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“Oh, ah, Eli?”
I look up to see Brian standing in the hallway, a clipboard clutched to his chest. He’s the stand in office manager after the old one got fired. Since his temporary promotion he’s been found frozen in the hallways like a deer staring at headlamps more than once.
“Hey, Brian.”
“Can I have a word?” he asks, his eyes shifting but not reaching mine. He’s in his twenties, but he dresses like he’s in his fifties. Or in the nineteen-fifties. I like his shirt and sleeveless sweater combination, but some of the team used to rip into him about it.
They don’t since I ripped them a new one. We don’t treat the backroom staff badly. If they weren’t here to make everything run smoothly, we wouldn’t be able to play hockey.
“Sure,” I say. “Here or in your office?”
“Here is fine.” He looks down at his clipboard as though he’s trying to remember what he wants to talk about. “I got a message from Greg.”
“Gauthier?” I ask.
“Yep. Wayne’s son.”
Wayne owns the Mavericks. He’s one of the main reasons I came here once I busted my knee for good. When he heard I was out of action, he flew to Boston to talk with the Razors owner before offering me the coaching job.
I thought about it for a long time before saying yes. It took me a while to get my head around the fact that I’d never play in the NHL again. My doctor cleared me to play up to one period per game in the AHL, but my principal job is to coach these rookies into some kind of order.
To make them good enough for the big time.
Wayne’s been injured for the past few weeks. His hip has finally given out and he needs a replacement. He’s also fired most of the staff, which leaves poor Brian in charge until there’s a replacement hired.
“What did Greg want?” I ask him.
“He wanted to let me know about the management consultant they’ve engaged.”
“A consultant?” Why do I need to know this? I manage the players, I don’t run the business. “When are they coming?”
Brian looks at his clipboard again and frowns. “Um, I don’t know. They’re called Mackenzie or Power or something. Anyway, when I hear more, I’ll let you know.”
“You do that.” And it’ll change precisely nothing. I’m just here to make sure the team wins and that’s it. “Did Greg say how Wayne is doing?”
“His surgery is next week. Hopefully things will get better after that. For all of us.”
“That’s good.” I nod. I have a lot of respect for Wayne Gauthier. And now we have something else in common. I had surgery a few months ago for my career ending knee injury and was just as annoyed as he was, but for different reasons.
“Was there anything else you needed?” I ask Brian, because he’s still looking at me as though I’m supposed to do something.
Do a dance. Win a game. I’m not sure what.
“Ah, I just…” He frowns. “What will they do?” he asks.
“The consultants?”
“Yeah. I Googled it and I still have no idea.”
I start to laugh, because I need to tell this to Myles and Liam. My older brothers run a consultancy and investment business out of Charleston, about an hour down the road.
“I think they boss everybody about, change everything, then waltz off into the night while we pick up the pieces,” I tell him. “But don’t quote me on that.” I shrug. “I’m just going to keep doing what I’m doing and so should you.”
“Okay.” Brian presses his lips together. “I think I might have some shredding to do.”
“Shredding?” I ask.
“And I need to tidy Wayne’s office. It’s a mess. We don’t want them to find something…”
