Page 17 of Until He Scores

I chuckled. “Not a worry here. It was this or lose the leg. I chose this. I’m not fucking that up.”

“See that you don’t.”

Chapter 7

Thierry

Inodded. “Understood, Coach.”

Alexander motioned me to follow him. “Come on, I’ll show you to your office, then I’ll take you to the practice rink. You can meet the team out there. I’m sure they’ll be excited to see you.”

“I hope so,” I replied. “But I’m not holding my breath. These guys are competitors. They see me, even as a coach, as their competition. I see that as a win. The fire in their belly is burning for a win and, like you said, they’re hungry.”

We walked the short distance to the business side of the facility where all the offices and front-end business took place. For being an AHL team, the complex was enormous. They had a small concession area. Offices above the game rink and two small apparel stores on opposite ends of the building. They also had a meet and greet area and a place outside to have lunch with the players. Not to mention the small office near the practice rink that was used to sign kids up within the community to play hockey for the youth division. Their mascot was aMountainettewhich was a forest creature of sorts. Cute, catchy, and inviting. Hell, if I had never played a professional game, but had been given the chance to, I’d come here first.

When we arrived at my office next to Alexander’s, the one thing that stood out was how bare it was. Sure, there were group photos of the team and the mascot. The President of the organization, along with the board of directors and each of the management staff and doctors. The team included everyone, which was nice in a high dollar, high stakes game. Still, the office lacked personality. The bookshelves to the right of the window overlooking the ice had rule manuals and one half-dead potted plant. Momma was the green thumb, not me.

“It’s not much to look at now,” he said. “Do what you want. Add photos of the family. Friends. Trophies. Make this place yours. You’re going to be here for a while.”

“Thanks,” I answered. His reassurance bolstered my courage. “I think I will.”

Twenty minutes later, I was at the bench for the first time in six months, standing with my new team. Exhilaration burst in my chest. It felt like the first time I laced up a pair of skates and got out there, minus the part where I fell on my ass a few hundred times. Or ripped my knee to shreds.

Coach Drake introduced me to the guys, most of whom appeared to be in their early twenties. I could pick out the older members I’d played against at some point in our careers, and then there were two who didn’t even appear old enough to be out on the ice with us. Although I couldn’t say much, the US Men’s national team recruited me while I was still in high school.

When we broke apart, one of the younger guys hung back and had a shit-eating grin on his face when extended his hand. “When they said Thierry Thomas was coming to our team and was going to be our defensive coach, I told everyone they were full of shit.” His voice cracked, filled with excited-disbelief, tickling me. “Holy shit you’re really him.”

I shook his hand. “I am. You are?” I tilted my head curious about my teammates since I’d be their coach for however long they’d stay in the AHL.

“Christopher Murphy. My dad owns the machine shop on Baker St.” He shook my hand. “He is going to piss kittens when he hears about this.”

I laughed. “Sounds painful.”

He continued to snicker as he stared at me, his eyes twinkling in admiration and awe, before pointing at each of my defenders on the ice a few feet from where I stood. “That’s Richard “Tow” Sharpe. His nickname is Tow on account when he was little his hair was white as snow.”

The kid skated forward. His eyes kept averting mine. His cheeks were bright pink. I hoped to hell he lost the shyness once he was on the ice, or else what was the point of being with the team? “Nice to meet you, Richard.”

“Pleasure, sir,” he murmured before joining the others waiting.

“Kodiak is our goalie. His real name is Pavel Barbu.” Christopher leaned against the boards as he introduced everyone.

Barbu...I knew that name. Where had I?—

“Well, if it isn’t my rival’s right-hand man.” The large bear-like man pushed through the line of players and stopped in front of me. The brutish man ripped off his mask, and I came face to face with a grizzly I wouldn’t want to tango with in a forest. His rich accent had a memory cracking through the fog of games I’d played over the years. “I see someone finally cut you down to size, old man.”

“Pleaca!” I snapped then hugged the big guy as the pieces came together. “It’s good to see you again, old friend.”

Pavel and I had played several international games together over the years and during the Olympics. Shared a few rounds ofbeers, too. Eventually I met his family and his beautiful wife. The last time I’d heard anything about them, she was pregnant with their first child. He was also on his way to doing great things in Romania. Having him as a goalie made our defense ten times better than any team in the league.

“Rosemary will be excited to know you’re here and in one-piece, old friend,” Pavel said. “It’s good to have you at my back instead of on the opposite side of the ice.”

“I can’t wait to see her. It’s been too long.”

Turned out, I knew a few more of the guys on the team. I’d seen them in a few of the sixteen and under camps theThunderbirdsput on over the years, and they were slowly working their way to the top of the league. Others side-eyed me. That was okay. They saw a thirty-five-year-old, thirteen-year veteran, honing-in on their turf.

Not a coach determined to take them to a championship.

I didn’t blame them.

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