I think professionally this is leaps and bounds better than Coach Maxwell but… personally. It might be a bit of a shit show.
“I know transitions like this are never smooth, and to do it with playoffs looming is bold, but I truly believe…” Alex keeps talking. His words are motivational and the room seems to responding positively. I can’t hear anything with the buzzing in my brain, but when everyone claps, I clap.
Did Mac know this was coming? She would have given me a heads-up, right? This is kind of a big deal. I don't even know if her dad knows about us. He must… right?
And as Choochinsky says a few words, starting with the suggestion we all just call him Chooch, I notice Pennie for the first time. Our head of marketing and PR is standing in the corner filming us all on her phone. Because social media rests for no one. All fans want nowadays is the behind-the-scenes scoops, like this.
Finally, all three coaches have said something and Alex steps up again. “Thanks for interrupting your day off, boys. I’ll talk to each of you one-on-one in the coming week, but for now, dismissed and I’ll see you tomorrow for morning skate.”
Everyone stands, and Abbott walks right over to me. “Well now that our wildest dream has come true, how you feeling?”
I swallow. My throat is dryer than the Sahara. “I… guess good.”
“Well, I think this is a better fit. I mean, it can’t be worse,” Abbott replies and leaves me to walk over and shake the new coaches’ hands.
I run my hands through my hair, pull my phone out of my pocket, and text Mac.
Hey. Did you know?
There are bubbles as she reads it and is writing a response.
Know what?
She doesn’t know.
When was the last time you talked to your dad?
I stare at the screen waiting for a response.
He actually texted me right after you left. Said he wanted to come to Silver Bay tonight and take me to dinner. I told him I couldn't, because work. Why?
She doesn’t know. Ah, fuck. Do I tell her? I doubt ruining the surprise my new coach is keeping from his daughter is a smart way to start the relationship.
Nothing. Talk later. Stop texting and driving.
I’m not. Your car has voice text, remember?
YOUR car.
Keep saying that and I swear, you will never see me naked again.
“Con!”
I spin like a bomb just went off at the sound of his voice. My phone is flat in my hand, screen up, threat of revoked nudity privileges from hisdaughteron my screen. I yank my hand back and try to shove the phone in my pocket but it falls to the floor, landing screen down with a deadly-sounding crack. Alex and I stare at it between our feet.
“Shit,” he huffs out in his French Canadian accent which has gotten a little softer through the years of living in the United States.
We both bend to pick it up and almost crack skulls. Yeah, this couldn’t get more hellish. Oh wait, it can. He reaches the phone first and turns it over. My eyes snap shut, and I send up an urgent prayer for the sweet release of death. I don’t know what Alex knows about my relationship with Mac but I do know that even if he knows it’s serious, he doesnotneed to read about it.
“Tabernac,” he hisses the French swear and gives me a sympathetic smile. “Your screen is toast.”
I look down. Ugly cracks run every which way on the glass, like the ice after a game before the Zamboni cleans it up. Mac’s text message is still up but not really visible because half the screen is dark.
“Easy fix.” I shrug and manage to take it from him and shove it in my pocket without incident. “I was due for an upgrade anyway.”
I’ll buy forty-seven new iPhones at full price before I let him see that message. I smile and extend my hand to Alex who laughs at it and pulls me into a hug. “I’ve known you since you were eight, Con. No need to be so formal when I’m not behind your bench. You’re practically family.”
So… yeah. Does he mean that in more than one way or…
