No one utters a word. Not a sound is made. This tells me that indeed, everyone has already heard the news.
“I’m appointing my daughter, Gray Brannon, in my place.”
And there it is…a distinct rustling sound as bodies shift in their seats. My father continues on, making firm and clear statements about my qualifications.
Graduated Princeton when I was nineteen.
Got my MBA from Kellogg at twenty-one.
Ph.D. in statistics from Berkeley at twenty-four.
Genius level IQ of 142.
Okay, Dad…that’s a little much. Get to the good stuff.
As I half listen to my father talk with pride about my two Olympic medals while playing for the U.S. women’s ice hockey team—one silver, one gold—I let my eyes roam over the group. The two front rows are composed of the coaching, equipment, and training staff. The players sit in clique-type groups based on what lines they play on. This isn’t by design, but I’m betting more because they have a unique bond and camaraderie. They almost have a sixth sense that enables them to read each other while on the ice.
My eyes pass over Ryker Evans, our team’s goalie, and then snap right back to him. He’s not watching my father but rather me, and I find myself unwillingly sucked into those silver-gray eyes. It happens every time I look at him, whether it’s in person or he’s giving an interview on TV, which is again proof that I am indeed a woman.
His lips tip up in acknowledgment of me and his eyes radiate congratulations. He gives me a nod of approval and then slides his gaze to my father, who is now lauding my scouting efforts for the Cold Fury. I’ve been the senior scout for the past two years and have scored some great players for the team.
I don’t immediately move my own gaze on, but rather take an unfettered moment to appreciate Ryker’s bold handsomeness. He’s called the Brick Wall in this league because he’s big. I mean really big for a goalie, but he’s still one of the most agile net minders I’ve ever seen. And still speaking as a woman for just a second, he has the face of a GQ cover model. In fact, I think he’s actually graced their cover twice if memory serves me. Dark hair, liquid silver eyes, and a beard of what looks like no more than three days’ growth that never gets shorter or longer, even during the playoffs. I’m quite sure when he’s ready to retire he could have a second career as a model if he was so inclined.
As it stands, however, I am far more interested in Ryker Evans for his athletic abilities than his face and I consider him to be one of my greatest acquisitions as a scout. I thought that even when our playoff hopes were crushed during Ryker’s first game in a Cold Fury jersey when he failed to stop a penalty shot, securing for us a big fat loss. I thought he was still a fantastic prospect even when the organization’s CFO, Bill Bowman, berated me in a staff meeting for insisting on such a pricey acquisition to the team.
I remember that day with actual fondness. Bill got all red in the face as he ranted at me, and my father just leaned back in his chair at the head of the conference room table and let me take it all on my shoulders. My father never fought my fights once I became an adult and I loved him for it. It meant he respected me.
It didn’t matter that it was wholly unfair to put that loss on Ryker’s shoulders. The fact is, the team—as a whole and with our regular starting goalie, Max Fournier—blew a three-game lead in the playoffs against Atlanta. Ryker came in cold off the bench when Max suffered a season-ending knee injury and was immediately placed in the net to face off against one of the best players in the league for a penalty shot.
And when he missed it, he became the pariah of the Cold Fury team.
At least for a little while.
But right now, it’s kind of hard to be the outcast when you have a .936 save percentage.
Yes, now my boy is back. He’s become a team leader—a man the younger guys look up to. He’s killing it on the ice, and I believe nothing is going to stop him this season. I can see it in his eyes, the tilt of his chin, the set to his shoulders. Ryker Evans, the Brick Fucking Wall, is going to lead this team—my team—straight into the playoffs. He has something to prove and that’s fine by me…whatever motivates him best.
“—which means that the only one who has to prove herself to you is Gray. I’m not even asking you to give her a chance because I know she’d never ask that of you either. I’m just telling you to watch and judge her on her own merits.”
My dad steps away from the podium and gives me a wink. He sweeps a hand out, indicating that I now have the floor. I didn’t have any expectations that I was going to be greeted with open arms. I didn’t expect applause, wolf whistles, or even metaphorical banging of hockey sticks to welcome me. In fact, I got more than I ever anticipated just from that quick nod of approval from Ryker Evans.
That’s fine by me.
Just makes this all the easier for me as I step up to the podium and prepare to cement my place in history.
“I’m not big on inspirational speeches. It’s not my job to motivate you to greatness the way it is for Coach Pretore. My job is to ensure that he has the necessary tools with which to bring home a championship for this organization. I’m not being boastful when I say that we have what it takes right now—sitting here in this room—to win the Cup this year. I say that with confidence because I recruited a good chunk of you men. Not one of you needs to peek under my skirt to know I don’t have a big pair of hairy balls like you. But I’m here to tell you, just because I’m wearing a skirt, do not underestimate me. You do that for me, and I will make you part of a hockey dynasty.”
I hear a snicker from the back of the room and I see Claude Amedee has his face down trying to hide his grin. Clearly, what I said was made into a whispered joke among a few of the players, because the guys sitting around him all are trying to look innocent with fake smiles plastered on their faces. I don’t even pay it any mind. That was something I prepared for.
“We have three home games this week so I’m going to be scheduling meetings with each of you individually. The purpose is twofold. First, I want you each to have an opportunity to sit down with me and tell me your concerns. No holds barred, total honesty, no repercussions. Second, we’re going to go over goals, and by that, I’m going to tell you what each of you needs to do to maintain your position on this team. I abhor tardiness, so don’t be late.”
More snickers from the back of the room as I turn from the podium and I’m greeted by my father’s warm eyes. I know it’s killing him not to throw a glare at the offenders, but he’d never disrespect me that way. He knows that I have to handle myself with them and earn the respect.
All of my degrees, IQ points, and Olympic medals don’t mean shit to these guys. They will want to see results and I intend to give them just that.
Chapter 3
Ryker