Leo Gauthier

“Goats! Over here.”

Hearing my old hockey nickname echo through the modern confines of the Vancouver airport was startling. I craned my neck and saw my new boss—Chris Luczak. He was dressed in dark clothes with his jacket collar pulled up and a baseball cap pulled down low. The typical disguise of an NHL superstar, or ex-superstar, hoping to avoid getting bothered in public. Since he was alone, he had succeeded.

“Lucky.” I shook his hand. “I had no idea that you were coming to the airport.”

“Of course I’m here. I wanted to welcome you to Vancouver properly. And I was hoping I could persuade you to come to tonight’s game.” He grabbed one of my suitcases and led me towards the exit.

Our greetings had caused a few people to stare. As captain of the Vancouver Millionaires when they won the Cup and very recently retired, Lucky was still a big deal around here. But now he had a new job: Vice President of Hockey Operations for the Vancouver Vice. The Vice were the AHL farm team for the NHL Millionaires, so it wasn’t that big a leap.

“You don’t have to twist my arm to go to a game.” I laughed. I’d already been planning to sneak into the arena once I dropped off my suitcases at the hotel. I wanted to see exactly what I’d gotten myself into. Taking over an AHL team with only a month left in the season wasn’t going to be a picnic.

“Great minds think alike,” he replied with a grin. “I knew we picked the right head coach.” It was easy to see why he’d been a good captain. In a matter of moments he’d made me feel like part of the Vice team, but he was also friendly and low-key. “Of course, I’ve been taking a ton of grief over hiring you. Hector Blaine chewed me out for half an hour straight.”

“Sorry about that.” My General Manager back in Albany had been furious that I was leaving before the playoffs. He’d ripped into me as well, screaming about team loyalty. But I’d pointed out that if I’d gotten the Albany head-coaching job at the beginning of the season, I wouldn’t be leaving. The fastest way to become an NHL coach was to take opportunities when they came up. And what better opportunity would there be than becoming the next head coach of the worst team in the AHL? The Vice had brand new management, a commitment to improvement, and best of all, more money to invest in the team. “Hector knows I have a clause in my contract to allow me to leave at any point in the season. That’s why he let us talk in the first place.”

Lucky shrugged. “I tried to explain how desperate we are. Since Bob Pankowski had his heart attack, the assistants have really been flailing. I don’t think he gave them much responsibility.”

I nodded. I didn’t know Pankowski personally, but there were coaches who held all their cards close to their chest. Usually it was fear-driven. “Starting now gives us a chance to get an early start on next season.”

“Yeah, this one is kind of a write-off,” Lucky admitted. The Vice were last in the league and out of the playoffs since January. Not exactly a success story. He eyed my luggage. “We could put these in the trunk and go straight there. That way we’ll only miss the first period.”

“Sounds good.”

He remotely unlocked a large black Range Rover, lifted the hatchback, and loaded my two suitcases. “Have you got more stuff coming from New York?”

I shook my head. “I travel light.” That was my preference: rent furnished apartments, lease cars, and be ready to go at a moment’s notice.

“It felt weird to only interview you on the phone and Skype, and not get to see you in person,” Lucky said as we eased our way through the traffic. It was raining hard. No snow, but Vancouver’s greyness was almost worse.

“Hockey’s a small world though,” I replied. “We both know each other by reputation already. And we met briefly at a World Junior tournament a few years ago.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I remember. You were an assistant coach, and I was supposed to deliver a few words of encouragement. Not sure if I helped or not.”

I laughed. “You impressed them, but that group wasn’t great at listening anyway.” We’d lost in the final that year. But the next year when I was the head coach, we’d won the gold medal.

“Listen, everyone’s already at the game. They’re dying to meet you.”

“Who’s everyone?” I asked.

“Well, Don Swan’s there, you know, from the Millionaires. And of course, Greg and Amanda Richardson.”

I was curious about the brother and sister who also managed the Vice. I’d done a little research and they came from a very wealthy family who owned part of the team. “What are Greg and Amanda like?”

“Greg’s a great General Manager. He’s one of those math geniuses, so he’s the go-to guy for your financial questions. Easy-going, too. Feel free to drop by and talk to him any time you have questions. I mean, beyond what I can answer. We’re a team, our management group isn’t big on job titles. Everyone does what they’re good at as challenges come up.”

“Sounds good.” Things seemed pretty loose here, which was already my impression. That was a better situation for me than a team that insisted on doing things as “they’d always been done.” I waited for part two of his answer.

“And Amanda,” his voice softened. “She’s incredible. So smart and she really cares about people—everyone who works for the team, from the kids who sell popcorn to the team superstar.” He laughed. “Whoever that might be. I mean, we’ve got good players, but not enough of them.”

Again, I waited for more. The best way to get answers was to shut up at the right time. But the emotional tone of his voice was odd.

Lucky stopped for a red light and shifted in his seat. “Listen, Goats, there’s something I maybe should have mentioned before. I wasn’t sure if it was important, and I sure as hell don’t have experience in this area. Amanda and I are going out.” He shook his head. “Jesus, that sounds like we’re in grade seven or something. Anyway, you don’t have to worry, because we’re not making out in the office or anything.” The expression on his face suggested that was exactly what he wished he could be doing. Lucky was a pretty easy read.

He accelerated into the intersection. “So, is that okay with you?”

It was really too late to ask that question now that I’d quit my job and moved across the country. But I’d register my concerns anyway. “Gotta be honest with you, Lucky. Seems a little tight in the management group. A brother and sister, and you’re dating the sister. If I have an issue with you, my boss, there’s nowhere to go.”

“Once you meet Amanda and Greg, I don’t think you’ll be worried anymore. They’re both total professionals. But you can always talk to Swanny at the Millionaires if you’ve got an issue with me.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Now I was interested to meet Amanda Richardson, a woman who could turn an ex-hockey superstar into a stammering teenager. The Vice didn’t sound like the most professional team in the AHL, but I knew I could improve the team here. And if it wasn’t the right situation, I’d move on next season.

“Welcome to Vancouver, Leo.”

As soon as we walked into the executive suite at the arena, I was surrounded by Millionaire’s staff. I’d already interviewed with Don Swan, but his boss, Rhett Batchelor, was there, as well as Nick Barbarossa, head coach of the Millionaires. It was flattering that they had all shown up to meet me, and a good sign that the Vice organization worked closely with its NHL parent. A fair-haired young man hovering outside the circle turned out to be Greg Richardson. He was surprisingly low key for being both in charge of the Vice and an extremely rich man.

Lucky got me a beer, and we sat down in the front row of the box to watch the game.

“Where’s Amanda?” he asked.

“She went to walk the concourse after the first period,” Greg replied. “You know her, she’s always trying to get a read on the ‘real’ fan experience.”

“Damn good idea,” Rhett said. “I wish my marketing people would do more of that.”

The Millionaires coach sat down beside me and began grilling me on the power play success we’d been having in Albany. Even after thirty years of coaching experience, Coach Barber was looking for a new edge. The Millionaires might miss the playoffs this year and that clearly bothered him. No coaching job was ever guaranteed.

I watched the Vice breaking out of their zone. One player lugged the puck from the goal line and tried to make his way singlehandedly into the offensive zone. Not surprisingly, he got stripped of the puck, and Manitoba got a good scoring opportunity.

“Christ, Lucky, what’s wrong with Lepper?” asked Barber. “A few weeks ago, we were ready to call the guy up, and now he’s playing like horseshit.”

Lucky shook his head. “I don’t understand. Lepper has been one of our best players all season. But lately, he’s been crapping the bed. Maybe he needs a head coach kicking his ass.” He turned to me. “He’s your problem now.”

I nodded. “Nothing I like more than fixing hockey problems.”

Don Swan snorted. “You’ve come to the right place then. The assistants have been useless, these players are putting the ‘me’ in team, and attendance blows.” He motioned to the half-empty arena.

“Jesus, Swanny, don’t scare him off before he’s even started,” said Lucky.

Rhett cleared his throat. As the senior manager here, he had the most authority. “He might as well know the real situation now.” He turned to me. “Leo, we hired you because you’re a good coach with a record of winning. You’ve got a lot of experience with younger players, which is exactly what we need. But now that the Millionaires have a share in the Vice, we want to run the same systems on both teams. That way, when we call up players from your team, they can mesh seamlessly into our NHL systems.”

“And who decides the systems?” I wondered. I wasn’t into coaching a losing system and both the Vice and Millionaires were losing right now. Lucky had promised I’d get to run my own ship, and now these guys were saying the opposite.

Rhett laughed. “You’re ballsy, Leo. I heard that about you. You’ll get input too.”

That was fair. The Vice could play within the big club’s systems, but I’d have freedom to tinker with the things like the power play, which would depend a lot on the talent I had. If there was any talent. The Vice had just been scored on again. This game was only in the second period, and it already looked like a beat-down.

“Ugh, Manitoba scored again? In the time it took me to walk up the stairs?” a female voice asked.

Lucky’s head jerked around, and I followed his gaze to see a blonde woman. This must be Amanda. She was casually dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, but she oozed class. Everything about her looked expensive, from her styled hair to her designer boots. She moved gracefully towards us, and as if in reaction to her royal presence, every man in the room rose. Barber probably hadn’t stood for a woman in years.

She smiled and held out her hand. “Leo! Welcome to the Vancouver Vice family.”

I shook her hand and felt the cool pressure of her soft skin. Merde. I could understand Lucky’s reaction now. This was the kind of woman you got serious about. She reminded me of Sophie, my ex. Maybe it was because I came from a true working class family: six kids and never enough money. We weren’t poor, but there was only enough to get by. The first time I wore new skates was when I played junior hockey and manufacturers gave them to us. New sticks, new helmets too. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. My feet ended up bloody because I’d never broken in a pair of skates before.

It wasn’t that I envied people with money, more that I admired how they knew how to roll in any situation. When I first saw Sophie Demers at university, I thought, “That’s what I want. Class. A woman who knows what’s what.” She was a tall, beautiful blonde who dressed like a model. But most of all it was her confidence. She acted like nothing could shake her. I admired everything about her, including the fact that she was completely uninterested in an uncouth hockey player. I’d gone after her hard, but it was months before she’d even go on a date with me. When we got married, I felt like the luckiest guy on the planet. And when we had Charlotte, my heart had been even fuller.

But it hadn’t worked out. How could it? We had such different expectations from marriage. I expected she’d be a wife like my mother: hard working, loyal, and uncomplaining. And she expected I’d treat her like her father did her mother: spoiling her with gifts and attention, and making her the focus of my life. At first, we were in love enough to make things work, but once my career began to take off, I had to work more and eventually leave Montréal. And Sophie wasn’t into making sacrifices, even for me.

My marriage had taught me a lesson. All that effort distracted me from my main purpose: getting ahead in coaching. These days, I preferred women who were straightforward and relationships where we both knew what we wanted. Sex was a necessary part of life, but love sure wasn’t.

Unfortunately, that didn’t negate the attraction I felt to classy chicks. Luckily, since Amanda was out of bounds on so many levels, she wasn’t attractive to me. Ever since Sophie, I’d avoided the blonde princesses. But Lucky was a lucky guy.

I pulled Amanda closer and air-kissed her on both cheeks. She flushed, so I explained, “A Montréal greeting. Especially when we meet beautiful women.”

Swanny snorted. “Better watch out, Lucky. These French-Canadian guys know all the tricks.”

Lucky sighed. “It’s true. I never played with a Quebec guy who wasn’t a ladies man.”

I sensed a slight tension that I needed to diffuse. “We appreciate women—even when they are our bosses. Is there anything wrong with that?”

Amanda regained her composure. “Nothing at all. We’re all excited that you’re joining the team. Thank you for coming so quickly. Sorry that your apartment isn’t ready yet. Did you get the questionnaire from the relocation people?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t fill it out. All I need is a home office and a bedroom for my daughter when she visits from Montréal. I don’t care about any design stuff.” Because Vancouver’s cost of living was so high, my lawyer had negotiated a fully-furnished apartment for me, a leased car and a hefty raise. The fact that the Vice were willing to pay up for me was proof that they were committed to change.

Amanda nodded. “Well, hopefully you’ll be in there soon. Did you already check into the hotel?”

“Not yet. We came straight to the game.”

“Oh really? Did you have dinner yet?”

I shook my head. I’d been too interested in the game, and I didn’t realize how hungry I was.

Amanda looked around at the remains of the food platters. “We’ll order you something fresh and hot. Unfortunately, there’s not a ton of choice at this time of night.”

“Get him a Triple-O burger,” Greg suggested. “That’s a real Vancouver specialty.”

I nodded. While I was pretty sure that a Triple-O wasn’t going to be as sexy as it sounded, any food would be good right now.