“We make a good team out there,” Tacker says gruffly, and because it’s shocking to hear him initiate a conversation, my head swings quickly back his way.
I give him an agreeable smile. “I think so.”
In fact, we’re pretty fucking fluid out there with each other. The left-wing position is still a little up in the air, and I’m sure Coach won’t make a final decision until after the preseason games are concluded, but Dax is in the running for the first line. Hell, my place on first line’s not even set in stone. Just because I played there all week with Tacker doesn’t mean I’ll stay there. A lot is riding on these first few games.
Movement on the other side of Tacker catches my attention and my eyes flare slightly as I see Coach Perron come up to stand on his left. Tacker swings his head that way.
Coach doesn’t take a seat but just nods in greeting first at Tacker, then at me. “Glad to catch you two for a moment.”
It’s the first time he and I have talked away from the practice sessions. I’d been dreading the day he’d pull me aside and want to start talking engagement and wedding shit, but so far, he’s kept that tucked away.
Thank fuck!
“Can I get you a drink, Coach?” I ask him, trying to show some casualness that one might expect from the man dating the coach’s daughter but still not out of the bounds of propriety if I hadn’t been dating her.
“I’m good,” he says in a low, rough voice. “Listen…I’m naming you, Hall, as captain for this season, and Scott, you’ll be one of the assistant captains.”
The first thing that strikes me about his words is that he just addressed Tacker and me by our last names. This isn’t odd, but it’s not always the norm either. It really depends the level of casualness a coach brings, and clearly, even at a party event, Coach doesn’t feel comfortable enough to address us by our first names.
No matter. Doesn’t mean anything to me, but the fact he just made me assistant captain is incredibly shocking as well as exciting.
Coach turns his gaze to Tacker. “You’re my most seasoned player as well as the most skilled. You have everything to offer the young guys as far as guidance and direction. I expect you to proactively give that.”
My eyebrows shoot up. It doesn’t take an idiot to figure out those last words were an order to Tacker to step out of his shell. Tacker as captain makes sense on paper. He’s a long-standing veteran and highly accomplished. He’s one of the leaders in the league. I do wonder, though, if Coach is putting him in the captain’s position to force him to open up. If so, I have to say my respect for the man has just increased tenfold.
The coach slides his eyes to mine. “Scott…you’ve clearly got the talent, but I’ve been impressed with your leadership on the ice as well as the positive reinforcement you give. It’s a nice balance to my hard-ass ways.”
There’s no helping the fact the man has just rendered me mute. A true compliment coming from a man that I thought wanted to tear me apart a few days ago. I just blink at him dumbly.
“As you both know,” Coach Perron continues on as if he hadn’t just blindsided me. “My style isn’t very hands on. I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I’ll do it in an efficient manner. I’ll expect you to correct it just as efficiently. It’s not lost on me that sometimes players need more, and that’s where both of you will help me tremendously by offering positive feedback to your teammates.”
“Like a good cop, bad cop type of thing,” I say with a lopsided grin.
The coach doesn’t smile back and I let my smile fade away. He straightens up, offers a hand to each of us to shake, which we do. “Congrats to you both. Your maturity and leadership has been noted. Now…I’m off to go talk to Bay. He’s getting the other assistant captain nod.”
I watch Coach amble off and bring my eyes back over to Tacker. He doesn’t look at me, but lifts his glass to his mouth, tips his head back and it disappears in three swallows. When he sits it back down, his neck twists so he looks at me. “Congratulations, Bishop. That was well deserved.”
“You too, man,” I reply.
I get a curt nod and Tacker pushes up off his bar stool and heads for the exit of the restaurant. He doesn’t say goodbye to anyone.Chapter 9BrookeErik’s date is nice enough. Her name is Sarah Kinecky, but I keep wanting to call her Pamela. Because she looks exactly like a younger Pamela Anderson. She has the windblown blond hair and perfect body. She even sports those same pouty, full lips that Miss Anderson does, and she’s slightly on the ditzy side, which I’ve never been one to attribute to hair color.