I think I’ve explained myself rather well, but I tack on a few of Jamie’s records on the ice, from when I timed him in some drills.
Jerry and Coach share a look, and Alex positively beams.
“I spoke with Jamie’s coach—that’s the young man, of course—and he says that Mr. Monroe has made a tremendous difference in Jamie’s confidence already.”
Jerry leans back in his chair. “Well, Roe, of all the things I thought I’d hear when I came down here, I didn’t expect it to be this.” He gives me the first genuine grin I’ve had from him in a while. It makes me feel like I did when I first signed on to play hockey.
My chest rises, and something unfamiliar, like pride, starts to bubble up. It’s the same feeling I always got when I saw an approving look on a coach’s face, or when I knew that my time on the ice had helped my team secure the win.
Jerry’s face is nothing but impressed approval.
At me.
I look at Alex, a little bewildered by the exchange. “It’s nothing formal, though. It’s just hockey.”
Jerry laughs. “Of course it is. But maybe let’s see where it goes?” He spreads his hands and shrugs his shoulders. “After all, it’s the kind of story a reporter could find at the right time, and it could help smooth your way back.”
Er, what?
Something throws me off balance in what Jerry’s saying, but at the same time, we are talking about me returning to the NAPH. Not like a maybe, but like it’s an expectation the team has for the future. That’s a positive I’ll hang onto. The slightly icky feeling I have at Jerry’s words I’ll sort out later.
“So,” Jerry says. “Why don’t you formalize this thing with—was it Jamie? That’s his name?”
Alex and I both nod in agreement that it is.
“Right. Jamie. Create a solid schedule for working with him, set some goals with him. It’ll be a heck of a story.”
Again, something feels a bit off about this to me. It’s just, with the approving looks—fuck that’s been a long time coming—and the smiles and the talk of my career, I can’t put my finger on it.
My head’s fuzzy, swimming with all the good feelings of having my team’s approval. Again.
And then I remember the flash of anger, of heat, in a pair of hazel eyes. The way I got walked back to the boards like I was nothing by Jamie’s hot as hell father.
Gabe Thatcher is going to lose his shit when he hears I’m going to be mentoring his kid in something more formal than our practice sessions. With both Jamie’s coach and the Knights practically signing off on it, Thatcher would be a fool not to go for it.
The mere thought of how deep his scowl will turn when he finds out lights me up. Gabe Thatcher is the bear, and I want to poke him.
“Please,” I say, cutting back into the conversation. “I think I should be the one to bring it up to Jamie’s dad.” I feel my smirk rise to take over my face. “It’s the right thing to do.”
Chapter four
Gabe Thatcher
The Bench Social Media Group
Alex Norcross: Hi, everyone. Marge and Patti invited me.
Marge: We needed an inside man for what’s happening at The Keep.
Riley Novack: What’s happening at The Keep?
Alex Norcross: If Roe and Thatcher keep crossing paths, it may be a felony.
“No.”
My hand grips the ball hammer so hard, I think I might be imprinting the wood grain into my palm. I’m at The Keep, tearing out old wood from the locker room to make way for an update before season starts.
Roe Monroe stands with his arms crossed, stance wide like a hockey god, looking at me like I have two heads, his blue eyes practically twitching with his desire to roll them at me.
