Chapter 3

Bishop

When I hit the team meeting room it’s about half full. I’d been impressed with the auditorium yesterday during the tour, the stadium-style seating being far more plush than I’ve ever seen. Big leather chairs with retractable desktops in the left arms make sure that our meetings are held in style and comfort. While our roster sits at twenty-four with fourteen forwards, seven defensemen, and three goalies, the room can hold easily twice that number.

I spot Dax in the third row on the opposite side and make my way to him.

“What’s up?” he says, offering his fist to me.

I slap at it distractedly as I sit down to his right. “Not much.”

Other than apparently I’m now engaged to the coach’s daughter.

Grimacing, I slouch down in my chair and watch as other players file in. Dax lifts his hand when he sees Legend Bay enter. He played with us for one season on the Vipers before being snapped up by the Florida Spartans when he became a free agent. He’s a lot like me in that the Spartans hated to lose him but wanted to free up some money for the draft, so he didn’t get protected either.

He plops down on my right and we shake hands, and then he leans across me slightly to do the same with Dax as he says, “What’s up, Monahan?”

“My dick when your sister walks in the room,” Dax says back blandly.

Legend snickers, but I don’t react. Talk about dicks getting up makes me think of Brooke, and well…I’m furious with her. I don’t want my dick affected by her at all.

Dax and Legend talk over me, and chatter fills the air as players reconnect and new introductions are made. Every time someone new walks into the room, my gut clenches until I see it’s not our coach and my newly minted future father-in-law.

“Fuck,” I mutter in frustration.

“What’s up?” Dax asks quietly as he leans into me.

I shake my head. “Later,” is all I say, because while I will indeed tell Dax about the insanity of my morning, now is not the time.

Erik Dalhbeck joins our little group. We’ve never played with the dude, but have connected over the years when we visited his team in Los Angeles. He’s an extraordinary offensive-minded defenseman who’s just as natural leading the puck up ice as he is slamming someone into the boards. His free agency put him here in Phoenix with us. We like to hang out with him in LA because the dude is a partying playboy from hell who knows all the best places to go and has many, many hot actress friends who are available for the hookup.

The conversation in the room dies almost immediately, and Dax, Legend, Erik, and I all turn our heads to the door. I think it’s Coach, but I see even someone more polarizing has walked in.

Tacker Hall, notably the most talented player in the league as well as the most tragically inclined. This is his first full season back since taking several months off last year after losing his fiancée in a plane crash. The tragedy is not just in losing the love of his life two weeks before they were going to marry, but in the fact that he was piloting the small craft. From what I remember about the details, he was cleared of any wrongdoing, but the word is that he’s carrying tons of guilt on his shoulders and it’s, well, changed him. I know the guy only slightly, having talked to him at a few awards shows and such. This was all pre-crash, and he was a nice guy, although somewhat of an introvert. Now I’ve heard he’s an asshole too, but I’ll make up my own mind on that.

Tacker walks down the front row, eyes glued to his feet, and takes the very last chair on the far end of the room. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, slouches his shoulders inward, and practically puts a sign up around himself that says LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE.

The noise starts back up as people engage in conversation again, but immediately quiets down as the coaching, equipment, and training staff file in. Heading up the rear is Coach Perron.

The man is huge and used to play in the league a few decades ago. He was a bruiser and although the guy has to be in his midfifties, he looks to be in excellent physical shape. I’m glad I didn’t have to tangle with him earlier, because that would just be totally awkward.

Our new general manager, Christian Rutherford, saunters up to the podium and makes some short opening remarks. While our new team and coaching staff is pretty decent given we’re an expansion team, I think this organization really lucked out with our new GM. He’s young, smart, and thinks outside the box. Reminds me a lot of the Cold Fury’s general manager, who quickly took them to back-to-back championships with her controversial yet clearly effective strategy of team building based on statistical algorithms.

Christian introduces Claude Perron, who has had a decent run as both an assistant coach and finally a head coach for the New York Phantoms. It wasn’t lost on me that when Brooke boldly proclaimed that we were engaged, it wasn’t a far stretch, given that we both lived in New York City and could conceivably run in some of the same circles due to our hockey connections.

I’ll give it to Perron, his reputation is that of an absolute hard-ass and someone who can be very difficult to get along with, but his words are also inspiring. His speech focuses on our potential to do things greater than anyone ever imagined. He gives us credit because he believes he has the most talented players in the league sitting right here in this room. His gaze sweeps the room as he speaks, making eye contact with many of the players, but passes right over me without any recognition.

I, on the other hand, listen intently to what he says. Brooke seems to think that if I don’t get off on the right foot with him, my career could be in jeopardy. I don’t know if that’s actually true or not, but I’m going to study this man so I can decide how the fuck to handle this shit.

“Coach sure knows how to blow smoke up our asses, doesn’t he?” Legend says from my right.

I don’t take my eyes off Perron, but I nod my head and mutter back to Legend, “Sure does.”

The minute my mouth opens and the words are out, it’s like I have a homing signal on me. Perron’s gaze snaps to me and his eyes harden when they lock on tight. “Something important you want to add, Mr. Scott?”

My face flushes to have the spotlight on me along with the knowledge it’s clear he was waiting to pounce. I can’t help but be a little bit of an asshole about it. “No, sir. But please…let’s not be formal. You can call me Bishop.”

Dax makes a choking noise beside me, but I don’t dare take my eyes off Perron.

The coach stares at me for a only few seconds but it seems like years. “Let’s discuss formality,” he says harshly before letting his eyes move off me to look around the room. “I am not your father or your best friend. I’m not your confidant. I don’t care if your feelings are hurt. And we will maintain a formal relationship. I am either Coach or Mr. Perron to you. My word is law. If you don’t like it, the bench isn’t the most comfortable place to sit, but it will accommodate you nicely until you learn to respect my position. Are we clear?”

He asks this last question with his gaze coming back to me. As if the speech he just gave to the team was really custom designed to put me in my place. I merely smile at him and give a gracious incline of my head.

After that, Coach leaves me alone. I try to focus back on his words, but there’s no having it. I’m fucking pissed now, and I’m thinking the best thing I can do is distance myself from this shit.

When it’s over, we head to the locker to get changed for a short practice. Everyone starts leaving the auditorium. Legend and Erik say they’ll see us out on the ice.

I stay behind purposely to have a short word with Dax, because I can’t keep this shit in and I’m starting to freak the fuck out.

When most everyone is gone, Dax looks at me with clear worry. “Why does Coach Perron have a hard-on for you?”

“You are not going to believe the crazy I’ve got myself tangled up in,” I tell him with a sigh as I scrub my hands over my face. On the first day of training camp, I’m usually exhilarated from the pure excitement of a new season starting. Right now I just want to go to a bar and get stinking drunk.

Dax just waits patiently for me to explain.

With a sigh, I drop my hands from my face and turn to face him dead on. “You know that woman I went home with last night?”

Dax nods.

“Well…that was Coach Perron’s daughter.”

“Get the fuck out!”

“And I was in her office before the meeting—”

“Office? What does she do here?”

This information is not pertinent to my dilemma, but I take the time to tell him. “Assistant director of team services.”

Dax scowls. “That’s a bullshit job.”

“Indeed,” I agree. There’s usually one person involved in team services. That’s the person that coordinates all of our travel and meals when on the road. It’s a cush job. We have a director already, and an assistant is most definitely not needed, which tells me that the organization made accommodations for the coach to bring his daughter from New York to Phoenix with him.

Now that’s damn weird.

“At any rate,” I continue with the important part of the story. “Her dad walked in on us while we were in a fairly intimate embrace.”

“And?” he drawls with raised eyebrows.

“And he was pissed and she told him we were engaged,” I bite out with no small amount of bitterness in my voice.

“She fucking did what?” Dax barks at me, then his surprised look melts into humor and he starts laughing hysterically. At one point, he has tears in his eyes and is banging his fist on the armrest of his chair.

“Fuck off,” I growl at him as I push up out of the chair. “When you get over yourself, I’ll tell you the rest of the story and you can help me figure out what to do.”

Dax can’t even respond. He just laughs harder at me as I stomp out of the room, gritting my teeth so hard I’m afraid they might crack.