The man is huge and used to play in the league a few decades ago. He was a bruiser and although the guy has to be in his midfifties, he looks to be in excellent physical shape. I’m glad I didn’t have to tangle with him earlier, because that would just be totally awkward.
Our new general manager, Christian Rutherford, saunters up to the podium and makes some short opening remarks. While our new team and coaching staff is pretty decent given we’re an expansion team, I think this organization really lucked out with our new GM. He’s young, smart, and thinks outside the box. Reminds me a lot of the Cold Fury’s general manager, who quickly took them to back-to-back championships with her controversial yet clearly effective strategy of team building based on statistical algorithms.
Christian introduces Claude Perron, who has had a decent run as both an assistant coach and finally a head coach for the New York Phantoms. It wasn’t lost on me that when Brooke boldly proclaimed that we were engaged, it wasn’t a far stretch, given that we both lived in New York City and could conceivably run in some of the same circles due to our hockey connections.
I’ll give it to Perron, his reputation is that of an absolute hard-ass and someone who can be very difficult to get along with, but his words are also inspiring. His speech focuses on our potential to do things greater than anyone ever imagined. He gives us credit because he believes he has the most talented players in the league sitting right here in this room. His gaze sweeps the room as he speaks, making eye contact with many of the players, but passes right over me without any recognition.
I, on the other hand, listen intently to what he says. Brooke seems to think that if I don’t get off on the right foot with him, my career could be in jeopardy. I don’t know if that’s actually true or not, but I’m going to study this man so I can decide how the fuck to handle this shit.
“Coach sure knows how to blow smoke up our asses, doesn’t he?” Legend says from my right.
I don’t take my eyes off Perron, but I nod my head and mutter back to Legend, “Sure does.”
The minute my mouth opens and the words are out, it’s like I have a homing signal on me. Perron’s gaze snaps to me and his eyes harden when they lock on tight. “Something important you want to add, Mr. Scott?”
My face flushes to have the spotlight on me along with the knowledge it’s clear he was waiting to pounce. I can’t help but be a little bit of an asshole about it. “No, sir. But please…let’s not be formal. You can call me Bishop.”
Dax makes a choking noise beside me, but I don’t dare take my eyes off Perron.
The coach stares at me for a only few seconds but it seems like years. “Let’s discuss formality,” he says harshly before letting his eyes move off me to look around the room. “I am not your father or your best friend. I’m not your confidant. I don’t care if your feelings are hurt. And we will maintain a formal relationship. I am either Coach or Mr. Perron to you. My word is law. If you don’t like it, the bench isn’t the most comfortable place to sit, but it will accommodate you nicely until you learn to respect my position. Are we clear?”
He asks this last question with his gaze coming back to me. As if the speech he just gave to the team was really custom designed to put me in my place. I merely smile at him and give a gracious incline of my head.
After that, Coach leaves me alone. I try to focus back on his words, but there’s no having it. I’m fucking pissed now, and I’m thinking the best thing I can do is distance myself from this shit.
When it’s over, we head to the locker to get changed for a short practice. Everyone starts leaving the auditorium. Legend and Erik say they’ll see us out on the ice.
I stay behind purposely to have a short word with Dax, because I can’t keep this shit in and I’m starting to freak the fuck out.
When most everyone is gone, Dax looks at me with clear worry. “Why does Coach Perron have a hard-on for you?”
“You are not going to believe the crazy I’ve got myself tangled up in,” I tell him with a sigh as I scrub my hands over my face. On the first day of training camp, I’m usually exhilarated from the pure excitement of a new season starting. Right now I just want to go to a bar and get stinking drunk.