Typically, I would have enjoyed the view out the window of Houston’s sprawling city center. Instead, my focus remained on Cormac Bouchard, who sat ramrod straight at the far end of the table, his arms crossed over his chest like the last barrier to a castle’s courtyard. Gunnar stood by the whiteboard, his expression flat. Jay fidgeted beside me, clearly wishing he could be anywhere else, and then Jeff came in with Coach Whittaker and goalie coach Adam Kramer. He was basically a prisoner in chains.
This meeting was going to be brutal.
Finally, Cormac leaned forward. His voice was low, controlled, and infinitely more dangerous than if he’d shouted. “What Jeff did on Friday wasn’t just stupid, it was a slap in the face to every guy in our locker room who’s earned his place.”
Nearly every player nodded and voiced agreement. Jeff and his other rookie buddy, Brayden Blackwell, turned pale and dropped their gazes.
Then, Brayden lifted his head, jaw clenched, and gave both Gunnar and Silas Whittaker a sharp nod. He turned his focus to Cormac next. “I get what you’re saying. I’ll do better.”
“Good,” Gunnar said.
“I’m glad to hear that, Brayden, because you have talent, and you’ll be a hella good scorer soon.” He refocused on Gunnar. “You brought us here to build a culture. Family. Legacy. And Jeff? Unlike Brayden, who says right now that he wants to be part of the team, Jeff has pissed all over it.”
Jeff looked up, his expression mutinous, but when he caught the fury not just in Cormac’s expression, but also on the faces of Wildcatter legends Maxim, Stol, Naese, and Cruz, the core guys who’d been here for the championship and held the Stanley Cup, his fire flickered out.
My breath caught in my throat at the raw power in the room.
“Ms. Monroe, I know you’re here because you talked Jeff into going home,” Maxim Dolov said, and I startled. “Thank you. That didn’t just save his PR image; it saved lives.”
Jeff opened his mouth, perhaps to defend himself, but the growing volume of the rumbling in the room caused him to clench his jaw, and fists, instead.
“I’ve seen your work,” Luka Stol added, looking my way. “You’ve been smart, fair. You get the brand.”
Jeff shot me a glare that I studiously ignored.
“But you also understand that this is our city, these are our people, and we care about them.”
“She shouldn’t have been in that position in the first place,” Cormac Bouchard said, enunciating each word with care. “That’s why we’re here. Jeff’s actions are causing problems not just for the team, but for the social media, PR, and marketing departments, not to mention the potential for injured people Jeff almost put in harm’s way.”
“We didn’t need this PR shit-mire to start our season,” Paxton Naese chimed in. “Everyone in the league was gunning for us because of our record, but now? They think we’re divided. Though ironically, this brought most of us closer.”
What he didn’t say reverberated through the room: You aren’t one of us, Jeff.
“Discipline starts at the top,” Gunnar said. “Jeff’s benched for the first two preseason games. He’ll issue a public apology and attend the youth outreach sessions with Cormac and me. Voluntarily.”
This was also supposed to show Jeff that his actions impacted others, according to Natalie’s memorandum outlining how the public relations staff wanted to handle the incident. I wasn’t sure that would work, especially now that the rookie’s shoulder chip had grown to the size of the city of Houston.
Jeff jumped to his feet, face florid. “What? I’m your best?—”
“You’re nothing if you don’t play.” Gunnar’s icy voice cut through Jeff’s potential rant. “No professional stats, nothing to offer another team except what Silas has to say about your lack of work ethic and your lack of team spirit. And while I’m giving you another chance—one the rest of the team doesn’t believe you deserve—if needed I will cut you and take the loss so you don’t further damage my team and our season.”
His words were soft, but the ruthless truth caused me to shiver. Jay let out a low whistle.
“Protecting the shield means holding the line. Every time,” Cormac said. “You didn’t just fuck up for yourself, rookie. You tried to bring down my team.” He rose, towering over the table as he leaned forward. “You either fall in line with what we’re doing here or you’re done.”
The ultimatum settled. Coach Whittaker remained stoic, arms crossed, even with Jeff’s beseeching gaze. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I’ve already given you more chances than Mac and the other guys said you deserved. This is your fuck up. Own it. Make it right, and maybe the team will learn to respect you.” He shrugged, seeming to say, “I don’t think that’s possible.”
Jeff’s need to fight, to speak his piece, finally left him with a ragged sigh, echoed by Jay beside me. I’d noted the two of them together more than once the past week or so, and I wondered if Jay held more sympathy for Jeff than he should.
“Now we strategize about how to fix this,” Gunnar said.
Jeff’s lips twisted, and a dull red climbed up his neck and into his cheeks, cresting at his ears as Natalie began speaking about the plan her team had put together to head off further incidents and right the damage.
Cormac dipped his head when she finished. “We’ll do that. What about socials?” He turned to look at me, and so, of course, did everyone else. Jay scrambled from his chair and stuttered through some of the talking points he, Gunnar, the PR team, and I had worked out.
“From her,” Maxim said after a moment, cutting Jay off.
I straightened in my seat, throat dry. I didn’t need to look at Gunnar, and I didn’t dare look at Jay, because I already knew what I had to say.
