Brienne looks to Callum. He shrugs. “Innocent until proven guilty is my motto.”
Keller shakes his head. “It’s still a smear on the team just because of the allegations. Doesn’t matter if he’s guilty or not.”
No one says anything for a moment, so I rap my knuckles on the table to get everyone’s attention. “I’m the goalie coach for this team. You offered me this position because you trusted my abilities. I’m telling you Drake McGinn is the absolute best pick for your primary goalie, and he shouldn’t be penalized for rumors. If you do, I’m not sure this team’s values fall in line with mine.”
Brienne scoffs over such a strong statement but immediately defends herself and the team as a whole. “We are a team of integrity, and while betting on your own performance is prohibited and illegal, I agree they are nothing but rumors. We would be exhibiting great integrity in looking past the allegations and giving him a chance.”
Keller snorts at her willingness to overlook this potential problem, and I wonder how often he and I will butt heads in the future. He seems to be someone who likes to get his way.
Ultimately, it’s Callum’s final decision, and we all look to him. He tosses Drake’s folder aside and says, “Let’s extend him the offer. You can make the call, Baden. Next, there’s a minor league goalie I’ve been looking at and…”
My thoughts drift off. I’ve looked at the other goalies, and they’re great. We’ll have decent talent, and I’m happy Drake will get the nod. He might not accept the offer, but at least he’ll be given a chance.
The meeting wraps up an hour later, all decisions made and offers extended with phone calls and emails. I’ll call Drake when I have some privacy.
Another fifteen minutes are spent on small talk as we stand from the table. We make plans to meet for drinks to get to know one another better and further agree on a preliminary first practice, two days from now. All those who have already accepted offers are in the process of traveling to Pittsburgh and will be ready to go. There might be a few stragglers coming in, like Drake, if he’s interested. But by the end of the week, we should be ready to put a full team on the ice. What that will look like is anybody’s guess, but I’m finding the challenge exciting.
“If you gentlemen will excuse me,” Brienne says amidst the small talk. “I have an appointment to get to.”
The other coaches and Derringer say their farewells, but I follow her to the door. “Brienne… can I have a minute?”
“Yeah, sure,” she says with a smile. “Walk with me… I have a car waiting out front.”
Wherever her meeting is, it’s not here at the arena.
We head to the elevator, and I cut to the chase. “I know this isn’t a priority for you right now, but I’m curious if you’re hiring or have positions available in the areas of marketing or media?”
She glances at me before hitting the elevator button. “Why? Got a family member who needs a job?”
Her question isn’t dismissive or disdainful, merely curious.
“Actually, a friend,” I reply. “Her background is in print journalism, but she’s looking to make a change.”
The elevator doors open, and I hold my hand against them to let Brienne walk in first. She pushes the button for the street concourse level as I step in, and the doors slide shut.
“A friend, huh?” Clasping her hands in front of her, she smiles politely, but it’s distanced. “I’m not sure… you could probably talk to human resources.”
I shake my head, realizing that I’m not going about this right. I can tell by her tone she thinks I’m trying to find a place for a girlfriend here in Pittsburgh.
“She’s just a friend,” I say firmly. “But a friend I have a lot in common with.”
“What in common?” she asks, her interest renewed. She knows I’m a complicated person.
“Her name is Jenna Holland. Her sister, Emory, is dating Jett Olsson, a right winger with the Vengeance.”
The elevator ride is short. The doors open, and we step out onto the main concourse. Ahead through the glass, a limo awaits. Brienne faces me, her head tipped to the side indicating her curiosity.
“Jenna was involved in a house fire and suffered terrible burns over much of her body. Some are visible. She’s sort of become a recluse over the years and needs an opportunity to put herself back out there.”
“How so?” Brienne asks, empathy in her expression.
I take more than the one minute I asked for to tell Brienne about Jenna. It’s everything I’d learned about the woman during one discussion we had at the engagement party of my Vengeance teammate, Aaron Wylde, three weeks ago.
She and I had met before, and we’d had an instant connection as survivors of traumatic injuries with long, painful recoveries. We were content to sit at the engagement party, making small talk at first, but then we moved on to talking about our futures. I’m not one to share my innermost fears about returning to professional hockey, but with Jenna, it was easy. She, better than anyone, understood what it’s like to try to get back to normal.