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“Have a seat, Rome.” Coach Evans gestures to the worn leather chair across from his desk. “Or should I just call youRomeo?” he says with a glowering look.
My jaw tenses. I fucking hate that name and the stigma that comes with it. It used to not bother me, but lately, I hate it more than ever. Unless it’s frommyJuliet’s mouth.
“Rome is fine, sir.”
He smiles without a hint of humor and nods, taking a seat behind his desk, his hands folded over his stomach. The top of his desk is littered with folders and papers, along with pens bearing the Avalanches logo.
When he texted me that he wanted to meet with me, I was immediately wary. There are only ever two reasons he wants to see me in his office. One… to bitch me out for something. Or two… he wants to go over gameplay. And since it’s the off-season, that only leaves one thing.
“Thanks for coming in today. Sorry to pull you in on your time off, but I need to discuss something with you that unfortunately couldn’t wait.” He pauses, leaning back further in his chair. “You had a good season, Rome. Hope next year is just as exceptional.”
I nod. “Me too. I’m feeling strong. Feeling ready. Looking forward to camp and the season.”
It’s no secret that even though I perform better than any goalie he’s ever had, the man doesn’t like me. Never has. He’s seen my name in the headlines one too many times, seen what I’m like off the ice. He rode my ass so hard in the beginning of my career because he didn’t think my reputation was good for the team or my focus, and it took forever for me to prove myself.
Can’t say I blame him. My game speaks for itself now, but the perceptions about my extracurricular activities haven’t gone away, and that hangs over my head.
That’s the fucking problem. I have this reputation of being a playboy and not taking things seriously, and I want out.
I’m sick of carrying that shit on my back. I want to be known as something different, even if I don’t know what the hell that means right now.
So, he can feel however he wants to feel, but he can’t deny that I’m an asset to this team, no matter what they write about me on the internet.
“Glad to hear it. So, as you may have heard by now, since the guys on my team like to gossip like a bunch of women, my daughter moved to Chicago over the summer. She was living with her mother in Seattle, but is relocating to Chicago to attend the University of Northwestern.”
My brow furrows in confusion. Not sure why he asked me to come all the way down here to discuss his daughter.
He laughs, shaking his head. “Judging by the look on your face, you’re wondering what this has to do with you. Caroline is majoring in sports medicine at Northwestern, and part of her graduation requirement is an internship. Given our partnership with the organization, I set her up with one at Face-Off Foundation. And a few days ago, I got an email from PR letting me know that you’ve recently started working with them too. Generally, I don’t get involved in media stuff unless it’s affecting the team, but since you will be working with my daughter, I wanted to have a conversation with you.”
Well, at least he’s not fucking recommending me for a trade. I can breathe a little easier knowing that.
“Yeah, I’ve been working with Face-Off for the past couple of weeks. It’s been really rewarding. I’m coaching a team of thirteen- and fourteen-year-olds, and they’re great kids.”
The last three weeks have been like a breath of fresh air. I’m still figuring my shit out, but when I wake up in the morning, I feel… fulfilled. I look forward to going to the arena to teach them, and it’s been a while since I felt this happy. Refreshed.
“PR put you up to this? Are you in trouble that I haven’t heard about?” he asks, his dark brows furrowing with distaste, like he wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if I found myself in the headlines again. Hewouldthink that the only reason I’m doing this is because I’m trying to save face.
“No. I just… just really wanted to give back to the community. That’s all. Working with the kids on my team has been really fulfilling. I just want them to have the same opportunities that others have.”
Coach is silent when I finish speaking, his eyes searching mine like he has something to say but doesn’t.
Whether he believes me or not doesn’t matter. I’m not doing this as a publicity stunt; I’m doing this because working with these kids is fixing something inside of me that has been off for a long time.
“If you’re going to be working with this organization, Rome, I want no bullshit. You hear me? I find you on a gossip site making Face-Off or the Avalanches look bad, I’m going to lose my shit. You wanna do this and be the poster boy for the team? Fine. I’ll allow it, but if you fuck up, that’s it. The last thing I need on my hands is to clean up a damn PR nightmare. Especially with my daughter working there. Keep it in line. I mean it.” He pauses, sighing heavily. “Do right by these kids. You can’t half-ass it, and that includes half-ass committing to them. It’ll be hard to balance while you’re on the road, but you can’t shortchange them. They’re worth more than that.”
I swallow as I nod. “I know that. I have no intention of going anywhere. I’m in it for the long haul, Coach. I’ll be on my very best behavior.”
“And that includes my daughter. Keep an eye on her and make sure she’s okay. She’s in a new city, and I worry about her.”
Wow, the man does have a heart.
There’s a light rap at the door, interrupting his spiel, and his eyes flicker to the small window in the door. He raises his hand to wave them inside, pausing our conversation.
When the door clicks open, then shuts, I’m shocked to see Coach’s face transform into a wide smile. I can’t remember the last time I saw this man smile like this. Not even when we won the Stanley fucking Cup. It was a half-ass smirk, at best.
I turn in the chair to face the visitor, and the moment my gaze lands on her, my mouth runs dry. I almost swallow my fucking tongue.
Holy shit.
