“Then what are you looking for?” I ask tentatively.
“A new goalie coach.” Her eyes bore into mine, and there’s no apology now. “While Dominik would not give me any information on your current medical status, I’ve read a news summary of your condition. I have no clue whether you can return to play, but I wanted to offer you an alternative.”
“An alternative?”
“As the goalie coach for our team,” she adds, because I can see she’s unsure if I understand the offer.
“I’m not a coach,” I say, the denial of my potential immediate.
“You’re not a player either,” she replies coolly, and I wince. That was harsh, but accurate.
“Why me?” I ask, needing to know if I’m a charity case, needing to know if she’s making stabs in the dark, maybe not even truly caring about this team.
“Actually, my brother Adam had his eye on you.” The mention of his name causes a tiny sound to warble in her throat. She looks down at her hands until she regains her composure. When she looks back up, her eyes are watery but determined. “He was going to reach out to you to see if you wanted an assistant goalie coach position. Our current coach—I mean, our coach who was on the plane—was going to retire at the end of next season. Adam was considering bringing you on as an assistant to groom you to take over next season.”
“Oh.” My gaze cuts left to look out of the owner’s box. We’re too far back from the railing to view the entire arena floor, but I can see it’s mostly emptied out.
“I know this is a lot to process, especially after losing your friend. My goal is to rebuild the team as quickly as possible, and I’m going to need an answer soon. I have a written offer for you—”
“Rebuild?” I exclaim, interrupting what sounded like a very rehearsed speech. “How in the hell can you rebuild an entire team?”
I’m angry at the notion that they could be replaced so easily.
Or rather, that Wes could be replaced so easily.
“We’ve called up most from the minors,” she says flatly. “Others out of retirement.”
“The plane crashed a week ago,” I snap. “Maybe give people time to adjust.”
Her eyes flash with fury. “My brother died on that plane, and while I envy the luxury of taking your grief at a measured pace, I not only have a brother to mourn but I have an organization to run. I have hundreds of people relying on jobs, and this company has bills to pay. I have to get a team on the ice, or this entire organization will be dead forever.”
That effectively puts me in my place. The reminder that she lost a sibling did it, and I can’t even begin to imagine the pressures of running a professional hockey team.
Not to mention I should be flattered, if I weren’t so discombobulated that they wanted me to be an assistant coach long before the plane went down.
“I’m sorry.” My regretful tone is genuine. “It’s been hard. When do you need an answer?”
“Yesterday,” she says, her smile mirthless and without warmth. “I know this is a lot to consider—”
“I need a few days,” I tell her. “I have to talk this over with my doctors and therapists. With Dominik.”
“To see if you have a chance of playing again,” she murmurs knowingly.
“I already know I have a chance.” There’s no bitterness in my voice that the chance is one in a billion. “I just need some real talk about how realistic it is, and I have to weigh it against this opportunity.”
“Fair enough.” She looks over at her assistant lurking near the door. “If you’ll give Michael your contact information, including your email, we’ll send the formal offer immediately for you to review.”
Should make for some good reading on the plane.
Not that I’d really consider this. It’s ludicrous to think I could be a coach. It would be foolish to give up my dreams of returning to play, no matter that those dreams are probably just as ridiculous as this offer. Moreover, if I took this position, I’d have to leave the people who supported me the most and all my amazing doctors and therapists.
It would be an entirely new life, and I don’t know if I’m ready for that.
Of course, I wasn’t ready to lose my legs either, but that happened. And I’ve worked hard in my recovery. It’s still unknown if all that effort will mean anything when it comes to me returning as a goalie.
But what Brienne is offering is an entirely new life and career—one I’d never imagined before, but one that would give me security and keep me involved in the game I love as much as I love my life.
I have major decisions to make. I’ll need to talk it over with many people.
And I don’t have much time to get it all figured out.
CHAPTER 1
Baden
“Mr. Carlson is able to see you now,” the receptionist says, and I lift my head from the sports magazine I’ve been reading.
I’m surprised, because I’ve only been sitting here for about ten minutes. I didn’t have an appointment, and I expected to wait much longer. A man as important and busy as Dominik doesn’t just stop his work day for someone who needs to chat.
But when I stopped by to inquire if he had any free time, the receptionist was more than glad to ask her boss. Although a multibillionaire, Dominik Carlson is quite a laid-back individual. I was more than prepared to wait for however long it took for him to have a few minutes for me.
I need to talk to him about the offer from Brienne Norcross.
True to her word, she emailed a proposed employment contract, which I read over several times on the flight back to Phoenix. It’s clutched in my hand as I follow the receptionist to Dominik’s office.
Airy, with wide windows that overlook downtown and the mountainous backdrop, sumptuously outfitted with high-end furniture and art, Dominik Carlson’s office is everything you’d expect from the owner of a highly successful hockey franchise. He also owns a professional basketball team in Los Angeles, and he brought the Arizona Vengeance from expansion team status to Cup champions in one season. The man has every reason to be stuffed full of ego, yet he is one of the most down-to-earth people I’ve ever met.
Dominik stands from his desk and gives me a lopsided grin. The receptionist closes the door behind me, and I walk straight toward Dominik with my hand held out.
He reaches across his desk, and we shake. His grin magnifies as he teases, “Look at you… no crutches and no wobble.”
It’s true. I left my crutches at home today. I should have left them at home when I went to Pittsburgh because they were more a mental crutch than a physical one. I was afraid being in a crowded area would throw off my balance, but it was smooth sailing while attending the funerals.
I even eschewed my tricked-out handicapped van with hand paddles that I’ve been using to get around while my legs strengthened and relearned to respond to my brain’s commands. It felt good to be back in my Escalade for the drive downtown this morning, but my doctors might yell at me when I meet them later. I haven’t been officially given the go-ahead to drive, but I know what I’m capable of. If I can run three miles on a treadmill, I can most certainly operate the gas and brake pedals on my vehicle.