Chapter 1 #2
Tank nodded, knocking twice on the GM’s door before opening it and stepping inside.
He’d expected this conversation would consist of him and maybe the coach.
That was who’d been in attendance the last couple of times he’d been called in for one of Hugh’s “come to Jesus” meetings about his extracurricular activities.
Today, instead of sitting behind his big desk (definitely overcompensating), Hugh was at the head of the conference table that filled the left half of his large office.
Also seated were two assistant general managers, Coach Fields, Kendra Kingsolver, who was the head of HR, Benny Truman, who ran the PR department, and—fuck him—James Finnigan, the President of Hockey Operations.
“Mr. Phillips,” James said, gesturing to the empty seat—the hot seat—at the end of the long table. “Please join us.”
Tank walked across the room, claiming his spot. “I apologize for my tardiness. Traffic was—”
“You know why we’re here today, Mr. Phillips, yes?” James interjected.
Tank nodded. “Yes, I do. I understand that—”
James continued as if he wasn’t speaking. “There’s a video of you that’s creating problems for us, both with our fans and our sponsors.”
“With all due respect, sir, I’m not sure the video was really that—”
“It was bad,” James stressed. “You were drunk in public, half naked, and one of the women was wearing chains.”
“Handcuffs,” Tank corrected, aware the second he opened his mouth it was a stupid thing to say.
“The other woman is a relative of one of the team’s largest sponsors. To say he was less than pleased to see his niece half dressed and intoxicated with one of our players would be an understatement.”
“He’s calling for your head on a platter,” Hugh snapped.
“And I’m not so sure we shouldn’t give it to him.
” Hugh was a hothead on a good day, and this was clearly not one of those.
His complexion was red with anger, his body so rigid, he was in danger of breaking in two.
“Dammit, Tank! How many times do I have to call you in here about your behavior off the ice?”
In the past, his slaps on the wrist had come from the coach and Hugh, and to be honest, they never felt like more than a “boys will be boys, just do this shit where there aren’t cameras” kind of speech.
Today was something more.
Probably because money was involved, if the sponsor was threatening to pull his support.
“I can ask Lara to speak to her uncle,” Tank suggested.
“No. You and your girlfriend have done—”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Tank clarified.
“Jesus, Tank,” Coach Fields muttered, shooting him a “shut the hell up” look.
“You are not going to do anything that we don’t tell you to do.
Charles Steele doesn’t want you anywhere near his niece.
” James gestured toward Benny, who’d been quiet thus far.
Which was probably a good thing, considering the “if looks could kill” glare he was shooting in Tank’s direction.
“The PR department is in the process of writing up an apology that you will read at a press conference.”
“Apology?” Tank was struggling to figure out what he was supposed to be sorry for. He’d been celebrating one hell of a win, and if the stupid fire alarm hadn’t gone off, no one would have been the wiser about his private party. It wasn’t like the three of them were having an orgy in the street.
Benny scowled. “Yes. An apology. For your poor lack of judgment. And you will read it word for word. No straying from the script. We’ve scheduled a brief press conference for three o’clock today.” Benny looked him up and down. “You will need to shower, shave, and dress appropriately for it.”
James leaned back in his chair, staring him down hard.
“We have spent a great deal of time and money on creating a specific family-friendly brand for this team, and your actions have damaged it. We’ve already heard from several outraged groups who’ve spoken out about your treatment of women, and how you’re setting a bad example for the young boys who look up to you. ”
Tank started to defend himself, wanting to assure his boss that those women were there because they wanted to be and everything they did was consensual, but a quick glance toward his coach had him shutting his mouth.
“In addition to the apology,” James continued, “you will be suspended for the next two weeks.”
At this, Tank shot up from his chair. “You can’t do that!”
James narrowed his eyes. “I can do that. And I have.”
Tank looked toward Coach Fields, expecting him to fight the suspension, but the man just looked resigned.
“Furthermore,” James said, but Tank didn’t want to hear more. He wasn’t finished fighting the first battle.
“That’s six games,” he said, more to his coach than to James. “I’ll be out for six games.”
Coach Fields remained silent, but that was only because he didn’t have a chance to reply before Hugh banged his fist on the table.
“This isn’t your first offense, dammit! We told you the last time you were called into this office that there would be serious consequences if you didn’t rein in your behavior off the ice. The partying, the women…it’s all too much.”
“Furthermore,” James repeated, louder and with more force, annoyed at being cut off, “you will work closely with the PR department from now on as they attempt to repair your reputation.”
Tank sank back down in his seat, aware he wasn’t here to defend himself but rather to take his punishment like a good boy.
Fuck that, he thought bitterly.
“For how long?”
“For as long as it takes,” Benny said.
“Through the end of the season at least,” James added, pausing when Benny leaned closer, murmuring something Tank couldn’t hear in the president’s ear.
“That’s a good point,” James said in response to Benny, before turning back to Tank.
“You made quite a name for yourself in the off-season last summer.”
If partying his ass off in Turks and Caicos was wrong, Tank didn’t want to be right.
“You’ll work with the PR department until training camp begins next season. At that point, we’ll reevaluate,” James added.
“Six months seems like an unnecessarily long time,” Tank muttered, pissed they were trying to curtail his off-season fun as well.
James narrowed his eyes. “We are in danger of losing one of our biggest sponsors. If this was your first offense, maybe we could be more lenient, but you’ve made it very clear that you’re incapable of reining yourself in. So we’ll do it for you.”
Tank crossed his arms, fighting to calm down. This punishment did not fit the crime as far as he was concerned, but it was obvious the jury had already handed down their decision.
“The PR department has been in the office since the wee hours this morning, working on strategies to salvage your reputation,” James said. “You will do everything they say, follow every edict they issue to the letter. Do you understand?”
“Tank,” Coach Fields said, the first to speak to him in a gentle tone.
“Do what the president says. Do what the PR guys say. Take your punishment and then let’s learn, grow, and move on from this.
Your primary focus should be on the game anyway.
Keep your nose clean for the rest of this season and start next year fresh. ”
Tank clenched his jaw, pissed as fuck. He was being treated like a naughty schoolboy, even though he hadn’t done anything wrong.
When he didn’t respond, the coach forced the issue. “Tank.”
“Fine,” he muttered through gritted teeth.
Coach Fields lightly tapped his hand on the table. “Good. During the suspension, you’ll be banned from games, practice, and workouts, so I’ll expect you to keep up with your conditioning on your own.”
Tank nodded once, his body vibrating with anger.
“One more strike,” James said, lifting his pointer finger. “Do one more thing that reflects poorly on the Stingrays’ program, and I promise, you will find yourself off the team.”
Off the team.
What the fuck?
“I have a contract,” Tank pointed out, his anger quickly morphing to panic.
He’d dedicated his whole life to hockey, fighting tooth and nail for his shot in the NHL.
And now that he was here, he refused to give up his spot, determined to break all the records and hoist the Stanley Cup over his head.
“With a standards-of-conduct clause that gives us every right to terminate it.” James looked all too pleased to put that final nail in Tank’s coffin.
Rising, the president nodded at the others in the room before leaving without saying goodbye to anyone.
Hugh dismissed his assistants and Kendra, none of whom had said a word, but they still managed to speak volumes with their disapproving glares.
They filed out as well, leaving Tank alone with just Hugh, Benny, and Coach Fields.
Hugh looked at his watch. “The press conference is at three. From now until one o’clock, I want you to go with Benny and meet with the PR team. After that, go home and clean yourself up. Be back here by two-thirty, ready to act a hell of a lot more contrite than you are right now.”
Tank blew out a long, slow breath, not that it helped to calm him down.
“There will be no more second chances,” Hugh said, reiterating James’s warning.
Tank stood, as did Benny and the coach. The three of them walked out of the GM’s office together.
Coach Fields put a hand on Tank’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “See you in two weeks.”
Tank got a lump in his throat as he watched his coach walk away. The idea of missing six games and letting his teammates down hurt…bad.
“This way,” Benny said, pointing in the opposite direction. “The rest of my team is waiting for us in our department’s conference room. In addition to me, you’ll also be answering to my assistant, Roger, and McKenna Bailey.”