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Coach Byrne enters my office, appearing visibly worn out. When he slumps into the chair across my desk from sheer mental exhaustion, I almost feel sorry for the guy.
“That bad, huh?” I ask, knowing what his response will be just by looking at him.
“Children. Sometimes I feel like I’m babysitting children,” he laments with a gruff sigh, running his hand over his bald head. “Is it too early for you to offer me a drink? Because after this morning’s training session, I think I’m owed one. “
I stand up and walk over to the small bar I keep in my office for such occasions.
“Let me guess? Wilder?”
“Nope.” Byrne shakes his head. “Surprisingly enough, after our little talk this morning, Nathan spent most of practice with his head down, doing as he was told. Though, I’m inclined to believe his sudden meek obedience is mostly driven by the fear of potential suspension from the team rather than remorse for his recent behavior,” he explains while watching me pour a bit of whiskey into a glass. “Wilder didn’t give me this numbing migraine. Donavan is the one who is on my last nerve.”
I don’t even waste my time asking which Donovan he’s talking about.
Jack is too much of a professional to give his coach a hard time.
His younger brother Caleb, on the other hand…
“If the boy could keep pucks from going in the net with the same tenacity he has for running his mouth, we’d be unstoppable.”
“You know the rules. Jack and Caleb are a package deal. If we want Jack to keep playing for us, we must put up with his smart-mouth brother. Besides, he’s a great goalkeeper. We could have done much worse than signing him.”
“Are you sure? Because I could almost swear that I had a full patch of hair on top of my head before that boy came into my life.”
I hand him his drink, which he shoots down in one gulp.
“What was today’s fight about?” I ask him.
“I’ll give you one guess?”
Wilder.
“That damn video has caused quite the stir in the team. Most of the old guard know that Nate would never be baited into a fight without just cause, but some of the newer players have their doubts. Especially the benchwarmers. One of them must have said something to that effect, and unfortunately, Caleb overheard it. The kid made sure to give everyone a hard time in practice. Couldn’t keep his mouth shut if I shoved a puck down his throat.”
“What about Wilder? Did he do anything?”
“No.” Coach slumps in his chair. “After I told him off, the kid was too down in the dumps even to pay attention to what was being said behind his back. Poor kid.”
“He’s a grown-ass man, Byrne. He’s not a child. He should know by now that his actions have consequences.”
“I’m aware,” Byrne retorts disheartened.
I cross my arms over my chest while Byrne nurses the empty glass on his lap.
“So Wilder took everything you said on the chin? He didn’t challenge you when you told him to see Dr. Seymour?” I ask, wanting to learn where Wilder’s head is at.
“Oh, he challenged me alright, but he’s more scared of being kicked off the team than anything else. He’ll see her. He’s also fine with doing some charity work that you suggested.”
“Glad to hear it.” I smile, knowing that will appease Rex since he’s been all about his charities lately. But when my coach goes silent, I sense there is more to their conversation.
“Anything else on your mind?” I ask outright
“I was just wondering,” he says hesitantly. “If maybe we could have taken a different approach.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know.” He sighs gruffly while placing his empty glass on my desk. “Maybe… I don’t know. Are we being too rough on him, maybe? He might be hot-tempered, but we both know he’s no bully.”
“That’s not how the media is spinning this,” I counter assertively. “Let us not forget that we must ensure that The Guardians’ reputation isn’t tarnished by any player’s poor choice of actions. Wilder included.”
