Page 11 of Home Game

“What's up, coach?”

“GM wants to have a meeting with you.”

My gut sank. Nothing ever good came from meetings with the GM. “Sure.”

“Shower and head up to the offices.”

“Okay.”

“And maybe keep this one to yourself.”

A secret meeting. Fuck me.

While I showered, I reviewed my performance to date. I pushed myself hard at every practice. I was learning the style of coaching and the team. At night, I watched tapes of practices and old games. I worked to bond with the team.

The bonding wasn’t going well. I was open to going out for beers with anyone who asked. The problem was, no one was asking. And they politely declined any overtures I made to invite them out. They were good guys, but they didn’t want to have anything to do with me.

I missed my old team. My mates had been like family. We had asynergy on and off the ice. Here, this team just felt like a job. And that kind of attitude would show up at the games. We hadn’t gelled yet and even I knew that would be an issue.

None of the other players asked where I was going when I left the locker room.

I made my way upstairs to the corporate offices. The receptionist showed me into the office of Mark Ashford. Gordon was already in the office. They were waiting for me.

“Ryan,” Mark Ashford, the GM, welcomed me without a smile. “Come in.”

“Thanks,” I dropped my gym bag and lowered myself to a seat next to Gordon.

Ashford was a piranha in a suit. In the hockey world, everyone feared and revered him. He was famous for his ruthless team cuts and he didn't shy away from making tough calls or spending money to build his team. Last year the Vancouver Wolves had won the Stanley Cup.

Now the GM leaned back in his chair and studied me. I held his gaze, internally bracing myself for whatever he would say.

“Gordon and I were just talking about you.”

“I figured.”

“You look better than good out there. You’re fast. You’re accurate and you work hard.”

“Thank you.”

He held eyes with Gordon too long for my liking. “How do you think you’re getting along with the guys?”

“We’re still feeling each other out.”

“Do you feel like you’re bonding?”

“We’ll get there.”

Ashford leaned forward and looked at me intently. “Do you know why you were traded to the Vancouver Wolves?”

I shook my head.

“I made a bet with Paulson, your old GM in LA, and I lost the bet.”

My stomach dropped. “What was the bet?”

“The winner got to pick the trade, and the loser had to accept the trade.”

I swallowed hard. This was worse than I imagined. My new team didn’t want me here. It was disheartening to realize that my new GM didn’t want me either. “Why me?”

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