Sergei shook his head. “Man’s been waiting all year to impress someone new.”
“Let’s start with passing drills,” Mel said, dry but light. “I hear those are still optional for you.”
Oh, snap.The group lit up with howls and sticks clapping against the boards. I smiled, a genuine one.
Logan grinned, impressed. “Okay, okay. She’s got teeth.” And she wasn’t afraid to use them.
Maria looked smug. I wasn’t surprised.
Mel briefly met my eyes, then turned back to a player asking about the road schedule. She nodded and jotted something down on her iPad.
Most new staff tried not to take up space, but that clapback got her into the pack faster than she knew. The guys respected that. Hell,Irespected it. Even if some part of me clocked the curve of her hip when she turned—not helpful, my brain was in rebellious mode.
After Tuesday’s light skate, I peeled off my gloves and tugged my cap low, same as always. Most of the guys had filtered into the locker room, the last few chirping at trainers or stretching through cooldowns. Typical game-day morning casual routine.
“Sean.”
Maria’s voice cut through the tunnel. She was already halfway to me, heels soft against the rubber flooring.
“I need a minute.”
I nodded and followed her a few steps from the noise.
“I’d like Melanie to travel with the team this week,” she said. “You’re leaving for a back-to-back in Colorado.”
I did a double take. “She’s been here, what, a week?”
“Exactly. So she’d better hit the road running. We’re already behind on rotating development staff into travel roles. TahoeWest doesn’t fall behind the curve.” She didn’t blink. “If we don’t squeeze her in now, she’ll be flying blind next season. She needs exposure in all areas of her job this season.”
I crossed my arms. “I get that. But we’re in the playoffs. Is that the time to experiment?”
“She’s not running drills,” Maria said. “She’s observing, getting the feel. You said it yourself in the debrief—players respond better when they see consistent faces behind the bench and off the ice.”
I exhaled slowly. That had been about trainers not breaking in new staff during playoffs.
“Management thinks long game. You do too,” she added. “Integrate her now when it matters. You know the routine, and she’ll learn it faster beside you than from any checklist.”
There it was. Flattery and team loyalty, rolled into one neat punch.
“I trust you to give her the kind of insight we can’t put on paper,” Maria concluded.
Mel hadn’t walked into that locker room tentative; she’d handled it calmly and given as good as she got. She was here for a job and ready to prove it, which was both impressive and annoyingly inconvenient.
I shook my head lightly. “You’re good at this.”
Maria smiled. “I know.”
And that was that. My fate, sealed with a confident smile.
Game time rolled in that evening, the arena electric with home fans. The second playoff game against Colorado. Gotta win it, same as every game. Lose this one, and the pressure grew tighter to win the following games. The good news was we were on home soil.
Warm-ups wrapped. I stood behind the bench, scanning the ice. Colton flicked a puck into the corner, all heat and precision, like he was daring someone to test him. Brent circled the netwith that low, coiled stride that meant he was dialed in. My two best forwards: Colton brought the fire, Brent the focus. A damn reliable pair.
The air thrummed with energy, bass-heavy music, fans slapping the glass—all the markers of home advantage, ready to be cashed in.
I caught sight of Mel, iPad in hand, standing behind the gear carts and tape bins near the gate. Blazer fitted, hair up, fully locked in. Tomorrow, she’d be on the plane, under my watch.
Trial role or not, this wasn’t a soft launch. It was a full send, fast track, total immersion. I respected people who earned their space; that was my whole damn life. From across where I stood, Mel seemed calm and eager. She was observing with interest, not a bad look for being new in the role.
