Cole sighed, and Brent said, “What you’re failing to realize is that the loft isn’t the same without you. You made that place somewhere for us to go unwind after a win, or blow off some steam after a bad loss. Without you around it was just…sad.”
Mitch shook his head, biting back a smile. “I ghosted the entire team, the entire damn city of Detroit, and you couldn’t even step foot in the loft because it wasn’t the same without me? I’d be flattered if I didn’t think that was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard.”
Brent shrugged again. “We missed you. And speaking of ghosting us…it’s time to spill the beans.”
Mitch’s eyebrows raised, knowing where this line of questioning was headed. “Lexie didn’t tell you what happened?”
Brent shook his head. “I don’t even think Berkley knows the full story.”
Mitch considered that. If Lexie hadn’t even bothered to discuss what went down with them that night, there had to be a good reason. And just because they weren’t speaking didn’t mean he didn’t still care about her, so he wasn’t about to air their dirty laundry to Brent and Cole.
He wouldalwayscare about her.
Hell, he would alwaysloveher.
So instead, he said, “I don’t want to get into the whole story right now. Maybe one day. But there’s too much other shit going on. It boils down to we had a fight, we both handled it badly, and I left.”
Brent opened his mouth as though he wanted to press Mitch for more details, but snapped it shut and nodded. “Fair enough.”
“Now that that’s over with,” Cole said, sitting up straighter and rolling his shoulders back, “there’s another reason we came to see you today.”
Mitch leaned back in his chair and said, “Lay it on me.”
“We’re here on official Warriors business,” Cole said, tone turning serious. “We know you’re technically still on the Knights’ roster.”
“More of an honorary title than anything at this point,” Mitch said, gesturing to his near-useless body. “They’ve agreed to pay out my contract according to the agreed terms, but they understand that I have to move on with my life.”
“Management in Detroit is interested in bringing you back into the fold,” Brent said.
Mitch’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. “In what capacity, exactly? Because we all know damn well I’m not a player anymore.”
“First of all, you’ll always be a hockey player. That shit doesn’t just stop being simply because you’re injured and can’t play professionally anymore,” Cole said in a rare display of impatience from the most laid-back guy Mitch had ever met.
“Okay, okay,” Mitch said, holding his hands up in surrender.
“They want you to come back as a consultant,” Brent said.
“A consultant?” Mitch asked, lip curling.
“Consider it more like a coaching position,” Cole added quickly at the disgusted look on Mitch’s face.
Coaching?
Interesting.
It wasn’t an avenue Mitch had ever considered before. Unlike Jean, who had his whole life after hockey planned out, Mitch was more of a go-with-the-flow kind of guy. And outside of maybe getting his real estate license, he’d never given much thought to what else he would do with his time once his career ended. He had always expected to play until he was at least forty, maybe longer.
Obviously, his back and that prick from San Jose had other ideas.
Butcoaching…it would be a way to stay connected to the game he loved so much, the game that had given him everything.
“I can’t skate,” Mitch blurted. “I can barely walk.”
“We know,” Cole said. “Management wants you working with the defenseman. Sharing training tips and dissecting video with them. Hanging out on the bench during practice and yelling shit at them when they fuck up.”
“What’s the catch?” He asked.
“There is no catch, bro,” Brent said. “Management sees this as an opportunity to right their wrong in trading you.”
