Page 136 of Across the Boards

The table goes quiet, attention shifting to Dex, who suddenly finds his wine glass fascinating.

“It was a misunderstanding,” he says finally, the practiced charm back in place. “Security overreacted.”

“To three lingerie models, a bottle of tequila, and what the report described as ‘inappropriate use of hockey equipment’?” Roman raises one eyebrow—a simple gesture somehow more terrifying than any shouting could be.

I nearly choke on my wine. Brody pats my back, trying not to laugh.

“When you put it that way, it sounds worse than it was,” Dex attempts, but even his legendary charm seems to be failing him.

“Like the yacht incident last month?” Luca asks with a grin.

“Or the charity gala where you auctioned yourself off without permission?” adds Rodriguez, earning an irritated look from Dex.

“I’m sensing a pattern, Malone,” Coach Barrett says, his tone light but his eyes serious. “One that management is increasingly concerned about.”

“It’s just... blowing off steam.” Dex shifts in his seat, discomfort showing through his usual polish. “No harm done.”

“Team’s public image would disagree,” Roman says. “As would the PR department.”

“What’s the damage this time?” Brody asks. “Fines? Press statement?”

Coach Barrett and Roman exchange a look that seems to communicate volumes.

“We’ve found an alternative approach,” Coach says. “Something that might channel Malone’s... energy... more constructively.”

Dex looks like a man heading for his execution.

“The team’s youth hockey program needs instructors,” Roman says with what I swear is the ghost of a smile. “Particularly for the younger age groups.”

There’s a beat of silence before understanding dawns across the table. Luca breaks first, snorting wine through his nose in his attempt not to laugh.

“You can’t be serious,” Rodriguez says, genuine horror crossing his face. “Kids? With Dex? That’s child endangerment.”

“Consider it community service with a side of image rehabilitation,” Coach Barrett says. “Three sessions a week, starting next Tuesday. The youngest group is four to six years old.”

“Four-year-olds?” Dex says, his voice rising an octave. “I thought I was coaching youth hockey! I don’t know anything about teaching kids!”

“Perhaps you should have considered that before the Space Needle incident,” Roman says without sympathy.

“And it includes a ‘Mommy and Me’ beginner class on Saturday mornings,” Coach adds, clearly enjoying Dex’s distress. “8AM start time.”

“Saturday mornings?” Dex looks physically pained. “Coach, be reasonable. I haven’t seen 8AM on a Saturday since juniors.”

“You’ll adapt,” Roman says with finality. “Team responsibility extends beyond the ice, Malone. Time you learned that.”

“I’m doomed,” Dex mutters, draining his wine glass. “Tiny humans with no coordination and their judgy parents. At eight in the morning.”

“It’s just one season,” Brody offers, though his eyes are dancing with barely suppressed laughter. “How bad could it be?”

“You’ve clearly never spent time with small children,” Dex shoots back. “They’re like drunk adults but stickier and with no sense of self-preservation.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Maybe it’ll be good for you. A different kind of challenge.”

Dex gives me a betrayed look. “Et tu, Elliot? I thought we were friends.”

“We are,” I assure him. “Which is why I’ll bring coffee to your first Saturday morning session. You look like you’ll need it.”

“Make it Irish coffee and we might stay friends,” he grumbles, but there’s a grudging acceptance in his tone. He glances at his phone as it lights up again, and something crosses his face—a flash of genuine weariness beneath the carefree facade.

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