Page 23 of Coach Sully
As soon as Joey jogs up to the stage on her sky-high heels, she accepts the jersey and hollers out a boisterous “Hell yeah!” Shaking my head, I hope we didn’t make a mistake.
Whit chuckles next to me before answering, “Resignation.”
“She’s worth it,” Tanya, one of our player scouts, chimes in. “Promise.”
“I’ll remind you of that when our Christmas bonuses are spent on PWHL fines,” one of the staffers, Jonathan, adds.
“Enough,” I say, ending the jokes.
Waiting through the next eighteen rounds is fucking anxiety-inducing. Picking first sucks.
The emcee announces Yasmin Nielson for Toronto’s pick. I cross her name off our list. Next is Renata Lacroix, and she goes to Vancouver. Shit. Leah Pendergast, New York. Fifteen more rounds of picking and it’s our turn again. Somehow Delta’s name hasn’t been chosen yet. Remember how I said I believed in miracles? I exhale relief.
“Delta. Makkonen.” I say it more firmly than necessary.
He nods, but his voice conveys he’s conceding rather than being thrilled we were able to grab her.The fuck is up with him?
We submit her name for our fourth round, and I cross my arms. As soon as the emcee announces her name, I return to our next choice now that we’re back on track. Our next pick was supposed to be Lacroix, but now that Vancouver has her, I throw out the next best thing. I pull up Kiana Jackson’s stats, and we go back and forth with some scouts on whether to pick her or Jamie Paulson. We submit our choice: Kiana. Afterward, we settle in our chairs, waiting out the next fifteen rounds before we can choose again.
“You may not want to hear this, but I think we should consider Delta for captain.”
He nods without looking at me, and I raise my eyebrows.
“She works hard. Has a good attitude and personality. She’ll be a solid leader,” he agrees.
Jonathan, one of the male staffers getting on my nerves as the night goes on, decides to open his mouth and join our conversation. “And she’s hot, which means she’s pretty enough to charm the refs and officials will have a hard time saying no to her.”
Next to me, Whit’s back stiffens.
I glare at him. “How many NHL players have you said that about?” I counter. Delta hasn’t gotten to this point because she’s attractive, she’s here because she works her ass off.
Jonathan rolls his eyes at me. “I’m just being real here. Come on, Sullivan, I know you know what I’m talking about. She’s a good player, all I’m saying is she’s got other qualities that’ll be beneficial to the team.”
I raise an eyebrow. Fuck this guy. Jeanine scoffs next to me and mumbles something about him being an asshole. Justified. Before I can respond to him, Whit leans forward and stabs a finger in Jonathan’s direction, whose face has gone pale at theattention he’s garnered from the Rogues’s general manager, not to mention the rest of us. Whit drops his voice to a low growl. “Don’t ever talk about her—or any other player—like that again. When we get back to the office on Monday, you can pack your shit.”
“You’re firing me?”
“Yeah. You’re dismissed.” Whit doesn’t spare him another glance.
Jonathan looks around at our faces, seeking support but gets none. Eventually, he shoves his chair back from the table and walks off. Everybody stares at Whit with wide eyes after witnessing his normally calm demeanor shift into overdrive. He adjusts his tie and rolls his shoulders back. “I’m implementing a zero-tolerance policy for sexual harassment, that goes for not only our players but every other member in our organization… Can we finish picking our fucking roster?”
Jeanine grins.
“Let’s get back to work,” I announce, hoping to remind everyone what needs to be priority. “Who’s our next forward? Paulson or Baylor?”
After we meet all the players, shake hands, and sign contracts, the coaches and general managers usher us to the private box for a cocktail after-party. I’d rather get checked into my hotel, but Whit insists I attend. Neither of us brought plus ones; we’re the old bachelors who were always married to the game.
I grab a whiskey and find a seat next to Whit. We look down at the arena, surveying the players and guests still carrying on, it’s their party. Hockey families catching up with other hockey families and congratulating each other on their recent signings. Hockey can be a small world, especially at the top. Probably more so for female players. Scanning for Barrett and Raleigh, I pause when Kendra comes into view. Her back is to me, but that body is unforgettable. She’s chatting with people wearing media badges, and I’m pretty sure I recognize one of them as Lance, the camera operator I met the other night. She points toward someof the new Rogues players, likely directing to get a specific shot or candid interview.
When she turns around, I blow out a breath. She’s a showstopper in that off-the-shoulder dress. It’s damn near cruel. Dressed to the nines with everyone else, but she’s here to work. I smirk, enjoying watching her in her element… Until some asshole comes up and gives her a too-long-for-my-liking hug. I quirk a brow and scrutinize their body language. His touch lingers while she tries to put space between them. He doesn’t take the hint and sways with a drink in his hand before settling his palm on her lower back.
Who is that guy? Do I know him?
He looks familiar, but it takes a minute to realize he’s one of the guys who plays for Toronto. Or at least he did last time I checked. She reaches behind her and removes his hand from her body, then turns her back to me again and points across the room as if telling him she’s got to get going. I grind my teeth when he returns, steps in front of her, and puts an arm around her lower back for the second time, but this time it drops to her ass.Motherfucker.
A tap on my shoulder pulls me away from my glaring.
“What?” I snap. When I realize it’s a catering staff member, I take a deep breath and blink a few times. “Sorry.” I shake my head. “What’s up?”