Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 114951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
My assistants took the reins when Perry skated over to me, and he hopped off the ice and walked back to the locker room with me guiding the way. We slipped into my office, the quiet snick of the door closing behind us setting my nerves on edge again. I gestured for him to take a seat before I did the same, and then I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, gaze leveled with his.
“You’re going, aren’t you?”
Will Perry was what I would call a man of stoicism. He’d always been laser focused on the game and this team, with the only soft spot in his heart being reserved for Chloe and his daughter, Ava.
So when his eyes welled, his jaw tight, a loud sniff breaking the silence of my office, I knew.
I closed my eyes, letting out a long breath before I sat back in my chair. “Fuck,” I murmured.
“My hip is going,” Will said, and I didn’t miss how his throat bobbed at the admission. “No one hates that fact more than I do, Coach. But I have a family. I’m already looking at a life of rehab. The last thing I want is to not be able to play with Ava or her future siblings.”
I nodded. “I understand, Perry.”
And I did. Goalies weren’t the only ones who suffered injuries that followed them for life. I still did physical therapy for the career-ending one that turned me from a player to a coach far younger than I ever anticipated.
That memory had the next question rolling off my tongue.
“Would you ever consider coaching for us? You and I both know you’d do better than ol’ Romanov out there.”
That made Perry bark out a laugh, which melted some of the tension in the room. “That man hasn’t taught me shit, not in all the years I’ve been here. I’ve learned more from Ava than him.”
I chuckled. “I don’t doubt it. So, you’ll consider?”
Will was silent a moment before he nodded. “I’ll think on it.”
“Good.” My eyes flicked between his, the corner of my lips curling just a notch. “So, this is your last season?”
“This is it.”
I shook my head, hand finding my desk to help me stand. Then, I extended that hand for Perry’s, taking it in a firm shake when he stood to join me. “Then we better fucking win the Cup.”
“Hear, hear,” Perry echoed.
I considered hugging him, but decided I’d save that for the spring. For now, we still had one last season, one final ride — and I didn’t intend to let him off easy.
“Now, back on the ice, Pickles. Time to show these rookies how it’s done.”
The rest of the day blurred past in a rush of drills, video review, and media obligations. My assistants rotated players through testing and conditioning while I bounced between the ice and the meeting rooms, checking off boxes and trying not to think about what Perry’s announcement meant for the rest of our season.
Around noon, the rink had quieted. Most of the guys were in the gym or showering off. I was halfway through reviewing tomorrow’s drill plan when Kozak poked his head into my office.
“Coach,” he said, breathless from the walk. “They’re setting up for the press conference. PR says the new GM just arrived — they’re almost ready for you.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face and exhaled. “Great.”
The word came out flat. I wasn’t ready for this, not after the morning I’d had. But ready or not, I had to meet the man who’d be running this circus with me.
“You good?” Kozak asked.
“Yeah.” I stood, tugged on my jacket, and squared my shoulders — game face in place, the same one I’d worn since my first day behind a bench as the youngest coach in the NHL.
We left my office and headed down the hall toward the media room — a space off the main corridor, just beyond the players’ lounge. I could already hear the hum of reporters setting up, the clatter of camera equipment, the low buzz of conversation bleeding through the walls.
I’d done a hundred of these, but something about this one felt heavier. New leadership meant change. And change rarely came without casualties.
I pushed open the door, ready to shake hands and smile for the cameras even as my stomach rioted.
My gaze found him immediately — Nathan Black, the new general manager. I hadn’t taken the time to research him past the photo and short bio our PR team had supplied me. I liked to get to know people for who they were, not the laundry list of accomplishments they boasted — though, this man did boast quite a bit. He was the kind of executive the league loved: a golden boy with a finance degree, a Harvard certificate in sports management, and a knack for turning struggling franchises into profit machines.