Cold as (N)ice (Sticks and Vows #1)

Chapter 11

11

COUER

Quebec, Canada

B arrett walked in the door and flashed his ID only seconds before he was tackled by Boucher. The older man normally looked weathered, and he’d lived a hard life, running loose and fast until he signed with the Coyotes – but the strain was telling on him, too. His thin face had bags under his eyes and a line between his eyebrows that looked permanently etched.

“Dude, I am so glad to see you,” Boucher exclaimed in a quiet voice, instantly making his anxiety rachet up another few notches. “I’m freaking out. They are talking about family activities, outings, dinners, and other things. It’s not just a ‘show up and play’ sort of thing. This is a freakin’ commitment.”

“Brother, marriage was the commitment,” he chuckled looking at the other man who had the grace to flush as he nodded erratically before rubbing the back of his neck.

“You have no idea.”

“Actually, I might.”

“Naw, I’m pretty sure I’ve got both of you beat,” Boucher said grimly as Lafreniere walked forward, extending a hand and nodded.

“Coeur…”

“Lafreniere…”

“We’re all gathering in the stadium seats. They are still tiling the showers with the updated colors, so the locker rooms are off-limits for now,” Lafreniere explained. “I’ve already met the captain and…”

“Dude’s a major…”

“Wait,” Barrett hesitated. “Boucher, I thought you were…”

“Nope,” the man said in a hushed voice. “Change of heart at the last minute.”

“Oh man, I’m so sorry,” Barrett breathed and then felt his gut give a painful rumble that he might be sick. “Were there any other major changes?”

“No, just that one.”

“Ahhh!” a man in a suit said in the distance. “Our right wing is here, and we can begin shortly with introductions. Welcome to the Wolverines, Coeur.”

“Thank you, sir,” he replied openly, unsure of who he was addressing. The man looked a little older than him, but there was something behind those eyes that was unsettling. A coldness. This was a businessman, and this transaction would be all about stats, numbers, and profit. They could sugarcoat this as a ‘family’ or a ‘team,’ but it would come down to the bottom line, and he knew it.

They followed the man in the suit, recognizing that they were holding up the meeting with their impromptu reunion between them. Frankly, Barrett was glad to see a few friendly faces because the stress was killing him slowly on the inside. It had to be the same for the other two. He couldn’t imagine what Lafreniere was thinking if he was indeed going to be the backup goalie. If he was currently in pain, he was hiding it from everyone.

Taking a seat together on the same row, he saw several faces watching them and recognized a few more faces.

A few he’d met on the ice.

“Sup…” he said simply with a wave – and received a middle finger in return with a glare that could free ice cubes.

“Nice… and here we go,” he whispered under his breath, looking away.

“Gentlemen!” the man in the suit began easily, clapping his hands together in front of him once, almost as a show of force, as he held them, addressing the group. “I wanted to introduce myself and say hello – and the reason for the secrecy behind our new team. I am Alaric Finnegan…” and Barrett caught his breath, recognizing the name.

The billionaire philanthropist who had whispered of shady dealings left and right attached to his name – and nodded.

“I see you’ve heard of me,” Mr. Finnegan began and held up his hands to calm everyone down. “I’m a silent owner, and you probably will see me attend a few games here and there, but my residence is in another country. You’ll be dealing with the managers most of the time, but if you need something that cannot be handled, I don’t want you to hesitate in reaching out.”

And heard Lafreniere’s ‘Yeah right’ muttered under his breath beside him.

“I know what it’s like to have a smear on your name – and I didn’t want that for any of you.”

“Notice he didn’t plead his innocence to his past?” Boucher whispered quietly, leaning toward him where he sat between his two friends.

“This is to be a family,” Mr. Finnegan said loudly. His voice was authortative. “Family takes care of each other – and it’s not necessarily blood that makes you family but the bonds that you have between you. I saw your finger…” the billionaire pointed at the man who’d flipped off Barrett not five minutes ago. “And I heard what you said,” he continued, pointing at another man. “Forget it. Forget all of it. When I offered you those contracts, it was because I was certain you would fit in our team, in our world, with the same goals that we want in our hearts – a fresh start.”

Barrett swallowed – and his friends grew increasingly still. Yeah, this was certainly hitting a point that hit home with all of them.

“I was given a chance, took it, and gave it my everything, knowing I had support at my back should I ever need it – and you will too. I want your families to come to the dinners because it’s important that your wives and your children have people they can look to for support. Most of you are from America and relocated here, so French might be a challenge for some of you. Don’t worry – I will provide tutors and translators for you. If you need something, name it…”

Barrett’s hand shot up before he could reconsider his thoughts.

“Yes, Coeur.”

“My stepson is deaf, and the school is still going through the process of approving him. I don’t want him to fall behind. Tuition isn’t the issue but rather that they don’t have a spot yet…” and Mr. Finnegan nodded, smiling approvingly.

“This is what I want from you – trust and faith. What school, and I’ll have it handled immediately.”

“L’ECOLE DOUéE POUR LES SOURDS,” he replied, realizing he was clenching the arms of the seat he was sitting in and holding his breath. He uncurled his fingers and let it go as the billionaire nodded approvingly.

“You should have your acceptance soon. How old is your boy?”

“Seven.”

“I look forward to meeting him someday,” Mr. Finnegan nodded and looked over the crowd. “Anyone else? Let me help you get comfortable in your new team. There will be plenty of time on the ice, dealing with gossip, and everything else. We’re here to build a new look, a positivity that shines from all of us, and as the old phrase goes – charity begins at home. You are my home, my business, my life. So, if you need something, ask, and I’ll give what help I can.”

“Could I get a few extra seats for my family for a few of the games?” someone else said, standing up. “My wife moved her sister up here with us and plans on flying her parents in so they can see us play. They are both very excited about the new team, and she already wearing the team gear you sent us in the gift boxes.”

“Good – that is what it was for. Be proud you are a Wolverine – and how many seats do you need?”

“We were given two each, but four would be incredible. I used to get four seats each game when I was on the…”

“Done. Jeff – I want each player to get four seats. If you don’t use all your tickets, hand them out to friends. Fill our stadium and build the excitement,” Mr. Finnegan urged openly, not bothering to hide his excitement. “I want everyone to love you and look to you as role models. If you need shirts for your kid’s school, Jeff has the authority for it all. If you don’t get what you need from him – then you can drop me an email, and I will make sure it happens. Everything has to be for the advancement of the team, job satisfaction, family, and the image we are creating here – got me?”

“Yes, sir!” everyone shouted almost in unison.

“Anyone else need anything?”

And the arena was silent.

“Perfect,” Mr. Finnegan smiled easily, giving a curt nod to their coach, Jeff Starnes. “Coach, let’s get them on the ice. We’ve got a cup to win.”

“Yes, sir,” Coach Starnes said easily, turning to look at them. “Boys, let’s suit up. Your gear is in the locker room waiting for you. Nobody messes with the showers, fellas. Nothing but the best for you guys, and the grout was sealed this morning. We’ve gotta let it dry, but you’ll be ready to go next week.”

Everyone stood, shook hands, and made their way in a huge group toward the locker rooms. Conversations and voices whispered among the men as they walked down the ramp toward them, and it hit him. This was his new ‘parade,’ his new path after the games, and couldn’t help the smile on his face.

As they entered the locker rooms, Barrett swallowed and heard the gasp from a few of the men surrounding him. The locker rooms were stunning. Gone were the tiny cubbies he’d once used, and in their place was a large locker with hooks for his bag, his gear, and his uniform jersey, pants, and a new pair of skates waiting for each of them.

“Pads, tape, helmets, and everything you could want is in there, fellas,” the coach called out behind them. “Mr. Finnegan wants you happy, proud to wear your gear, and excited to be a part of the team – in fact – mark your calendars now. My wife is making poutine for everyone on Saturday afternoon and you are all invited over to the house.” Lafreniere, Boucher, and Barrett exchanged a disbelieving look.

This was crazy, he thought wildly, keeping his mouth shut. Nobody did this. Every detail, meticulously was thought out.

Beside him, Lafreniere let out a low whistle. “This is insane.”

Boucher let out a disbelieving laugh. “No kidding.”

Barrett ran a hand over his locker, his throat tightening.

This was it.

A fresh start.

“You give it your all out there, boys – and you’ll receive it back tenfold,” Coach Starnes said proudly. “We’re here to set the groundwork for a new team, a new outlook, and bring a little pride to our new hometown. Welcome to the Wolverines, fellas.”