“Hey, have you seen Roman?”
“Gym.”
“Come with me,” Sandro said to Bennett. “And bring your camera.”
“You want me to record your conversation with Roman?”
“Might as well. Could be handy for the series.”
They headed to the locker room first so Sandro could leave his outerwear behind and change from his boots to his sneakers. He waited for Bennett to attach a bunch of doohickeys to his camera while Eli counted cash from Hughes’ wallet—why Hughes was carrying around more than a hundred dollars in cash was beyond him. Who used cash anymore?
When Bennett was ready, they headed out, Sandro with a pointed glance at Eli. “Make sure you get a workout in. And don’t let Dabbs sniff you until you’ve showered.”
Eli rolled his eyes. “Yes, Dad.”
Sandro didn’t bother responding to the wisecrack, but he did elbow Bennett in the ribs when his man chuckled.
The gym smelled like sweat and rubber, a combination of scents that was as familiar to Sandro as the smell of freshly Zambonied ice. Matty Coates was sprinting on a treadmill like he was trying to outrun his demons—or maybe thoughts of his on-again, off-again girlfriend—Deeley was spotting DeShawn James at the bench press, Prinnie was at the squat rack, and Cotton and Roman were using a pair of exercise bikes.
“I want to talk to you about the wellness initiative,” Sandro said, planting himself between the handlebars of Roman’s bike. Bennett hovered somewhere behind him, camera on his shoulder.
“You?” Roman slowed the bike down, sweaty but not the least bit winded. “You want to talk about the wellness initiative? Voluntarily?”
Sandro crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
“What’s a wellness initiative?” Cotton asked.
“Something we’re launching next season,” Sandro told him.
Roman eyeballed him. “Not this season?”
Sandro eyeballed him back. “You think I can put together a program like that in only a couple of months?”
“Sounds like you’ve officially accepted the job.”
“Don’t give me that self-satisfied smirk. You knew I’d come around.”
“I hoped,” Roman corrected. He hopped off the bike and wiped his face with a towel. “What did you want to talk about?”
Sandro thought of Eli’s struggles and of what Bennett had confessed less than twelve hours ago. “We need to include a program that helps rookies transition into the NHL from the minors or college or wherever they’re coming from, and we need to prioritize it. It’s a lot for rookie players to step into the spotlight, and we don’t want to see them crash and burn under the pressure.”
Roman’s gaze slid to Eli, who walked in and did a quick sweep of the room before joining Deeley and DeShawn at the bench press. “Done.”
Sandro blinked. “That easy?”
“It’s your program,” Roman said with a shrug. “What you want, you get.”
“I want an assistant.”
Sandro expected Roman to push back on that, but he nodded and said, “I’ll see what I can do. Hey, are you still coming shopping with me this afternoon? I need to get stocking stuffers for the kids and a Christmas gift for Cody.”
Sandro squinted at him. “Not a watch, right?”
“What’s wrong with a watch? It makes a great gift.”
Cotton, still on the exercise bike, chuckled. “You’ve gotten him three or four over the past decade.”
“Fuck,” Roman muttered. “Have I? Ugh, I’ll think of something else. Why are partners so hard to shop for?”
