Page 63 of Second Shot

“There are a few higher up who aren’t happy about your alleged relationship with Caldwell. They see it as a distraction. Add the bullying story on top of that, and now they’re talking about trading Caldwell to cut our losses. ‘Cut out the cancer.’ That’s the phrase they’re throwing around.”

Anger roils in my chest. “He’s not a cancer. He’s a damn good player and an asset to this team. Even if we’ve had a falling out, neither of us would ever give less than everything on the ice.”

His sighs. “I sure as hell hope that’s true. Because if management keeps him, you’ll have to work together whether you like each other or not.”

“I know, sir.”

He grimaces. “But I value both of you a lot. You’re both incredibly gifted hockey players, and I don’t want to lose either one of you if I can help it. While the final decision isn’t up to me, I’mwilling to fight for a player when I really want him. Management listens to me. There’s a chance I can sway things. I can’t make any promises, but I am willing to do all I can to keep Caldwell.”

Hope nudges me, but anxiety does too. “Thank you, Coach. He deserves his spot on this team. He deserves to go to the playoffs. He helped get us to this point. It’s fucking unfair that he’d be thrown away just because of some scumbag from the past. People change, and I wouldn’t be fighting so hard for him if I didn’t know he’s changed. He’s an important part of this team.”

“I agree.” He says. “And so does the rest of the team.”

I lift my brows. “Really?” I haven’t had much time to talk to the other guys. I was too busy trying to figure out where the hell Ryan had gone.

He nods. “Yep. Niko, Petrov, Marlowe, Foster, and Kincaid all ambushed me outside my office an hour ago. They wanted to let me know that they spoke for the entire team when they said we should keep Caldwell right where he is.”

I’m so touched to hear the team spoke up for Ryan, my throat closes up. As I struggle to find words, the room is quiet except for the hum of the air conditioning and the distant sound of phones ringing in the offices down the hall.

Coach leans forward, his gray eyes sincere. “You know what will make a huge difference in management’s decision, Jacobs?”

“What?” I ask hoarsely.

“A statement from you. We’ve already got an apology drafted for Ryan that’ll go out today, but if you were to make a public statement too, maybe hold a press conference, saying you’ve forgiven Caldwell and believe he’s changed, it might influence their decision. I’m not saying it’ll work for sure, but if there’s one thing management cares about, it’s public opinion.”

I nod, suddenly feeling energized. “You really think that would help?”

“Absolutely. You were Caldwell’s victim all those years ago. Hearing that you’ve forgiven him will mean a lot. Even if ultimately the organization decides to trade Caldwell, having your public vote of confidence could salvage his career.”

“I’ll happily do that.” I stand up, excitement buzzing through me. “How do I set that up?”

He holds up a hand. “Simmer down, kid. I’ll have PR arrange something.”

“Hell, I’ll do it right now if you want.”

He sighs. “Need to run the idea past the powers that be first.” He stands and grabs his tablet from the table. He moves to the door, and Ifollow. He puts his hand on my shoulder once we’re outside the meeting room. “Caldwell’s lucky to have you in his corner, son. I have a good feeling things will turn out okay.”

He has no idea how much I needed to hear that. “I hope you’re right, Coach.”

He grunts and heads down the hall. “I’ll text you and let you know what PR comes up with. I suggest you go home and take a shower. Maybe eat something. You’ll want to look your best for the cameras, and right now you look like hell.”

I grimace. “Will, do, Coach.”

****

I’m just about to head back to the Seadragon Center to meet with the team’s PR manager, Jed Harkin, and finalize the press conference details when he calls me.

“Hey, Jed,” I say, grabbing my keys off the small table by the front door. “I’m heading in now.”

“Uh… you might want to hold off on that.” Jed’s voice is tense.

I stop walking, and ask curtly, “Why?”

“Freddy Morrison just released a whole slew of texts on social media that he claims are between you and him.”

“What the fuck?” The blood drains from my head. “He’s lying, Jed. I’ve never once texted with the guy.”

“I believe you,” he says quickly. “The problem is, they’re already out there on the internet and people are going nuts.”

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