Page 94 of Bro Code

The GM’s fingers were bone white, tented so hard against each other they looked like they might snap. He worked his jaw, then leaned forward in his chair, pointing at Holly down the table. “I could fire you for this.”

Holly folded her arms. “And explain to the CEO that you had no idea what your Data Science team was doing all season? Anyway, I’ve been with this team fifteen years. Good luck replacing that institutional knowledge.”

Louis thought he saw a vein in the GM’s head twitch, and quickly put his eyes on the table. The guy looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. The lawyer cleared his throat and closed the manila folder he had on the table in front of him. He folded his hands on top of it and turned to the GM.

“What do you want to do?”

Five minutes later, Louis and Holly stepped out into the corridor and Louis actually had to put a hand on the wall to keep his knees from buckling. He caught Holly by the arm as she swept by. “Holly – I…thank you. I don’t know how to thank you.”

She whipped around, furious, and hissed, “What was I going to do – admit that I had no fucking idea what was going on in my own department? Just be glad your little side project worked and you actually figured out what was wrong with him. Because if you hadn’t, we would’ve had no leg to stand on in there.”

She drew a long breath through her nose, closed her eyes, blew it out, and looked at him.

“But…the GM has been all the way up my ass about Webb all season, and if you hadn’t figured it out, frankly, I could’ve lost my job. It could’ve been a fucking disaster. I was misreading the data, and that’s on me. So.” She held out her hand. “Thank you. And I’m sorry.”

Stunned, Louis took her hand. “Can I buy you a drink or something?”

“Let’s just make sure Webb keeps improving. We’re not out of the woods yet. I need you to work with Myers and whoever Riley decides to go to for psychiatric counseling. Keep watching his metrics, keep building the dashboards you’ve been building. I’m putting Webb’s profile under your jurisdiction. You want to be an analyst? Great: he’s your problem now.”

Smiling, Louis let go of her hand. “I think I can live with that.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

Riley

He pulled into the parking lot outside the Canadiens practice arena at the end of the day on Friday with a whole two-day weekend ahead of him.

The light was slanting through the trees in that crisp early-December way that made everything look fresh and ethereal, and a happy, nervous feeling sat lightly in his chest.

After practice that morning, he’d gone to sign the paperwork for his new place – a sprawling house on the slope of Mount Royal, surrounded by tree-lined streets, manicured parks, and boutique shopping strips. It wasn’t a trendy historic spot like Louis lived in – but it was more his speed.

His phone lit up as he pulled into a parking space: Rick Gallagher’s name on the lock screen. Pursing his lips, he shut off the engine and swiped it open, steeling himself. He had a feeling he knew what this was.

“Hey Rick. What’s up?”

“Rye. Hey.” A long pause. “So listen, I got a call from Liam Harris a couple days ago, says you’re unhappy with the way I’ve been handling things, and I just want to say–”

“Yeah, you know, it’s fine,” said Riley, quickly. “Liam explained things, and I get it. I’m not–”

“No, just listen, Rye,” said Rick. “I just want to say that I’m sorry. You’re absolutely right: I put too much on my plate, and I didn’t give you the attention you needed. That New York trade should never have happened, and I’m sorry for the way I handled that. I’m going to be doing a lot better for you moving forward.”

Riley nodded, gazing across the parking lot. “Okay. Thanks, Rick, I appreciate that.”

“I mean that. I don’t want you to think this is just empty promises. You and Harris and Arsenault are my most important clients. You guys are top priority. So if there’s anything else you’re unhappy with, just let me know.” Another pause. “You do have to…let me know, though. You know?”

“Yeah.” Riley nodded, looking down at the keys in his lap. “I’ll do that.”

“And listen: I know you felt bad about the lawsuit thing. You wanted to sue the Rangers, and honestly, I felt bad talking you out of it. It was a tough call. But I really think you did the right thing not trying to take that on.”

“Uh huh.” Riley nodded again, fiddling with the keys.

“But here’s the thing I wanted to talk to you about,” said Rick. “New York was too big for us to take on, okay, but this Okafor guy? That guy, we can handle. I know you’ve been back and forth about whether you want to press charges and get into all that, but I wanted to let you know that if you do, I will be one-hundred-percent behind you. It won’t be like trying to take on New York – you have a much clearer case. I can make calls, I’ll get you the best team. We can absolutely beat that guy. If you want to.”

Riley lowered the phone and blew out a long breath. He sat for a moment with his eyes closed, trying to picture what would happen if he did that, what the rest of the season would look like. It was scary.

But when he allowed that fear to sink all the way through him, something else came in right behind it: Determination. Riley took a deep breath and allowed that feeling to sit inside him too.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t afraid. He just wasn’t going to let fear dictate his decisions anymore. He lifted the phone.