Page 11 of One Good Puck (Denver Bashers #5)

Gavin

“ W hat’s with the smile?”

I glance up at the sound of Sophie’s voice and see her walking into my office.

“What smile?” I say as I rein in my expression. I close my laptop and push it aside on my desk.

Sophie sits down in the chair in front of my desk. “I could have sworn you were smiling while typing a second ago.”

I shrug and sip my coffee. “I don’t think I was.”

“I don’t see you do that very often, smiling for no reason,” she teases.

I don’t know why I think I can pull one over on my daughter. She’s a twenty-six-year-old genius. She started medical school when she was a teenager and is the youngest team doctor in the history of the league. There’s not a damn thing in this world I can put past her.

Like the fact that I’ve been smiling on and off all morning because I’m in a good mood after having breakfast with Abby.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with your new housemate, does it?” Sophie asks, clearly amused.

I sigh, not in the mood to have my chops busted by my observant daughter.

“I’m just giving you a hard time, Dad,” she says. “But in all seriousness, how’s it going with Abby and her daughter?”

“It’s good.”

Sophie looks at me, clearly waiting for me to say more.

“It’s nice to have someone in that big house besides me,” I admit.

She gives me a warm smile. “I’m glad to hear that.” She fires up her tablet and pulls up her notes. “Should we get started with our meeting?”

“Yeah. How are the guys looking for preseason?”

She dives into a full report on our whole roster. As the team doctor, she gives me regular updates on how each of the players is doing health-wise. It’s especially important now, before the season even starts, so I know what to expect from each guy on the team and how I should play them.

“How about Ryker St. George?” I ask. “How’s he doing?”

“Overall, he’s in great shape. He’s recovered well from his shoulder injury two seasons ago,” Sophie says.

“He claims he’s been consistent with his conditioning and stretching post-surgery, and from what I’ve observed, he’s telling the truth.

He has excellent mobility and strength in that shoulder.

He still has bouts of stiffness and soreness, but as long as he recovers properly with ice and heat, I think he’ll be okay. ”

I nod once and scribble notes on my notepad. “Good.”

“I think we’ve got a stellar roster,” Sophie says.

“The feedback I’ve gotten from our trainers and physios has been encouraging.

Our strongest players—Xander, Del, Theo, Sam, Blomdahl, and Camden—are all without injury.

Knock on wood. They all exceeded expectations during training camp.

They’re all staying on top of their diet and exercise.

I think we’re sitting in a very enviable position for the first preseason game tonight. ”

When she finishes, I take a moment just to look at her, in awe of how brilliant and professional my daughter is.

“What?” she asks after a moment.

“Just impressed with my genius daughter. And so happy we get to work together.”

She beams, her face lighting up. Emotion bubbles up inside of me. She looks so much like her mom. Same strawberry blonde hair. Same fair skin and golden freckles on the bridge of her nose.

“Don’t get too sentimental, Dad. We’re at work, remember?” she teases.

“You’re right.” Together we stand up, and I pull her into a hug before she can walk out.

“Dad,” she groans.

“Just one hug. I don’t do this very often when we’re at work together, so you’ve gotta cut me some slack.”

She chuckles and wraps her arms around me. When I let her go, she heads for the door of my office.

“See you at the game tonight, honey,” I say.

She waves at me and walks out. I finish out the workday and get ready for tonight’s exhibition game against Vancouver.

When I walk into the locker room, the guys are all laughing and talking while putting on their gear. Some rap song I don’t recognize is blasting in the background. The second they see me, they fall quiet, and the music dies down .

I walk to the center of the locker room to address the team.

“Gentlemen, this is our first exhibition game of the season,” I say.

“This is old news for some of you. You’ve played a million preseason games in your career.

But for some of you, this is your first. Regardless of whether you’re a vet in the league or you’re brand new, I want you all to approach this game with the same level of effort and seriousness.

This is a chance for you to showcase your skills.

This is also a chance for me and the other coaches to see how you’re going to play this upcoming season.

Take it seriously. I want to see good effort out there from all of you. ”

I let the guys finish getting ready. When they hit the ice for warmups, I stand at the team bench with Jason and observe the players, taking notes on how they prep themselves for the game.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Alan Arden walking out of the tunnel. I frown. What is he doing out here? The general manager typically watches games from the upper level of the arena. He doesn’t even normally come to preseason games.

He speaks with one of the team trainers, then spots me. He walks over and says hi to Jason and me, then nods to the ice.

“How are our boys looking?” he asks.

“So far, so good,” I say. “But it’s only warm-up. We’ll have to wait until the game starts to get an accurate read on everyone.”

He nods his head like he knows this. Because of course he knows this. He’s been the general manager of the Denver Bashers for almost five years. He’s worked in professional hockey for the past decade. Why he’s down here asking me questions when he already knows the answers is beyond me.

“Here’s hoping for a good exhibition game,” he says, his gaze still on the ice.

A second later, Ryker skates past us in the middle of his warmup. Alan stares at him for a long moment.

“Let’s hope that for him especially,” he says before walking off and disappearing down the tunnel.

Irritation spikes up inside of me when it finally registers why Alan was here. To remind me what’s at stake. To remind me that I’m the reason we have a past-his-prime right winger on our team…because I wanted to get rid of the young, up-and-coming winger McCoy.

To remind me that if this season goes belly up, Alan’s going to blame it on me…and that could cost me my job.

“What was that about?” Jason mutters.

I huff out a breath and straighten my tie. “Just Alan reminding me everything that’s on the line with St. George.”

Recognition flashes in Jason’s eyes. “Right. Sorry.”

I shrug. “He’s not the only one who feels that way. I know you do too.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t pull some passive-aggressive bullshit like he just did. I’d just say it to your face.”

“You’re right. You wouldn’t. Thanks for not being a dickhead.”

He cracks a smile, then sobers. “It’s annoying that he’s being a jerk.”

“Dealing with bullshit from the GM is part of this job.”

It’s true. This isn’t the first time I’ve clashed with a general manager in my career. It sucks every single time, but I can’t let it get to me. I just have to focus on doing my job the best that I can, and that’s leading the players on this team so they can perform at their best.

When warmup ends and the game gets started, I’m laser-focused on what’s happening on the ice. Our core guys are all playing well. They’re skating hard and fast. They look energized and eager and are communicating well with each other.

Xander scores the first goal of the season halfway through the first period, and the fans in the arena are on their feet, cheering him on as he celebrates with his teammates.

When the second period kicks off, I send Del, Theo, and Ryker onto the ice.

I watch the three of them work in tandem to take control of the puck from Vancouver. Del checks the Vancouver winger with the puck, and it goes flying. Not even a second later, Ryker takes it and speeds toward the Vancouver net.

You’d never guess this guy was mid-thirties from the way that he moves on the ice.

He’s faster than the youngsters who take off after him.

The twenty-something Vancouver defenseman who’s on his ass can barely make it to him.

Right before he does, Ryker sees Theo open, right in front of Vancouver’s goalie.

He sends the puck to Theo, who smacks it over the goalie’s glove and into the net.

The goal siren wails right as the crowd hollers. Adrenaline kicks up inside of me at seeing Ryker pull off that pass.

Jason turns to me. “That was a hell of an assist.”

“It was,” I say. Ryker skates by the bench. “Nice work,” I holler at him. He nods his thanks at me.

I look up at the upper level of the arena, where Alan is watching the game.

I can see him standing, arms crossed over his chest as he gazes down at the ice.

He’s too far away for me to see his facial expression, but I’d bet all the money in my bank account that he’s not impressed.

Yeah, that was a solid assist from Ryker, but it’s gonna take more than one good assist to make Alan change his mind about him. Or me.

“Think Alan’s cheering up there?” Jason asks me.

I shake my head. “Not a chance.”