“Hot damn! Self-love, here we come.”
Chapter Seventeen
“A player’s image is just as important as his skill when it comes to filling a leadership role on a team,” said Vivian Price, the Atlanta Siege’s Director of Public Relations.
Callan shifted in the uncomfortable office chair he was sitting in, feeling rather like he was sitting in the principal’s office. He guessed it was the air of disapproval he had sensed from Vivian the moment he first met her. She gave him the impression of someone who felt she had something to prove—which, considering she was a woman in a male-dominated industry, she did—and she had no time or patience for anyone on the team she felt wasn’t putting in the same level of effort she did.
He couldn’t say he blamed her, but he had made this appointment to try to change that, hadn’t he? Didn’t that count for anything?
He supposed not much, anyway. Even now, she studied him with her serious gray eyes as though taking his measure…and finding him lacking.
“I’m sure you’re aware, Mr. Murphy—” Vivian called every player very primly by their formal last name, “—that the only press I’ve handled regarding you since you joined the team has involved social media sightings of you with your latest hookup or out partying with some manner of alcoholic beverage in your hand.”
She even talked primly, he mentally grumbled, and that was coming from a rich Boston prep school graduate.
“That’s what he’s good at,” chimed in a voice from the other side of the shared office space.
A rush of heat crept along Callan’s neck when he recognized the voice.
Fucking Knox.
Callan’s former Boston College teammate was currently using the community desk shared by the assistant coaches behind a flimsy cubicle wall not even twenty feet away. Vivian had explained to Callan when he arrived that the offices were in the process of being rearranged because they had been set up in a rush before the previous season due to missed construction deadlines on the arena. He hadn’t cared at the time, but he hadn’t realized Knox was sitting on the other side of the wall listening to everything they said.
Vivian’s gaze narrowed as she zeroed in on the cubicle wall. “That’s quite enough, Coach Donaghy. It’s challenging enough to get my work done with you over there hammering at your keyboard and shouting into your phone like you’re going through a wind tunnel. I don’t need your snide commentary on top of it.”
Knox muttered something under his breath and didn’t reply. Callan smiled at Vivian, suddenly feeling more charitable towards her.
“Now then,” she said, reaching for a pair of blue framed glasses and slipping them on, “seeing as you asked to discuss this topic with me, I’ve pulled a couple of other player files as examples of what we’re most looking for in terms of player involvement.”
She lifted a file from the top of the sizeable pile. It was several inches thick. He read the name Eric Schmidt on the label. Schmiddy, as he was called, was the team’s first line left winger. A league veteran, he was known for getting involved in the communities of any team he played for and had earned numerous NHL Foundation Player Awards. He was also an exceptional player all around.
Just seeing his folder made Callan feel smaller and less substantial.
But that’s what you’re here to change, he reminded himself.
Vivian went through a few examples of player involvement from the files she had pulled, detailing the expectations that would be placed on him if he chose one involvement opportunity over another. When she was done, she closed the folder on top and removed her glasses.
“As you can see,” she said, “I have many positive involvement opportunities you can choose if you’re genuinely interested. But you need to know, Mr. Murphy, that I will expect a full commitment from you if we start down this path. The organizations we partner with rely on consistency and dedication on our part.”
The word “commitment” caused an automatic gut check. He had been drilled with the word commitment throughout his childhood. Any time hockey was discussed, his parents talked about how vital it was that he remain committed to the sport. Commitment had become the equivalent to a curse word in his vocabulary, which played a large part in why he was so cavalier with every other aspect of his life.
Or he had been, anyway. It was time to retrain himself.
For G-Man.
A loud snort of laughter issued from over the cubicle wall. Once again, Vivian sent a narrow-eyed stare that way.
“Something funny, Coach Donaghy?”
Callan really wished she hadn’t asked.
“Hell, yeah,” Knox said, standing up from behind the wall. “It’s fucking hilarious that you think Callan ‘Hit It and Quit It’ Murphy is going to commit to anything related to this team for any real length of time. I give him a month, tops, once we hit the preseason. I figure by then he’ll be bounced to the minors. But, hey, you can spend all the time with the chicks down there that you want, Murph.”
Callan slowly pushed himself to his feet and turned to face Knox. The assistant coach’s eyes burned with challenge. Grizzly’s warning to “play nice” with him ran through Callan’s mind, temporarily holding back his heated response.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Vivian said, surging to her feet and rushing over to put herself between them.
Her effort was almost laughable. She was nearly a foot shorter than Callan in her sensible flats and probably weighed no more than a buck-twenty. But her outraged expression had Knox’s sneer sliding from his face.
“How dare you disrespect one of our players like this?” she demanded. “Do you have any idea what Coach Belanger would do if he heard you?”
Knox lost a shade of color. His eyes flickered briefly to Callan, who gave him a toothy smile over Vivian’s head. That brought the color back to Knox’s face in a swift rush.
“Now let me do my damn job and keep your thoughts and opinions to yourself,” she finished.
After Knox muttered a curse and dropped back down behind the wall, she turned to face Callan. “Sorry about that. Look, let’s go for a walk. I need some air.”
“Sure.”
They left the office and walked through a series of hallways connecting all the administrative offices until they reached a gap. She turned into the gap, leading him to a small break area overlooking the stadium far below. The area was empty, giving them privacy. She moved all the way over to the safety wall, prompting him to follow her.
“I don’t know what Coach Donaghy has against you, Murph,” she said, slipping from her usual formality, “but you should watch your back. I’m not going to speak out of turn, but you’re a smart guy. I’m sure you can reason where most of the pushing has come from to consider replacing you.”
He frowned. “Yeah.”
“That said, we’ve been frank with you about what we need to see this coming season. Coming to me today, well, it’s a step in the right direction.”
“I hope so. I have high expectations for myself this season.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “And I’d like to offer you some unsolicited advice.”