Chapter 2
. . .
Will
“Will, you got a second?”
Dressed in gray sweats and a black Dri-FIT, Jessie Callaghan—and now my coach—stops me before entering the gym.
After the meeting I just had with him, my agent, the team owners, general manager, and the in-house PR team, I need to blow off some steam.
I’ll be honest, when I’m this pissed at something, it’s hard for me to remain professional.
I’m hotheaded, like the rest of my family. Call it a classic Jones trait.
Add in the fact that I see Jessie as more of an uncle than a coach, and I’m fighting even harder to keep my cool.
My silence when we lock eyes causes him to wince as he thumbs behind him to a door.
The Rogues’ arena in Belltown is state-of-the-art, with an underground players’ gym and multiple briefing rooms. When the US-based consortium had this place designed, they wanted to keep everything under one roof—from where we played and practiced to individual conditioning programs the players would undertake in the preseason.
Great idea in principle, but when I’m in this kind of mood, I’d do anything for a bit of goddamn privacy.
They want to introduce special fucking PR measures because I cannot be trusted to run my own social media.
And to add insult to injury, Drew Callaghan has been assigned to represent me now that she works for some hotshot PR company called First Line, or whatever the hell it is.
Taking orders is hard enough for me at the best of times, and now I’m receiving them from two people with the same last name.
“I need some time to think about what happened in there.” I point down the hallway toward the room where I was summoned an hour ago. “Because me being put under surveillance came straight out of left field.”
Coach’s brows pull together, and he turns on his heel, depressing the handle and opening the door. “Maybe we should have this conversation away from any potential eavesdroppers.”
I scoff and nod my head, walking into the meeting room and dumping myself down on a black leather desk chair.
This place is a corporate dream, every single room adorning the green-white-and-gold Rogues’ logo.
It makes me want to throw up. Where are the trophies and pictures from former players lifting the Cup?
Oh, right. Yeah, they don’t exist.
Waiting for Coach to take a seat on the opposite side of the table, I know he doesn’t deserve my bratty attitude. There’s no way he had a hand in my fate, even if I’ll be his daughter’s new client.
Coach pulls on the bill of his green cap and exhales a long breath. “I don’t think assigning you an external publicist is totally left field. All the guys on the team have representation of some kind.”
I slump down in my seat and fold my arms across my chest. “How many rookies have been hauled into a meeting room before they’ve played one game for the team and told that they need to be monitored to avoid ending up at the center of a PR crisis?”
Coach clears his throat.
“I mean, take your career, for example.” I hold my hand out. “You went through your fair share of shit, but did you ever have that happen?”
He just smiles, although it’s too dark to be friendly. “No. I got kicked off the team and traded to the other side of the country instead.”
I fall quiet because that’s exactly what happened. Coach’s early career wasn’t unlike my own—while I haven’t fallen for his daughter like he did his GM’s, I am a rookie with the weight of fans’ expectations on my shoulders.
“I’m not a liability, Coach,” I tell him.
He quirks a brow and reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out his cell and scrolling.
“So, your Instagram was hacked when your handle responded to a comment underneath a post about your new fancy car, saying, Since I’m stuck playing for the worst team in the league, I used my fat signing bonus to lessen the pain. ”
I roll my lips together, trying to suppress an inappropriate smirk. I forgot about that reply.
Coach taps his phone screen a couple of times. “Or how about the blonde you’re pictured with here?”
He turns the phone around so I can see the supermodel hanging off my arm in a nightclub last week. It was posted to my stories, so he must’ve taken a screenshot and kept it as evidence.
“At least I’ll be scoring somewhere in Seattle.
The girls in this city are fiiine,” Coach reads the caption I posted to go with the image of the girl whose name I can’t remember.
Although we did bang that night in her hotel.
She was on a bachelorette weekend, and I don’t have a list of girls to hit up in Seattle. Yet.
He shakes his head and repockets his phone.
“It’s not like you have alcohol to blame, Will. You hardly ever drink, and I’m proud of you for that.”
I puff out my chest a little. “Very rarely.”
With the way he’s looking at me right now, you’d never believe that we’re practically family. Damn, this guy has professionalism down to a fine art. I see where his daughter gets it from.
After a few beats of nothing, Coach releases a sigh.
“You have an amazing career ahead of you, and it’s a true privilege to be coaching you.
” He pauses for a moment, bright blue eyes that remind me of Drew’s fixing me in place.
“But you have a lot of learning to do. Pro hockey is nothing like the NCAA. Here, you have a team paying you extortionate wages, and they expect nothing but your best.”
I nod my head. “I’m committed to the game—you know I am.”
He doesn’t argue with my statement. “On the ice, you’re one of the hardest-working rookies I’ve seen. Off the ice, you’re …” He swallows. “Well, you’re a fucking nightmare.”
My mouth hangs open.
So, Coach did have a hand in the meeting earlier today.
“Was First Line PR and Drew your idea?” I ask, voice laced with contempt. It’s ill-advised for me to get mad with the guy who calls the shots over my fate, but I’m done playing around.
“Jessie,” I demand, knowing that I’m overstepping player-coach boundaries.
Lips pursed, he palms the desk separating us.
“It’s Coach to you, Will. And since you asked, no, I didn’t have a clue that Drew was going to represent you.
First Line PR got the contract, and all other decisions were made without my knowledge.
” He leans back in his chair. “Believe it or not, my concerns center around what goes on inside the rink.”
Our gazes are trained on each other as neither of us speaks for several seconds.
“You wanted to see me, Coach?” A male voice I don’t recognize filters through the door.
Coach turns to face it, voice adopting a much softer edge as he says, “Yeah, sure, come in, Silas.”
Silas Stanton—light-brown hair, dark blue eyes, a defenseman and the Rogues one and only captain since they first formed—waltzes into the room.
With a tip of his chin, he acknowledges Coach and immediately holds out his hand for me to shake.
I reciprocate, but don’t return the warm smile he gives me. It’s obvious Coach invited him here for a purpose, and I’m willing to bet it has something to do with why I’m sitting here.
Other than his game, I know very little about this guy.
His career has been checkered with injuries and dubious press reports speculating on his personal life.
Only since Silas joined the Rogues has he straightened up his act outside of the rink.
Bar fights, random women, and wild house parties made up the first few years of his pro-playing days.
Now thirty-one, he’s arguably one of the veterans on a really young team.
The perfect role model for me.
“It’s good to finally meet the guy the state of Washington cannot stop talking about.” Silas squeezes my hand before releasing his grip and taking a seat next to me. He drums his fingers on the armrest of his chair. “How can I help, Coach?”
Scrubbing a hand across his jaw, Coach looks from my teammate to me. “I thought it would be good for you both to formally meet before the preseason kicks into overdrive on Monday.”
Neither me nor my new captain says anything.
“The plan is for you to share a hotel room where possible during an away series. I want Will rooming with either you, or another senior member of the team.”
I huff out a breath. Sure, it’s not unusual for rookies to room with their captain or an older player on the team, but to make it so official is really odd.
I turn over my shoulder and examine the room behind me.
“What’s the matter, Will?” Coach asks.
I focus back on Coach. “I was wondering where the day care center was in this building. You know, just in case you want me to register there too.”
Silas snorts a laugh, and it’s immediately snubbed by Coach’s glare.
“I’m just trying to make the transition from college to the pro hockey world as seamless as possible for you, Will.
I don’t think you truly understand how many pairs of eyes are going to be watching your every move.
You’ve been living in Seattle for two weeks, and you’re already attracting attention. ”
I shrug. “Surely, that’s good for the team, no?”
From beside me, Silas shakes his head. “Not when the Rogues already carry a reputation for being reckless. We’ve managed to rack up more league fines in five seasons than the Scorpions have in double that time.”
I hold up a hand. “From misconducts that have nothing to do with me.”
Coach tips his head from side to side. “True, but we can’t afford to have you arguing with fans on the internet and acting like a complete jackass all over the city.
” His voice turns softer. “I know you didn’t want to join the Rogues, but we have been desperately waiting for you.
The fans have been highly anticipating your arrival. ”
I think back to the final few games of last season and how Dad told me they had chanted my last name at one home game he attended.
I roll my shoulders back, attempting to alleviate the unwelcome pressure weighing them down.
“I don’t like being told what to do; it makes me feel like a child when there are guys younger than me on the team.
It also feels weird to have your daughter represent me and call the shots over my public image. ”
My new captain’s eyes grow wider. “Drew?”
After a second, Coach nods his head. “Yeah, Drew is going to be working with Will.”
Silas puffs out a breath. “Well, you’re in good hands there.” He folds his arms across his chest. “And I’m not just saying that because she’s your daughter, Coach. I work with her colleague, Lydia West, and while I don’t want to come off as rude, Drew makes her look like an amateur.”
That doesn’t surprise me at all. I bet Lydia “loves” her already.
“You should give her a chance, Will,” Silas adds. “Twelve months, and you’ll be the league’s golden boy, shitting sponsorship deals.”
Exhaling a long, exhausted breath, I massage my left temple. “All right, I’ll work with Drew and try to stay in line.”
Sitting up straighter in his chair, Coach practically beams. “Good decision, Will. Now let’s crush the preseason.”