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Shaking his head, he woke his tablet up. He’d already typed several paragraphs’ worth of notes, detailing his observations from the flight.

None of which were all that surprising. As he’d expected, travel seating arrangements reflected existing peer groups and relationships, just like they had at the café on Eli’s birthday.

Owen Cotton and Sandro Zanetti—the two remaining original Trailblazers—had sat together. They’d been friends since the team’s first season, so that made sense.

Deeley and Sandbaker—also not surprising. They were the literal definition of work husbands.

Team Captain Kyle Dabbs and Bellamy Jordan—they were housemates, Nolan had recently learned.

Eli and DeShawn James—both on their second year with the team, so they’d no doubt bonded as rookies last season. And they’d sat across the aisle from the guys who’d mentored them last year, Cotton and Zanetti.

So, yeah. None of that had been unexpected. Nolan had seen exactly what he’d thought he would, which was the fascinating part. He hadn’t quite believed Roman Kinsey’s claim that the team was built on respect, communication, and trust. It wouldn’t have been the first time Nolan had begun auditing culture and engagement programs and found that senior management saw what they wanted to see, and not the reality.

Of course, he hadn’t formed any conclusions yet. This was his first real opportunity to observe the players at work. For all he knew, he might still uncover toxicity at every level.

He had been surprised that Prinnie had sat alone at the very back of the plane, though. From what he could tell, Prinnie was widely liked and got along with everyone. He was freshly divorced—Nolan had read about it online when he’d done a deep dive into the team—and perhaps Prinnie was one of those people who dealt with life’s curveballs by living in his own head for a bit.

Nolan could relate.

“Want to share with the class?”

He glanced up from his tablet and found his dad and Assistant Coach Friedle looming next to him. Below, the players were coming off the ice. Practice was over, it seemed.

“Not really,” he said, flipping his tablet cover over. “Question for you, though, since I have you. Do you think the team culture helped you win three consecutive Stanley Cups?”

“Absolutely,” Dad said, sitting on Nolan’s left. “These guys care about each other, which makes them show up for each other and put in the work.”

“Think you’ll go for a fourth?”

“The odds aren’t exactly in our favor.” Friedle perched on the back of the seat behind him. “Three was a long shot.”

“I don’t usually think that far ahead this early in the season,” Dad added. “I tend to only think about as far as the next month.”

“Huh.” Nolan reawakened his tablet and made a note of that. “I didn’t know that.”

“Because I’ve never been your coach.”

“Fair,” Nolan said. He turned to Friedle. “What about you? What are your thoughts on the team culture?”

“It’s idealistic,” Friedle said, and Nolan chuckled at the raw honesty. “But not in a hokey way. Obviously, it works.”

“But not for everyone,” Nolan pointed out. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise. What was the culture like when you were on the team?”

Friedle made a face. “It was a million years ago. I joined during the team’s second season, and the culture changes were in their infancy at that point. Roman Kinsey was captain, and he was determined even then to make everyone feel welcome. I always found that odd, given his reputation as an asshole. I was nervous to join this team because of that, but his reputation didn’t match the reality. He’s a grumpy son of a bitch, but he’s not an asshole.” A beat, then, “Most of the time.”

“And it was easy to acclimate to those early team culture changes?” Nolan asked. “Since everything was so new?”

“For some people, sure,” Friedle said with a shrug. “At the time, Roman was focused on making sure we all had an opportunity to be heard, but for some, it’s not easy to speak up. Some people like to gather information and go away to process it before they express their questions or concerns or whatever. For those people, it was harder to feel like our voices mattered, and thus harder to feel like we fit here. At some point, I had to stop waiting for others to include me. I had to meet them where they were at—or at least halfway—and jump in with both feet and trust that I wouldn’t land on my face.”

Not an easy thing to do, Nolan knew—because he’d never had the guts to try it. He didn’t trust that if he put himself out there, he wouldn’t still feel like an outsider looking in.

Dad glanced at his watch and stood. “Come on, let’s grab food before the boys eat it all.”

In the visiting locker room, guys were in various states of dress and undress, and in the middle of the room, spread out on a couple of folding tables, along with compostable plates and cutlery, was the post-practice meal. Nolan eyeballed it and frowned. “No kitchen?”

“Home teams aren’t required to provide kitchens to visiting teams,” Dad said. “And most don’t. So we’ll have protein shakes and smoothies and fruit here, but there’ll be a bigger spread once we get back to the hotel. Help yourself.”

“Oh, no, I don’t want to take someone’s meal.”