“You don’t give a fuck about the Forge,” Beau snickered. His distain enveloped the rest of the team. “None of us give a rat’s ass about this team. These jerseys don’t mean shit. This arena is a giant tax-write off for the asshole who built it. And this city sure as hell doesn’t know we exist.”
“So? We can build something here.”
Beau sighed, acting as though the momentary contrition was some grand blessing. “Look, I get it, Adrian. It’s good advice…for guys like you.”
“What the hell’s that mean?”
“Everyone knows that you got hurt. Just like everyone knows it wasn’t only your decision to leave the Marauders. They wanted to get rid of you in case you couldn’t recover. So now you’re doing your part to make sure everyone sees that you’re back to normal. Motivational speeches. Workouts. Interviews. But I don’t have anything to prove.” Beau escaped the locker room with a grin. “The most important part of me is still functioning.”
Fuck. I wasn’t about to defend my manhood to the little prick.
I let the kid go. At least the rest of practice would be smoother without him.
…And the three players who followed him.
Christ. No one had warned me about the problems of a new expansion team. Then again, this sort of bullshit was unprecedented. Every other franchise in the league managed their players and silenced the unrest before it had time to fester.
We hadn’t even reached pre-season, and already the team had a dire cancer that needed to be exorcised.
The Forge had drafted me to lead.
And it was about time I did my job.
Head Coach Taylor Harland had gone gray early—though most of the guys joked that he’d squirted out of his mom that way. He was as severe as he was disciplined, rumored to have kicked men out of his locker room for speaking out of turn between game periods or daring to crack a joke after a loss.
He’d lost what little patience he once possessed and filled the void with arrogance and an ill-temper. That made him the worst pick to coach our rag-tag crew of misfit troublemakers.
Now I understood why he’d been hired.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t alone in his office. Coach Harland entertained the owner of the Forge, John Blanche.
John was man with eyes as green as his money and a body shaped like the sack holding all his filthy cash. He greeted me with all the enthusiasm missing from the locker room.
“There he is!” John shook my hand. “Man of the hour. We were just talking about you, Adrian.”
Wasn’t sure I liked that.
Or that my conversation with Coach Harland would be shadowed by a jackal whose grin was as slick as the ice.
“I wanted to speak with Coach Harland,” I said. “I’ll come back later.”
“Nonsense.” John waved me to the chair opposite Coach Harland’s desk—a spartan chunk of metal contorted into an artificial and cold shape. “I’m not fixing to be one of those team owners who sits way up in their private box, sipping champagne and merely watching the games.”
Ah. Like a good owner.
John sat next to me and slapped my knee with a laugh. “I plan to be right there with Coach Harland, staying involved every step of the way.”
Meddling, he meant.
I recognized it now. Was never a good sign when the owner took control of a team. Decisions were made based on profit-and-loss statements and market shares instead of gut instinct and knowledge of the game. John Blanche had never picked up a hockey stick in his life, but something told me he knew just where to jam it if anyone questioned his methods.
“What is it, Alaric?” Coach Harland rapped arthritic fingers against his desk. No matter how gnarled, they weren’t as bad as the rumored arthritis in his ankles—the reason he never wore skates while we practiced. “Problem?”
“Got a couple.”
“Be quick.”
I picked my words like I disarmed a bomb.
Yellow wire—problems with the rookie.
Blue wire—the conflict between Leo and Felix.
Red wire—the lack of participation in these workouts.
Snipping the wrong one could blow the coach…or my career.
“Problems this soon?” John waved away my concern with a bejeweled hand. Rings on three of his fingers, Rolex on his wrist. Man had the money to buy three hockey teams. “It’s too early to worry about that.”
“The team’s got morale issues,” I said. “Even worse…I think most of the world knows about them already. We’ve got player fights and an image crisis, and we haven’t even blown the first whistle at training camp.”
Coach Harland’s lips pressed into a thin line.
And John simply hooted, dismissing the thoughts as he slipped a flask from his jacket pocket and offered me a drink. Coach and I declined. He shrugged and took a shot for both of us.
“You know why I wanted you on this team, Adrian?” John asked.
“Because my face looks good hanging on the banners outside the arena?”
“We call that a perk in my industry.” John’s laugh carried out of the office. Wasn’t sure I liked it. “I wanted you on this team because I know you’ve got a big set of balls on you.”
Fantastic. “Glad they’ve met your approval.”
“You’ve got a sack on you, boy. Must be made from goddamned steel to take a hit like that.”
“Yeah, it’s a real problem getting through metal detectors.”
“That’s what we need for the Forge. Someone serious. Someone who wants to do what’s right and will put his body on the line to do it.”
I’d learned that lesson the hard way. “I’m thinking I should let the goalie block the shots himself.”
“You’d never risk losing a game like that.” John pointed to the coach. “Tell him, Harland.”
He nodded. “It’s why we drafted you, Alaric. We needed a man who’d put the team first.”
Yeah. And they got one.
But only one.
“Not sure the rest of the team will appreciate the sacrifice,” I said.
“Hardly your concern, is it?” John leaned back in his chair and smiled only to himself. “You know your job. Get on the ice. Work your magic. Charm the media. That’s all we ask of you.”
“But what are you asking of them?”
Coach Harland said nothing, but John seemed more than comfortable addresses the issues I hadn’t raised.
“It’s a growing year.” John shrugged and offered an empty gesture. “And these things take time. Especially since we’ve drafted men of a certain…caliber.”
“Thugs, addicts, and assholes?”
He cackled with laughter. “I told you I liked him, Harland. He cuts right through the thick of it, doesn’t he?”
“Probably shouldn’t.” Coach Harland gave me a warning I chose to ignore. “Team meeting’s started. The men expect their captain to be in attendance.”
“Those men expect nothing except a paycheck.” I stood, but I wasn’t going anywhere. “You want me to be a leader. But I don’t know what I’m leading or why. This isn’t a roster. It’s a circus, and you’re expecting me to tame the lion with what? A flash of my balls?”