Page 10 of On His Team

“Nothing.”

Benson answers from two stalls away without looking up. “Aspen emailed the report.”

Mackey’s head turns. “She sent it to Fuller, too?”

“Stanley did.”

“Forwarded,” Stanley calls from the hallway.

Then he disappears. He’s gone long enough that everyone stops waiting for him.

Tape starts ripping again. Somebody turns music on low. Walker drinks whatever is in the cup and immediately looks sick.

Nine minutes later, Stanley walks back in, and everybody looks up.

“Well?” Blue says.

Stanley sits down. “He wants her clips.”

That changes the room more than the office summons did. Fuller has video staff. He has systems. He is not a coach who changes what he does because somebody sent him a spreadsheet.

Stanley starts wrapping tape around his shin. “He asked how she tagged controlled entries. Wants the clips sorted by player. Asked if she’s okay with staff using them.”

Benson nods once. “What’d you say?”

“I said I’m not her manager.”

I laugh.

Stanley points the roll of tape at me. “He asked me the question again because apparently that wasn’t helpful.”

Coach gets us onto the ice at three minutes past seven. He holds us at center before we do anything.

“I know what showed up in your inboxes last night.”

A few guys look toward Stanley.

Fuller sees it. “I got it too.”

Nobody moves.

“It’s information. That’s all.” He pauses. “Some of it is stuff we’ve been telling you since October, and now there’s a number attached, which apparently makes it more convincing.”

His eyes land nowhere and somehow directly on Stanley.

A few guys grin.

“Some of it caught things we hadn’t isolated yet. Good. Useful. What we are not doing is rebuilding this hockey team in January.”

That kills the smiles.

“We’ve got six weeks before postseason hockey matters. You do not have time to fix seven things.”

He pauses.

“You have one.”

That gets me.