We were off to the races, transitioning from rookie camp, which had taken place over the summer, to seeing the full team together for the first time. The energy was different now — the rookies trying to impress, the vets not giving a shit what the rookies thought at all. The veterans didn’t move like the kids did; there was rhythm in their stride, muscle memory in every pass and stop. You could almost feel the rookies shrinking under the weight of it.
But some of them were inspired, lighting up from the inside out and chasing the challenge. Those were the ones I had my eyes on the most.
I scanned the ice, watching for chemistry, for hesitation, for anyone who looked like they’d forgotten what it meant to belong here, and anyone new who might be hungry for a chance. It was my job to know who was ready and who was bluffing it.
I caught sight of Perry at the far net, mask off, water bottle tipped to his lips. He was laughing at something our defenseman, Jaxson Brittain, said, that familiar crooked grin making him look ten years younger than his body felt. But when he dropped back into the crease, I saw it — the hesitation, the guarded way he planted on his left side. It wasn’t enough for anyone else to notice, but it was plenty enough to make my stomach knot.
The vets were ribbing him between drills, tossing a few “old man” jokes his way, and he was giving it right back, glove raised in mock salute. Typical Daddy P — the heartbeat of the room. And yet, under all that noise, all that routine, I could see it in his posture. The heaviness. The finality.
He hadn’t given me his answer yet, but I could feel it coming.
I turned to Kozak, one of my assistant coaches, nodding toward the net. “Soon as this drill’s over, tell Perry I want a word.”
Because whatever decision he’d made — it was time I heard it.
My assistants took the reins when Perry skated over to me, and he hopped off the ice and walked back to the locker room with me guiding the way. We slipped into my office, the quietsnickof the door closing behind us setting my nerves on edge again. I gestured for him to take a seat before I did the same, and then I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, gaze leveled with his.
“You’re going, aren’t you?”
Will Perry was what I would call a man of stoicism. He’d always been laser focused on the game and this team, with the only soft spot in his heart being reserved for Chloe and his daughter, Ava.
So when his eyes welled, his jaw tight, a loud sniff breaking the silence of my office, I knew.
I closed my eyes, letting out a long breath before I sat back in my chair. “Fuck,” I murmured.
“My hip is going,” Will said, and I didn’t miss how his throat bobbed at the admission. “No one hates that fact more than I do, Coach. But I have a family. I’m already looking at a life of rehab. The last thing I want is to not be able to play with Ava or her future siblings.”
I nodded. “I understand, Perry.”
And I did. Goalies weren’t the only ones who suffered injuries that followed them for life. I still did physical therapy for the career-ending one that turned me from a player to a coach far younger than I ever anticipated.
That memory had the next question rolling off my tongue.
“Would you ever consider coaching for us? You and I both know you’d do better than ol’ Romanov out there.”
That made Perry bark out a laugh, which melted some of the tension in the room. “That man hasn’t taught me shit, not in all the years I’ve been here. I’ve learned more from Ava than him.”
I chuckled. “I don’t doubt it. So, you’ll consider?”
Will was silent a moment before he nodded. “I’ll think on it.”
“Good.” My eyes flicked between his, the corner of my lips curling just a notch. “So, this is your last season?”
“This is it.”
I shook my head, hand finding my desk to help me stand. Then, I extended that hand for Perry’s, taking it in a firm shake when he stood to join me. “Then we better fucking win the Cup.”
“Hear, hear,” Perry echoed.
I considered hugging him, but decided I’d save that for the spring. For now, we still had one last season, one final ride — and I didn’t intend to let him off easy.
“Now, back on the ice, Pickles. Time to show these rookies how it’s done.”
The rest of the day blurred past in a rush of drills, video review, and media obligations. My assistants rotated players through testing and conditioning while I bounced between the ice and the meeting rooms, checking off boxes and trying not to think about what Perry’s announcement meant for the rest of our season.
Around noon, the rink had quieted. Most of the guys were in the gym or showering off. I was halfway through reviewing tomorrow’s drill plan when Kozak poked his head into my office.
“Coach,” he said, breathless from the walk. “They’re setting up for the press conference. PR says the new GM just arrived — they’re almost ready for you.”
