Chapter 1
RYLAN
The glass and steel facade of the Seattle Sasquatch's practice arena reflects the September sunshine, casting long shadows across the parking lot as I pull into my spot. My watch reads 7:45 AM, exactly fifteen minutes early, as usual. I'm nothing if not predictable. Training camp doesn't begin until tomorrow, but everyone on the team got a late night notice to show up today for a mandatory pre-training camp meeting. It's weird, but who am I to question it? I'm just lucky I was in town. A lot of the guys are taking advantage of our last few of days of freedom by getting away with their families or girlfriends and won't be back until later today, but the message from our GM was clear: we're all expected to show up, either in person or by video call.
The familiar weight of responsibility settles across my shoulders as I grab the coffee out of my truck's cup holder and head inside.
Photos and memorabilia from our team's short but eventful history line the walls of the hallway outside the meeting room. Everyone's favorite photo is, of course, the on-ice shot takenin the moments right after we won the Cup three years ago. It's a great photo, but right now it's a constant reminder of expectations we haven't met since that first magical season.
Unsurprisingly, I'm the first one to arrive, so I settle into my normal seat on the far side of the first row. Everything about this room screams high-end pro sports franchise, from the extra-wide, leather chairs, arranged auditorium style, to the way the team logo is subtly included throughout the space. The room's front wall is dominated by a large multimedia screen and several smaller screens and electronic whiteboards are positioned around the room.
My chair creaks as I settle in, steam rising from my coffee as I check my phone. No missed calls from Dad, thank god. Our last confrontation over his drinking still weighs heavy, but I push those thoughts aside. Right now, I need to focus on my job, and try not to let my nerves show. You'd think that after more than a decade years in the NHL, I'd have outgrown my beginning-of-season jitters, but you'd be wrong. Our team has a lot to prove after the disappointing last two seasons, and as captain, that burden falls squarely on my shoulders.
A couple of minutes later, Louis Tremblay, our number one goalie and my childhood best friend, walks in, a smile on his face, as usual. He drops into the seat beside me."Dude, what's the deal with this meeting at the ass-crack of dawn before camp even starts? I'm on about three hours of sleep right now."He waggles his eyebrows.
I roll my eyes."That right? So last night's date went well then?"
He gives me a filthy grin."Oh, fuck yeah. This girl was gorgeous. I actually felt kind of bad leaving after we were done."
"Really?"I say."I figured you'd be thrilled to get Carson's late-night text. Gives you the perfect excuse to avoid hanging around."
He shrugs."Eh, whatever. Maybe I wasn't that sad to leave. I'm just bitter about losing my last chance to sleep in for a while."He takes a sip from his own coffee."But seriously, what the hell is this meeting about? That text was weird, right?"
It's my turn to shrug."I have no idea, they didn't tell me anything."
My line-mate and friend Austin Cote strides into the room a moment later, followed by a clutch of other players, along with Kelly Garneau, the executive assistant to our General Manager, Carson Wells.
Some of the guys flash me nervous grins as they pass, while others bob their heads in greeting. Austin takes a seat behind us."Hey,"he says, his dark, assessing gaze taking everything in. When Kelly fires up the big screen, several of our other teammates have already connected to the video call, their faces looking like the opening sequence fromThe Brady Bunch, and there's some good-natured banter and ribbing while we wait.
When the commotion in the room has settled into an expectant hum, Carson Wells, our General Manager, and our new Head Coach, Travis Shaw, walk through the door.
Even though he's younger than most GMs in the league, Wells has a quality that commands respect. It might be the way he carries himself, or maybe it's that he's proven himself willing to make tough calls for the good of the team.
"Good morning everyone,"he says."I know this is an unusual time for a team meeting, especially since training camp hasn't officially begun. Thank you all for making time to be here, whether in person or virtually."
He gestures to Travis Shaw, standing beside him."Most of you have already met Coach Shaw, but for those who haven't had the chance yet, Travis comes to us from Florida's AHL affiliate. He's got eighteen seasons of NHL experience as a player, and we're excited to have him lead the team this year."
Travis gives a brief nod of acknowledgement, but doesn't speak. That's one of the things I've noticed about him in the few interactions we've had so far—he doesn't waste words.
"I know you're all wondering why we called this meeting,"Carson continues."We have some big news."
My stomach clenches. I scan the room, realizing there are a couple of guys missing. Louis shifts in his seat beside me, and tension radiates off Austin behind us.
Carson continues."We made some significant changes to our roster late last night,"he says, his tone measured and calm."We've completed a trade with the Florida Jaguars."
My heart pounds against my ribs. Trade announcements are always nerve wracking. It means someone's not in this meeting because they're no longer part of our team.
"We've sent Liam Coulson and Darren Freeman, along with two prospects and our first-round pick for next year's draft, to Florida."Carson pauses, letting that sink in. A few muttered curses break the silence. Gino Santucci, one of our best defensemen, looks devastated—he and Liam have been best friends for ages.
"In return,"Carson continues,"we've acquired Jamie Pirelli."
The room erupts in whispers, but for a moment I can't hear anything over the sudden rush of blood in my ears. Jamie Pirelli. The first, and so far only, openly bisexual player ever drafted. I force my expression to remain neutral as my stomach twists.
My attention snaps back to Carson as he gives us the Cliff-notes on our new teammate: he was a first round draft pick three years ago. He was hailed as the next"Once In A Generation Player", the same way my older brother, Nick, was, years ago. But in Pirelli's case, the expected greatness hasn't materialized.
What our GM doesn't mention is Pirelli's reputation as a selfish player who's more concerned with his own stats than what's best for the team. Someone who causes endlessdrama, fights with his teammates, clashes with coaches and management, and who treats everyone around him like shit.
Truthfully, though that hasn't been my impression when playing against him. A specific memory surfaces: playing at home game against Florida last season, when Pirelli threw himself in front of Gino Santucci's slapshot to protect his goalie. He'd blocked the shot with his thigh and could barely skate afterward, but he'd stayed out and finished his shift. I remember being impressed in spite of myself; it wasn't the move of someone who only cared about personal glory.
