Chapter 5 #2
I followed Enzo and Jay into the locker room and got my first look at the space.
There were a bunch of guys milling around, chatting in groups of two or three.
Their muttered conversation didn’t make up most of the noise, though.
The drilling and hammering on the far side of the room was responsible for that.
“Guess they weren’t quite ready for us,” Jay said, watching the work crew’s activity.
Only about half of the wooden locker stalls had been installed so far.
A man wearing coveralls was on a ladder fiddling with the overhead lights.
Several more workers were painting a wall.
There were tarps and ladders all over the place.
And in the middle of the room, several of my new teammates stood, casting bemused glances at the chaos around them.
“Shit,” Jay continued, in an undertone now. “Is it just me or does everyone in this room look really fucking young?”
It wasn’t just him. There were kids in here who looked like they didn’t even have to shave yet. It seemed like management had needed to call up half the farm team to make up a full roster.
“Come on,” I told Jay, nudging him towards the closest group of nervous looking guys. If we were the veterans here, I supposed we might as well act like it.
For the next five minutes the room filled up around us and I introduced myself to as many of the players as I could.
They weren’t all wet behind the ears. There were a few guys in here I recognized from playing against them over the years.
But man, a lot of these guys were rookies.
I had certainly never played on such a green team.
“Good morning,” a booming voice called from the front of the room. “I’m glad you could all make it.”
I looked up to see Duke Olsen, the interim GM, waving everyone towards him.
I’d met the guy once, the day after I was traded.
He was on the younger side for management, maybe forty or so, only recently retired from playing himself.
He’d been one of the mid-level assistants on the Atlanta team, but I guess he’d been promoted when his boss (and his boss’s boss) got indicted.
Jesus. What a mess.
“You’ll have to excuse our dust,” Olsen said, gesturing around the room. “You guys know this move happened pretty fast. But rest assured, things will be up and running in time for camp.”
Off to my left, a familiar guy grumbled something to the man next to him. Ryan Cane. Hot shot veteran D-man who’d been with the team in Atlanta. From the look on his face and the way he continued to grumble while the GM talked, I got the impression he wasn’t all that pleased with the move.
Up at the front of the room, Olsen was still talking. “We’re going to take a short tour of the facilities, let you guys check out your new home. And then we’ll have a quick meeting to go over a few things and get you a schedule for the next week.”
“Do we have a coach?” Cane asked bluntly.
“Of course,” Olsen said. “Wayne Dillion has stayed with the team during the transition. He’ll be at our meeting later so those of you who are new can be introduced.
” Cane looked happy to hear his old coach had stuck around—or at least he seemed slightly less annoyed than he’d been since I first laid eyes on him.
“You’ll also be meeting the team owner, Andrew Knight, and some of the support staff.
But for now, I’m going to put you in the very capable hands of Skylar Vaughn.
She’s going to be heading up our PR department.
” He gestured to a chipper looking blonde in a dark red pantsuit, who waved at us with a smile.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cane whisper something to his friend and they both laughed, their eyes roving over the woman’s figure in an obviously lecherous sort of way. Real classy.
If Skylar Vaughn heard them, she didn’t let on.
Instead, she took over from the GM, her tone professional and brisk.
“First I’d like to introduce you to Willie Blake.
” She nodded at the guy next to her. “He’s in charge of building operations here at Knight Arena, so if you have any questions about the facility, Willie’s your guy.
Now, this part is exciting! I have the pleasure of showing you your brand-new team uniforms! ”
There was a murmur of interest around the room—with how quickly this had all come together, management hadn’t even announced team colors or settled on a logo.
“This is the final artwork,” she continued, walking to an easel covered with a black cloth. “But your physical uniforms should be here in the next few days.” She pulled on the cloth to reveal the large posterboard behind it. “I present to you the official uniform of the Austin Sting!”
The poster featured a faceless model dressed in red and yellow. In the center of the chest was a sleek logo comprised of what I thought was probably a scorpion stinger wrapped around two crossed hockey sticks.
“Sweet,” Jay said, craning his neck to get a better look. “That looks badass.”
Glancing around the room, I could tell that most of the guys agreed with him, though a few—namely Ryan Cane and his buddy—were rolling their eyes.
“What’s the meaning behind the name?” someone called out. “The Sting? What does that mean?”
Skylar gestured at the logo. “We wanted to incorporate a local element,” she explained. “Management decided the scorpion was a perfect representation for how we envision the team. Scorpions are fast, sneaky, and frightening.” She grinned. “And they can be lethal.”
“Hang on,” Enzo cut in. “What do you mean a local element?”
She cocked her head at him. “I mean…scorpions are fairly common in this area.”
The guy actually swayed on his feet. “Are you kidding me?”
“No?” she looked around the room as if uncertain.
“There are scorpions here?” he yelped.
“This is Texas, son,” Willie the building manager said.
“Oh my God,” Enzo whimpered. “Scorpions. There are fucking scorpions around here. Oh my God.”
“You gonna be alright, buddy?” Jay asked.
Enzo just whimpered some more. “I can’t handle scorpions, man. I can’t.”
“Could be worse,” Willie said in his thick Texas drawl. “You get away from the city center a bit and you might see a tarantula.”
Enzo’s hand snapped out to grab Jay’s arm for balance. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“Get it together, man,” Jay said. Enzo just moaned under his breath.
“Anyhow,” Skylar continued, her voice bright as she tried to get things back on track. “If you’ll all follow me, we can show you around. We’ll start with the weight room.”
Like a bunch of little kids on a field trip, the guys fell into line to follow Skylar out of the room—Enzo making a big show of swerving to avoid the scorpion on the poster, earning him some good-natured shoves and jeers from his new teammates.
“Don’t know how I’ll wear that thing on my body,” he said, shuddering.
“You want to watch yourself, Rookie,” Jay said. “You keep carrying on like this and someone is definitely going to prank you with a scorpion in your dressing stall.”
“You’re joking,” Enzo yelped, wild eyes darting to me. “Tell me he’s joking.”
I shook my head, smirking. “I’m sure they won’t be venomous ones. Probably.” All the guys around us laughed as Enzo moaned.
Up ahead, Ryan Cane was ignoring the teasing of our young goalie, choosing instead to leer at the head of PR as she led us down the hall.
“How am I supposed to pay attention to the facilities when that fine ass is right in front of me?” Cane asked his friend, grinning wolfishly, voice just loud enough for Skylar to hear.
I saw her cheeks go pink but she ignored him, telling us about the top-of-the-line weight room in her steady, professional voice.
“That guy’s an asshole,” Jay muttered, and I nodded. I didn’t have warm, fuzzy feelings about Cane when we went head-to-head over the years—dude was pretty dirty on the ice—and I had a feeling we weren’t going to get along any better as teammates.
Skylar led us through the weight room, which was huge, then into a connected room full of cardio equipment and a third, smaller space for stretching.
“In the next few days, we’ll be able to get into the training facility,” she explained.
“The gym there is far more extensive, since that’s where you’ll hold a majority of your practices.
” I saw a few guys exchanging glances. It was difficult to imagine something more extensive than this set-up.
After the gym area we saw a dedicated massage room, several rows of ice baths and jacuzzies, and a player’s lounge still under construction. Just as I expected, Knight spared no expense. The place was as swanky and high end as any NHL arena I had ever seen.
“Pretty big difference from the minors, huh?” I asked one of the younger looking guys as he stared around the lounge with wide eyes.
“You can say that again.”
Finally, Skylar led us to the main event.
Everyone got quiet as we stepped out onto the ice—even Enzo seemed to snap out of his arachnid terror.
The new kids were clearly more than a little awed by the size of it and the rows and rows of seats stretching up to the rafters.
Hell, I was pretty awed myself. There was just something about a smooth stretch of unblemished ice and a silent, darkened arena.
It almost felt like church, the way our quiet voices echoed.
Every guy in this room had spent his life dreaming of this, of making it to the NHL.
It didn’t matter how long I’d been playing or how much success I’d had—it still hit me just the same way it had when I was a rookie.
We ended up in what Skylar introduced as the film room. Filled with squishy looking armchairs and a fifteen-foot-high projection screen, it would have been easy to mistake this place for a swank movie theater, as opposed to a place for sweaty hockey players to watch film on our opponents.