When he bought the Vancouver Storm, he confessed years ago, it was his dream that his daughter would come work for him and eventually own the team.
Like that’s going to happen. I recall her at Volkov’s vow renewal ceremony in September. Ross said hello to her, and she left. She won’t even talk to him.
And now he’s giving up.
“I’ll find the right person,” he adds. “Someone who has the team’s best interest at heart.”
This does nothing to reassure me. These billionaires have egos, and they like to put their mark all over the organization. They have their own people; their own coaches, staff, analysts, scouts. They have their favorite players. Everyone’s jobs will be on the line.
A new owner is going to rip this team to shreds.
An awful taste fills my mouth. “A new owner could ruin everything we’ve worked so hard to build.”
It’s not justweas in he and I. It’swe,the team. Players like Jamie Streicher, who could have gone anywhere but took a risk and a pay cut coming to Vancouver. The team hated Rory Miller when he joined but he stepped up as the captain and leader they needed. Hayden Owens moved from defense to forward and became the star I knew he could be. Alexei Volkov found a new purpose as my assistant coach after retiring from the NHL.
“It’s not just the guys.” An uneasy feeling settles through my gut as the full impact of this hits me. “We have a robust staff of incredible people supporting the team.” Physios. Analysts. Medical staff.
A sharp realization hits me—if the new owner fires me, I’ll need to either go back to coaching a lower level or, if I want to stay in the NHL, move.
Moving away from Bea isn’t an option. Not happening.
I don’t need to work. Having been one of the highest-paid players in the NHL, and now the highest-paid coach, I’m set. It’s not about money, though. It’s about purpose.
Coaching and being a father is my purpose.
He gives me one final sad look. “Nothing’s forever, Tate.”
None of this makes sense. Ross Sheridan is devoted to the Storm. He’d never rip apart everyone’s lives unless he had to.
Something I teach my guys, though, is that the game isn’t over until the final buzzer goes off. That’s what’s beautiful about hockey—things can change in an instant. At the last moment.
There’s too much at stake for me to give up.
“What can I do to change your mind?” I ask, and he shakes his head with a resigned expression.
“Nothing. I’m sorry, Tate.”
That part of me that made me a great hockey player, the part that won’t let me quit, digs in deeper. The conversation is over for tonight, but I’m going to think of a solution.
I say goodnight and head to the door.
“And Tate?”
I pause in the doorway, looking over my shoulder at Ross.
“Let Jordan know for me, would you?”
CHAPTER 3
JORDAN
“Alright, everyone.”Rory Miller raises his glass and the Filthy Flamingo quiets down. “As of tonight, the Vancouver Storm is in first place in the NHL’s Pacific Division.”
A round of cheers rises up around the bar, and even I smile from behind the counter. Rory puts his arm around his new wife, Hazel, Storm physio and body-inclusive fitness studio owner.
“I’m proud to be your captain. This season, the Stanley Cup is ours,” he says with his drink in the air, and everyone cheers.
Everyone returns to their conversations and I go back to making drinks, half-listening to the chatter.
