to meet the federal government agent…
…
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