The center forward is arguably the most important position on the team. They need to be strong at both offense and defense, a fast skater, and able to score goals. They need to be good at everything.
I sit back, folding my arms over my chest. “We have Miller.”
“Miller can’t carry this team. What if he gets inju?—”
I hold a hand up and she falls silent. “Jordan, do not finish that sentence.”
What if he gets injured,she was about to say, and I don’t even want to think about that possibility.
Something flares in her eyes, and her mouth does that pretty curve again. “Superstitious?”
All hockey players are a little superstitious. When I don’t answer, she smiles more.
“You need better centermen on your second, third, and fourth lines. It’ll take the pressure off Rory.”
“He thrives on pressure.”
“No, he thrives oncompetition. He thrives when he’s enjoying himself on the ice. Look at how he played after he started going to that beer league.”
My head tilts. “How do you know about that?”
Abustedlook passes over her features. “I overhear things at the bar.”
It doesn’t feel like the whole truth, but regardless, she’s right. Miller rediscovered his love of hockey and it changed him for the better.
“How are we going to pay for these new centermen?”
“Trade guys who aren’t serving us, like Barlow,” she says without missing a beat. She’s thought about this. “He’s a good winger but Kato’s better. We can pair draft picks with their contracts to make them more enticing.” Her knee bounces up and down and she talks faster, with more conviction. “Anyone who doesn’t fit with the team socially needs to go. It’s more important than ever that these guys are rock solid as a group.” She presses her mouth closed like she’s said too much.
So, the quiet bartender knows a little more about hockey than she lets on.
“Very good. I agree.” I nod once, and something lights up her eyes.
“You do?”
Surprise? Pride? Relief? I’m not sure, but it hooks at me, snagging my attention.
The part of me that loves to develop people wakes up. Is there something there with Jordan? She knows hockey and she has a master’s, which I was unaware of. I was also unaware that she worked with the UBC team after I left. Between UBC and the Storm, I took a year to be a full-time parent while Holly finished school, and during that time, Jordan did something I couldn’t—get the women’s team a championship.
What else am I unaware of with her?
Ross Sheridan isn’t the encouraging type. He sits back and lets the talent rise without meddling.
But what if Jordan needed some encouragement. What if she needed the right conditions to thrive?
“It’s a good strategy,” I tell her.
She blinks, confused, like she didn’t expect this. “Okay.”
“Thank you,” I add, because I can’t resist.
She frowns, the confusion intensifying on her features.
“When someone pays you a compliment, Jordan, you saythank you.” I try not to smile but the corner of my mouth lifts.
She scoffs. “Was that a compliment? I didn’t hear you choking on it.”
I need to close my eyes so I don’t burst out laughing at her smart mouth. A deep breath helps me regain control before I open my eyes and give her a patient smile.
