Chapter 1 #2
Then I see the one guy I really wish I didn’t have to deal with in coming to this team. I’d rather face a hundred Locke Donovans than a single Miller Parks.
I can’t fucking help myself, but my eyes drift down to the wedding band on his left hand.
I keep my face neutral and my eyes moving, as if Miller is just another player in the room.
Arch’s head turns slightly, and I can feel him clocking the change in me without even looking directly at my face. He knows my tells because he’s one of the few people who’s spent enough time around me to notice them.
He leans closer. “You sure you’re okay with this?”
I’ve been asking myself that same question ever since I found out Miller got picked up in the expansion draft.
I keep my voice low and controlled. “Totally good.”
Arch’s brows pull together. “Gotta be weird though, right?”
“I’m totally good with him,” I say, tapping my pen on my armrest. He’s not the real problem. “Going to be a little weird at social events though.”
“That’s the fucking truth,” he mumbles.
The weirdness stems from the fact that Miller Parks recently married my ex-fiancée. I’d heard it through the grapevine a few months ago and didn’t think twice about it. I parted ways with Cherry without a backward glance and have zero regrets about my decision to end things.
Admittedly, when I found out Miller was coming to Portland, I had a bit of a “what the fuck” reaction, mostly because I didn’t want to deal with her. Unfortunately, hockey teams end up becoming family units, complete with frequent social events, and it’s inevitable.
We’re going to cross paths.
“I wonder if she’s changed any,” Arch says pensively.
“Don’t give a flying fuck one way or the other,” I reply, and he chuckles.
Arch knows there’s no love lost between me and Cherry, just as he knows there’s no sadness, regret or anger. I don’t feel anything for her, even if I can unequivocally call her the greatest mistake of my life.
“You definitely dodged a bullet with that one,” Arch says with a smirk.
“Truth,” I reply, and we fist-bump.
I’ll have to deal with Miller and Cherry at some point. It will be an in-my-face reminder that I once trusted the wrong person and paid for it with headlines and assumptions and a private life that stopped belonging to me.
The lights dim a fraction, conversation softens, and the room settles into a collective attention that feels almost unnatural for a group of hockey players.
Then Patrick Rowe walks onto the stage.
If the building looks like money, Rowe looks like the man who made it.
At forty-eight, Rowe’s tall, broad-shouldered, immaculate without being flashy.
Dark suit, no tie, collar open like he’s not interested in pretending he’s someone who asks permission.
He wears his salt-and-pepper hair a little long on top and short on the sides with a silvery beard trimmed to razor-sharp perfection.
He’s one of the wealthiest men in the United States and I doubt anyone ever tells him no.
He rests his hands on the podium, his gaze sweeping the room.
When he speaks, his voice is slightly cultured, calm and absolute.
“I’m not here to give you a lecture,” Rowe says.
“You’ve heard enough speeches in your lives.
” A few quiet chuckles and Rowe offers a candid smile.
“I’m here because we are about to do something people will tell you can’t be done.
” He pauses, lets the words sink in. “They’re going to call you an expansion team like it’s a handicap.
They’re going to judge every action like it’s an excuse.
” His eyes narrow. “I didn’t pay to buy excuses. ”
The room is utterly still, all attention rapt.
“Every one of you was brought here for a reason. Not because you were available. Not because you were leftover. Because you fit what we’re building.”
He steps away from the podium, slow and controlled, all eyes glued on him.
“This franchise doesn’t get a grace period.
We don’t get a cute first season where everyone pats us on the head and says, ‘Good effort.’” Rowe lifts his chin.
“Three months ago, the Pittsburgh Titans raised the Cup in one of the most dazzling final rounds of playoff hockey I’ve ever seen.
They did that only two years after their organization lost nearly everyone in a plane crash. ”
If possible, the room gets even quieter because there’s rarely been as good a comeback sports story as the Titans rising from the ashes. It’s a story that’s offered not as tragedy but as proof that anything can be accomplished with the right combination of leadership and talent.
“They were told they needed time. They were told they needed patience. They were told they needed a rebuild.” Rowe’s gaze sweeps again. “They chose to be winners anyway.”
He points, not at anyone in particular but at the room. “That’s what we’re doing. From the start.” He glances around once more, tucks his hands in his pockets. “Being new doesn’t make you weak. It makes you hungry, and we’re going to make the league regret every assumption they’ve made about us.”
And with that, he pivots and exits the room.
It’s only after he’s out of sight that the stranglehold breaks and a rousing cheer shatters the silence.
Rowe isn’t here to acknowledge it, but I’m sure he can hear us down the hall and is smiling at the knowledge that he’s lit a fire under everyone’s ass here today.
Colter Monahan, our head coach, takes the stage, and the energy changes again.
He doesn’t carry billionaire confidence but rather an earned authority.
He was an assistant coach on the Florida Spartans, who won the championship season before last. He’s young for a coach at thirty-three but battle-tested.
I think he’s a great choice for this team.
Monahan isn’t known for speeches or emotional rallying.
He’s known as a brilliant strategist, meticulous with systems and structure, and deliberately standoffish with players.
He doesn’t try to be liked, doesn’t blur lines, and doesn’t concern himself with morale beyond whether the work is getting done.
Moreover, he’s got a great support team—assistants covering forwards, special teams and goaltending.
I personally think the best score came with Van Turner.
Fresh off a playing career with the Pittsburgh Titans, he’ll be handling defense and systems. His reputation in the league has been built on his ability to read plays before they develop.
But the depth he’s really going to bring to the team is his reputation for earning trust. A veteran, he’s a Cup champion from his time with the Carolina Cold Fury and again with the Titans, and now a mentor for the young defensemen coming up.
Monahan doesn’t waste time. “You’re here.
That part’s done.” A pause. Not for effect, but because he’s finished that thought.
“I don’t give speeches. I give systems. I will work you hard and make no apologies for it.
I expect you to give me everything, but if you need motivation, you won’t last long here anyway.
A few guys straighten instinctively. The rookies look downright scared and Arch and I exchange a smirk.
“We’re going to win games because we’re prepared, not because we want it more.
” He rests one hand on the podium, the other loose at his side.
“I’m a simple guy and I care about three things: structure, accountability and execution.
Everything else is noise to me.” His gaze moves, assessing, like he’s already sorting pieces.
“I don’t care what you were on your last team.
I don’t care what fans think you are. In this building, you earn your ice every day. ”
Arch grumbles under his breath. “That’s some hardcore shit.”
“Yup,” I mutter back, but internally, I’m excited about his coaching style. It’s exactly what an expansion team needs.
Coach scans the room. “You follow the system, you’ll play. You don’t, you won’t. It’s that simple.” He glances briefly toward his assistants, then back to the room. “If you’ve got questions, bring them to the staff. If you’ve got excuses, keep them to yourself.”
“Oh damn,” Arch whispers. “Guess we’re not going to be best mates.”
“You already got a best mate,” I point out, and he snorts.
And with that, Monahan picks up a piece of paper from the podium. “As you know, you were all asked to cast votes to elect a captain and two assistant captains for the team. These players will represent our interests both on and off the ice. They will be your leadership.”
A ripple moves through the room and guys shift in their seats.
Monahan doesn’t draw it out. “Captain,” he says. “Crosby Hale.”
No applause explodes because this isn’t a pep rally. But hands come together in a respectful clap with nods passing between teammates. Boss leans forward and claps me on the shoulder.
I don’t move. I don’t smile. I don’t lift my chin like I’m accepting a crown.
Inside, the weight settles into acceptance.
Monahan continues, “Alternates—Carter Nichols and Halo Barnes.”
More applause. Those are excellent choices.
While I’ve been named captain, part of that title is honorary.
While I’m on the ice during a game, I’m not allowed to leave my net to deal with the refs.
But both Carter and Halo can handle that.
They’ll have no problem taking the heat and managing the little in-game storms that I can’t deal with.
Monahan sets the paper down and looks first to me, then over to Carter and Halo. “Those letters don’t mean you’re above anyone else. They mean you’re responsible for everyone else. Act like it.”
I nod and know I’m more than up to the task.
Monahan shoves both hands into his pockets. “One more thing… the league is partnering with the Wildfire on a behind-the-scenes documentary this season.”
A buzz of hushed chatter fills the room. A few guys laugh, already imagining camera time. Some guys straighten like they’re picturing endorsement deals.
“The film crew will be given full access,” Monahan continues.
“It goes without saying Mr. Rowe expects everyone to be on their best behavior. He demands professionalism at all times. I imagine it might be a little jarring with the cameras constantly on us, but you’ll get used to it.
This is a tremendous opportunity for the Wildfire, so don’t fuck it up. ”
Opportunity. That’s one word for it, but another is exposure. Patrick Rowe wants eyes on his new dynasty.
I’m not happy about this distraction. I’ve built my career on shutting out noise.
Media has always been part of the job, but I learned early the difference between answering questions and letting people inside your life.
I vow to be diligently aware of where those cameras are and do my best to stay the fuck out of their way.
The meeting ends and players rise to funnel into the aisle, voices lifting, energy turning restless. Guys start talking about camp, about housing, about the city, about dinner plans.
It’s normal.
It’s the start of something.
Arch stands beside me as we join the flow toward the exit. He bumps my shoulder again. “Captain,” he says, the corner of his mouth tilting. “Look at you.”
“Don’t,” I toss back.
“Maybe I’ll call you Your Highness,” he quips, and I roll my eyes.
We hit a bottleneck at the door as the hallway outside fills with bodies. The jam forces us to slow, and that’s when Miller ends up directly in front of us again.
He turns slightly, and his eyes meet mine. For a second, there’s a hardness there. Not exactly anger—more like he’s bracing for the punch he expects me to throw.
I give him a nod. “What’s up, man?”
He nods, a slight chin lift, then pushes into the hallway before disappearing into the crowd. I’m guessing he doesn’t like the fact he’s on the same team with his wife’s ex, but that’s not my problem.
Arch whistles under his breath. “Yeah. That’s going to be fun.”
I don’t answer immediately because my mind isn’t on Miller. Not really. He’ll either get over it or he won’t.
Instead, I wonder about how this documentary is going to pan out and what will be expected of us. I know we have an entire media department, and I expect we’ll get a briefing of some sort.
To say I’m not happy about this is an understatement.
A camera in this place will be a spotlight, and spotlights have a way of finding the exact thing you’re trying to keep hidden. That’s the biggest lesson I learned from my failed relationship with Cherry.
I step into the hallway with Arch, and the noise of the building swallows us. Training camp hasn’t even officially started yet and Portland already feels like it’s getting too bright.