Page 26 of A Vegas Crush Collection #3

well-oiled machines take fewer risks

Grant

The players are all back from their summer engagements, so I’ve called a players’ meeting in order to introduce myself to the team as a whole. Many of our guys teach summer hockey or play in summer leagues overseas, and they all tend to come back about three weeks before training camp starts.

I’ve met a few of them over the summer, particularly the rookies and the first-string, but this is the first I’m seeing them all in one place.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” I say as the guys settle in. “I’m Grant Gerard, now GM, for this fine organization. I’ve met a bunch of you in different settings, but it’s nice to see you all in one place.”

“Didn’t you play for Canada in Sochi?” I hear from the back of the crowd.

“I did, and you are?”

“Cal,” he says, arms folded over his chest as he leans casually against a row of lockers. “Goalie.”

“Nice to meet you, Cal. And also, from what I’ve heard, resident collegiate scholar for the Crush.”

“Meh,” he answers with a one-shouldered shrug.

The rest of the team laughs, and Tyler Lockhardt chimes in, “The Professor is meh about most things other than hockey and his rock star fiancée.”

“Well, as long as he’s not meh about hockey,” I say to another round of chuckles.

“Which is a good segue, actually. I’ve had the chance to settle into the job now, and it’s been a pleasure to learn about this team and its culture.

The staff in the administrative offices have been amazing, and I feel really good about the training and therapy staff.

There have been a couple of areas of concern, though, and as a result, I’ve decided—with Max Terry’s blessing—to make some changes on the game side of the house. ”

There’s rumbling as the guys look around the room, trying to figure out what changes I’ve made. I can see their wheels turning. Who’s missing?

“I wanted you to hear about all of this from me directly, which is why I brought you all here today. First, Coach Brown is still with us.”

An audible sigh of relief. Coach Brown has taken this team to great heights. I’d be insane to cut him loose, but new GMs have done weirder things to make their mark.

“However,” I continue, “I have cut loose the secondary coaching staff. I need a more diverse, scrappier, more innovative team to work with the second-string. Those guys aren’t getting enough minutes on the ice, mainly because they’re not prepared.

We’re asking a lot of our first-string. There is no room for an injury because there’s no one who can step in and fill their shoes completely.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s talent on the second- and third-string lines, but that talent needs investment.

It needs molding and coaching, and I just didn’t feel like the investment was there from a group of guys whose job was to make that happen. ”

There are some mixed reactions among the guys. Some seem to agree with what I’m saying, while others seem a little shell-shocked that I’ve chosen to release the bulk of our coaching staff. I wait for a second, just to see if there are any comments or questions. When no one speaks up, I move on.

“From a player perspective, we’ve got some clear superstars.

We’ve invested a lot in big names, big performers, crowd pleasers.

” I make eye contact with Evan, Georg, Tyler, Boris, and Viktor, who has his huge arms crossed over his even huge-er chest. He’s massive—I don’t think I quite realized just how big the Mad Russian really was until right now.

He was at the very beginning of his career when we played in Sochi.

“Big names put butts in seats,” I say. “And the PR team here makes the most of it. I’m super impressed with them, to be honest. Revenue goes up when people love our players.

Even more so when our players work well together.

And this front line works well together.

It’s a dream team, a well-oiled machine. It’s a line that wins Cups.”

“But?” I hear from one of the players. I turn and see that the question comes from Evan, the team captain.

“But well-oiled machines take fewer risks. They can be easy to figure out. People have expectations about their style of play. Now, this isn’t news to you, of course, but it needs to be addressed.

And that’s my job. What if one of you gets seriously injured?

What if one of you decides to retire to coaching or management?

” I pause for a moment so they’re engaged in the question.

It’s their team, so they should be. “As you know, it messes with the whole dynamic. And while a guy might be good as a fill-in, what’s the uptake on getting him to mesh in with what’s already in place? ”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say, but no one gets between me and my bae on the back line,” Tyler says, batting his eyelashes at Viktor.

This loosens the tension slightly. Evan, with whom I’ve had several conversations of late, jumps in. “Guys, this is what we’ve talked about. And Grant’s right, we do need a second- and third-string that can sub in easily and often with as little disruption to our style of play as possible.”

“Or that the disruption is innovative enough to confuse the competition,” Cal adds from his post at the back of the room.

“Yes! Yes, that’s exactly it. I want a second-string that fits in with the first-string’s chemistry. I absolutely want to confuse the opponent and build a bench that the fans care about as much as they care about our stars.”

“Sorry, we don’t like competition. There’s only room for our larger-than-life posters outside the building,” Tyler jokes.

“It’s a big building,” I counter, grinning.

“I did make some trades off the second- and third-string lines. The whole list of changes will go out in an email later this week, including who we’re picking up.

I expect all the contracting to be done in the next day or two.

They’re good changes, necessary changes, and they’ve been made with the input of both the team’s ownership and the head coach.

I’m not making decisions in a vacuum here, and I’m sure as hell not some gunslinger, ready to shoot stuff up around here.

But I do have a business to run, and it needs to have a shelf life beyond the individual careers of our top guys. ”

The players murmur, some of them seeming a little shaken, still. Evan jumps up and stands next to me. He says, “Guys, we needed a shake-up. This is a pivotal season. If we want to be a legacy team, we can’t rest on our laurels.”

“Well, go on and retire already, you old fart,” one of the guys says in a heavy French Canadian accent. Everyone laughs.

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that sometime soon,” Evan says, flipping the bird.

We finish up the meeting with a few more questions. As people start to filter out, I grab Evan and ask if he’s up for lunch in the pub. As we walk out, I ask who the player was who encouraged his retirement.

“Oh, that’s Giroux. He played for me when I was injured and also in the finals last season. He’s a bit uptight—it surprises me to see him joke around at all. Though, in hindsight, it may not have been a joke.”

Once we’re seated and have our lunches ordered, I can’t resist asking, “So is retirement really in the cards for you? I’ve heard all the rumors.”

“Nah.” He shrugs it off. “I mean, I’ve thought about it, but I’m still playing well.

With three little kids at home, it makes it harder to go on the road.

Once Holly and I started, we went whole hog, you know what I mean?

Baby, baby, baby, all right in a row. It’s a lot for her to manage, along with her own business.

I’m sure she’d appreciate it if I switched to a foundation or a management role that kept me on the ground more. ”

“I get that.”

“You played. I heard you had a pretty gruesome injury.”

“Yes, forced retirement for me. Tore up my knee big-time, and right after we won gold in Sochi. I felt like I was at the top of my game with lots of juice left and then, just…poof. Over.”

“Damn. That’s hard. I’d hate to go out like that.”

“It sucked, but I had an aptitude for the business side of things. I miss the play, but I don’t miss my body getting wrecked.”

“Well, I assure you I’m at one hundred percent, mentally and physically. I’m still committed, and I love this team.”

“It’s not an inquisition or an interview, Evan. I just wanted to know if there was merit to the rumors. They’ve been persistent.”

“Wishful thinking on the part of some guys not getting enough time or some analysts with too much time on their hands.”

“Okay. Well, just let me know if anything changes.”

Evan nods as our food comes. He shoves a french fry in his mouth and asks, “So, how are you settling in?”

“Um, good.” I take a swig of water to chase the bite of burger I just had. “Thanks. The job’s been great. Hard choices to make, but I was hired to do a thing, so I’m doing it.”

“Max is a focused owner. He doesn’t make shitty choices. I think you’re doing a good job, at least from what I can tell. I just, more like, well, I was thinking more, like socially. Are you meeting anyone? Seeing anyone outside the office?”

I stop chewing and stare at him. He’s…is he blushing? Like he’s embarrassed to be asking whatever it is he’s trying to ask. And then I remember Devon saying that Evan’s wife confronted her after the cooking class I attended. “Look, if you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

“My wife mentioned something about her suspicions. She thought maybe you and Devon Pearson might have had a thing going on. And I’m totally not judging, man. Devon’s great, and I sure as hell chased on Holly until she gave in, policy be damned.” Evan’s shrug is rueful.

A sigh precedes my decision to be honest about the situation.

I actually really like Evan. I think we could become friends.

“We met before I started. I’d just been offered the job, she was at a conference, and we met in the hotel bar.

I figured she was from some other state.

We promised not to talk about work or exes.

We had a few drinks, talked for a long time. One thing led to another.”

“So you thought it was just a one-night stand?”

“I didn’t even know her last name, let alone where she worked. And I was pretty fresh off a divorce. But I liked her. I thought about her a lot in the weeks before I moved here. And I was shocked to find out she worked for the Crush.”

“I’ll bet.” Evan chuckles.

“We connect,” I say. “I dig her a lot and I think she feels the same, but she’s worried about the perception of people thinking I sleep with my staff members. And I get that. She’s ended it, anyway, so it doesn’t matter much now.”

“I’m sorry, man,” Evan says sympathetically. “She’s probably right, and it’s probably for the best, but I get it. So I’m sorry.”

“Me, too, man. Me, too.”

I spend the rest of the afternoon forcing myself to stay in my office. All that talk about Devon only made me want to walk right down to her office and tell her how stupid this is. Or up to Max’s office to ask, no—beg him to let us see each other. Sorta like asking The Godfather for his blessing.

Increasingly distracted as the afternoon wears on, I have to stop myself from reading and rereading her bio on the website like some creeper. How is it possible to miss someone this much when we’ve only interacted a few times? I’m behaving like some lovestruck teenager.

Honestly, that morning I woke up to find the handwritten note Devon left for me was the worst.

When I walked in on my wife and my friend, that was like a kick to the nuts. I felt sick and angry and betrayed, but deep down, not surprised. It had been over for a long time between Margot and me, but I’d been too blind to notice.

But this thing with Devon? Waking up alone after another incredible night with her? Finding her note on my kitchen counter? That felt like true loss. A very deep loss of something special and unique.

As five o’clock comes and goes, I allow myself to shut things down and get ready to leave.

I walk the halls of the arena, saying good night to staff as they head out.

Saving the lower level for last, I see a few guys in with the trainers.

I pass Devon’s office, hopeful, only to find it dark. I’ve missed her.

I miss her.