Page 25 of The Big Puck

“Welcome to the Whalers. I’m your coach and master for the duration, but you can think of me as the engine driving this team as hard and far as possible down to the last second of every period of every game, all the way to the end of the season and into the playoffs.

“Because, yes, we will be playing in the playoffs.” My voice thunders with conviction and determination, and the room erupts with enthusiastic support. After they settle down, I take a few deep breaths and calm myself. My heart is beating fast, and I don’t remember the last time I felt this alive.

“First order of business, I’m naming Raphael Lemaire, more commonly known as Rafe the knife, as Captain of our team.”

The guys whistle and clap and chant for a speech.

I blow my whistle to get their attention. “I’m glad you approve, but he was the obvious choice—aside from the fact that he’s the old man of the team.”

He lifts his hand to give me the finger, and I grin, a real one. It stretches my mouth and feels good like I’m using muscles I haven’t used in a while.

Sabien calls out to me from the front row, “Coach, I thought the team was supposed to vote for captain?”

“Right.” I nod and stare at him for a few seconds while everyone goes pin-drop quiet. “Would you not vote for Raphael Lemaire for this team’s captain?”

He squirms, and I can feel his discomfort, but my intention is less to embarrass him and more to make sure I have his buy-in. He remains silent.

“I thought so. Sometimes, the choice is so obvious that a vote isn’t needed.”

All the guys grunt, and some slap Rafe on the back.

Sabien nods at him and mumbles. “I would have voted for you.”

Rafe laughs. “Sure, sonny. What’s your name?”

Everyone knows his name, but they give him a hard time coming up with all kinds of variations on Sabien Dumas. The youngster is from Quebec City, and I know Rafe is particularly aware of him and was looking forward to playing with him and bringing him along as his mentor, the new French Canadian wonder, as Hockey News dubbed him.

In the locker room after practice, Gavonza comes in, I presume to gladhand everyone. But he asks me to blow my whistle and get the guys’ attention.

“Get decent, men. I want you to meet someone special. She’s going to be helping me out with public relations shit—you know what I mean.”

Gavonza, who made his money in construction and developing the seacoast area in New Hampshire and southern Maine, is rougher around the edges than I thought he’d be. Though my research on him says his son handles the corporate side, he bought the team to “play with” while he turned the reins of the rest of the company over to his son. I also found out he has a couple of investors who own a twenty percent share each, and though they’re silent partners, I’m going to make it my business to find out who they are behind the corporate names.

Gavonza opens the locker room door and brings his daughter inside.

“Men, I want you to meet my daughter, Tina.” The look on her face is equal parts horrified and fascinated. Guys scramble because most of them didn’t take Gavonza too seriously about getting decent.

It’s awkward, so I move forward quickly to block ninety percent of her view of the room, and shake her hand, though it’s not my usual style to invade someone’s personal space like this.

“I’m Coach Spencer Logan.”

She snaps her attention to focus only on me, her eyes so wide her false eyelashes nearly reach her eyebrows. “I know who you are.” She inhales a breath and fans herself. “So much hotter in person than the photo in your file.”

My brows rise of their own volition, and I make a mental note to not give this young lady too much attention.

“Wait ‘til the girls at my sorority hear about this. I can’t wait to tell them.”

Backing up, I smile because she’s just a kid. “I’ll sign a couple of photos for you to give them if you want—from the whole team.”

“Of course, you will. She’s my daughter. She’ll have all the signed photos she wants,” Gavonza says.

Tina gives him a side-eye, then smiles at me, rolling her eyes in commiseration. We have a mutual antipathy for her father. I think I’ll get along with this girl.

“Jason, come on over and say hello to Tina,” Gavonza says.

Jason does what he’s asked, but I can see he’s not happy about it. At least he’s half-dressed, the important half. His shirt’s gone, but his hockey pants are still on.

“Hello, Tina.”