Page 24 of The Big Puck

“That a polite way of saying you’re glad you have another old guy to talk to?”

I give him a half-smile despite myself. His confidence in me and good nature is hard to ignore. Unlike Lainey’s good nature which seems to spring from an unfathomable internal well, I get where Rafe is coming from and why he’s a happy guy. Even at thirty-seven, the same age as I am, he was a top twenty scorer in the NHL last season and healthy as ever. Where he’s lost some speed, he’s gained in vision and laser-sharp passing that make him second in the league for assists.

I arch an eyebrow. “That’s a way of telling you I’m counting on you to run the team on the ice and break your personal record for assists this year to come out tops in the league. You have it in you?”

“If I didn’t think so, I wouldn’t be here.”

I nod and step aside as a couple of guys file past us to take the ice. I have my skates on today to get a close look and get hands-on with the younger guys, if I need to, to work on their quirks and weaknesses.

Rafe follows me onto the ice, and I wait for my coaching staff to catch up. I blow the whistle, and we gather at the bench, where I introduce the coaching staff and have the team do a roll call introducing themselves. Then I quiet the crowd of players and hold their attention for a beat of silence before I begin my speech.

“Forget everything about what your routines were before you got here, what your other teams’ routines were, because this is a new team in every sense of the word, and we’re going to behave like we’re reinventing the way the game is played.” My words are loud and strong and reverberate off the rafters and through my insides. I feel every bit of the now-or-never commitment, the emptying of everything I have on the table and taking every chance there is to take.

Then I hear a single person clapping and look over to see a man walk out onto the ice and head for us, holding onto the boards. Gavonza.

He holds up a hand to stop me like he knows I’m going to blow the whistle and dismiss the team. “Hold on, Coach. I came by to say hello to the team.”

“Men, this is Mr. Anthony Gavonza, owner of the Portsmouth Whalers and signer of our paychecks.” I keep my gaze on the man and my expression neutral as the guys chuckle and nod and take in the man. He’s gray at the temples and balding but polished and slick. He has a compact body, short, not coming up to my shoulder in his street shoes with me on my skates. I straighten taller as he approaches with no intentions of making him comfortable.

“It’s good to see you all here for our first year. I’ll do my best to fill the stands if you do your best to win a few games.”

“We’ll do better than that, Mr. Gavonza,” I say. “We’re in it to have a winning season, to win the division and go deep into the playoffs.”

He chuckles and pats my arm like he’s humoring me.

I blow the whistle. “Warm up for five.” The huddle of men breaks up as they skate away.

“Rafe, hold on,” Gavonza takes Rafe’s arm to hold him back. “It’s especially good to have you here. How do you like the arena?”

“It’s great. Time to warm up this old body.” Rafe’s smile looks strained.

“You can take a few minutes to talk to me.” Gavonza turns to me. “Right, Coach?”

Before I do more than glare at Gavonza, Rafe speaks up. “Sorry, Mr. Gavonza, but I’m here to play hockey, and though I appreciate that you’re paying my salary, I answer to Coach.”

Gavonza flashes a dirty look at me then says to Rafe, “He put you up to that.”

Rafe gives him an evil smile. “No one tells me how to think.” He doesn’t wait for Gavonza’s permission to leave and gives me a nod over the man’s head as he skates off.

Gavonza turns back to me, and if it’s possible to see someone’s temperature rise like a cartoon character turning red, that’s what I’m seeing. To the point that I might be concerned about the guy busting an artery.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Gavonza,” I whisper. “I answer to you. You can boss me around and tell me what to do to your heart’s content.” I say it with zero sincerity. But since the guy is made of more ego than good sense, he doesn’t seem to notice, and I skate to center ice.

Blowing the whistle, I gather everyone in, aware that Gavonza is drilling twin holes in my back with his eyes and doubly aware that I just insured that I will not only be Gavonza’s target but that he’s likely to double down on me for the duration.

My prediction is that he’ll go out of his way to make me look bad every step of the way so that, in the end, he has more than enough excuse to fire me no matter how well the team does.

My biggest concern is whether or not he’s the kind of guy who would break a contract.

Because even though it might cost him to break it, and I’d end up with a pile of cash, what I really want is a new life, a new sense of purpose and accomplishment.

Being able to take care of Krissy financially is the main thing, but it’s not the only reason I’m here. I want to be the head coach of the Portsmouth Whalers for a long time.

* * *

The team assembles in the main meeting room meant for watching films or reviewing plays on the whiteboard. Today, I’m doing my first official coach’s speech, a kind of orientation for the new team. My mini-speech earlier was an impromptu warm-up.

Now as I walk across the front of the room, my nerves kick in, but I don’t show it. I look out at the faces of the thirty guys under contract. Some of them won’t stay on the active roster, but hell, they’re all mine for right now to mold and drive as far as we can go.