Ryker by Sawyer Bennett
If I thought Ryker was angry just a second ago, I would be mistaken. The way his eyes fire daggers at me...I have the sudden urge to shrink away from him.
"Are you fucking nuts?" he asks me with a growling edge to his voice. "Doesn't any of this that you and I have going on mean anything to you? You want me to just dump all that, forget you, and take back a woman who abused my trust, abandoned her girls, and now comes crawling back? You say I have the girls to think of, well, I am thinking of the girls. I'm thinking they'll never respect the sanctity of marriage if they see their mom and dad being in a loveless one."
I swallow hard, blinking at him in astonishment. "That was quite the speech."
Ryker's arms go around me and he pulls me in tight. Our faces are so close I almost go cross-eyed trying to keep his gaze. His voice is measured. Clipped. Finite. "I. Do. Not. Want. Hensley."
I hold my breath, my nerves quivering.
"I want you," he breathes out just before he kisses me.
A sigh releases into his mouth just before I give him my tongue. I kiss him slowly, my arms tucked in tight so all I can do is press my palms to his chest as he holds me.
He pulls back and looks at me. "Okay?"
I nod with a smile. "I want you too."
"Good," he says, and leans in to kiss me again.
But I push back at him, pressing my palms harder against his chest. He looks at me curiously. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"
"Yeah, I know."
"I'm sorry I can't be there for you physically all the time, but emotionally, I'm there for you one hundred percent of the time. I wish I could have been there for you when Ruby was hurt."
"You were," he tells me, pulling me into his body. My cheek goes to his chest and I snuggle in tight. "You came to see me and that meant a lot."
I hesitate, because I'm not sure I really want to know the answer, but I decide I need to know what I'm facing. "Did Zack and Kate see us?"
"Yeah. Zack confronted me about it."
"And what did you say?"
"I tried to blow him off but he's a persistent fucker. But he won't say anything, so you don't have to worry."
And I realize...I'm not. If Ryker says I can trust Zack, then I do.
Because I trust Ryker.
Chapter 19
Ryker
The lights come on in the team meeting room and I blink against the harshness for a moment. A team's work is never done because we flew in from Chicago this morning and went right to the arena to review game film. Coach Pretore is not in a good mood because we got our asses handed to us yesterday.
Normally, I'm very studious during film review. I'm always looking for ways in which I can improve, and I'll be presented later with an edited and spliced digital with just my saves and goals scored against me so I can analyze myself individually.
Coach Pretore walks to the center of the room and looks around at us. "Now, we have three home games coming up this week. Wednesday against Pittsburgh, Friday against Toronto, and then the Chicago Bobcats come down here to our turf. Three very good teams, and I expect to win against every single one of them, and do you know why that is?"
Utter silence. One can only guess at Coach's reasoning sometimes, but he never keeps us in the dark.
"I expect wins because this is one of the most talented teams I've ever coached. We've got the backing of the best executives in the league."
A snort comes from the back of the room and I don't even have to turn my head to know that was Claude making his feelings known.
"We have the best scouts, the best trainers, and the best fans," Coach continues, choosing to ignore Claude. "We have all the tools, and on paper, we look mighty fucking good."
"That's right," someone else says behind me, and a few guys voice their approval.
"But we are missing something. And even though we just watched over an hour of condensed film, you're not going to find what's missing on that screen up there." Coach jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "You won't see it on film but you will find it sitting in this room. I hope it's still in this room, because frankly, I'm not sure. I need you to get your heads out of your asses and find it fast. If you guys want a chance at the Cup, you better find it now."
He turns and starts to walk toward the door. He doesn't tell us what's missing. He wants us to figure it out, and he wants us to do it without him.
He's making us talk this out as a team.
When the entire coaching staff is gone and the door is closed, the room is silent for a moment. Then Alex, as our team's captain, stands up and walks to the front of the room. "What are we missing?" he asks simply. I can tell by the tone of his voice he knows what it is.
"Determination," Pavel Alogrin says. He's new to the team. One of Gray's acquisitions.
"Consistency," another guy says.
Around the room, people call out their thoughts.
Skills. Teamwork. Communication.
"Unification," I say, and Alex's eyes snap to mine.
"I'll tell you what's wrong," I hear Claude say behind me, so I turn in my chair to look at him. He stands up, almost relishing the entire team listening to him. "Our problem is our leadership. We have someone calling shots that's inept and wants us to follow along blindly."
Several players nod and this is disconcerting to me. I want to jump to Gray's defense but I hold my tongue. I'm terrified that something I say will give me away, and that's a distinct possibility. I'm so consumed by her I can't take the chance of revealing it in a mere slip of a word.
"You just don't like the fact a woman is managing this organization," Zack says, and I turn to look at him in surprise. His voice is tight and itching for an argument.
"Yeah, I don't like that she's a woman," Claude says, his lip curled up in a sneer. "And I'm not the only one. There is a reason women are not a part of this league, and it's because they cannot understand the game on our level because they don't play it on our level. And she wants to come in here with her spreadsheets and make recommendations on who stays or who goes...It's bullshit and it's tearing this team apart."
"You're tearing this team apart," I say quietly as I level a hard gaze at him. "You're nineteen years old and you think you know everything. I'm here to tell you...you don't know shit about what it takes to run a professional sports team."
"Get off your soapbox, old man," Claude says. "You're just spouting off at the mouth because you know your job is in jeopardy. Max played a better game than you this past week, and, frankly, he deserves the starting spot. No one forgets you fucked us out of the championship last year."
Before I can even defend myself, Max stands up from his chair, causing my head to whip his way. "Shut the fuck up, Amedee. Don't speak on my behalf. Coach Pretore will put the best goalie in who's right for the job."
Claude holds up his hands and waves them like he's scared. "Oh, my bad, Fournier. Maybe Gray Bannon is sucking your dick the way I suspect she's sucking all of you morons that support her."
That's it. He crossed the line again.
I push up out of my chair so fast it topples backward and start my way toward Claude. Alex is on me in a flash, grabbing me from behind by my arms.
"Bring it, asshole," Claude sneers now that I'm being held back.
"He already kicked your ass once," Alex growls. "Want me to let him go so he does it again?"
"What?" someone says behind me. "Ryker is the one that messed your face up?"
"You two got in a fight?" another teammate asks.
"Evans sucker punched Claude," I hear, and I don't need to turn my head to know that was Sam Larson defending his friend.
"What the fuck?" someone else says with indignation.
"Enough!" Alex roars, and the room goes silent. "Listen to us. Coach Pretore was right...we're definitely missing something and it's going to bring us down. Ryker hit the nail on the head. We're missing unification, and that should be fucking apparent to everyone at this point."
Alex let
"If unification is so important," I hear another player say, "then why is Ryker sucker punching his teammate? Didn't he do that on another team? Seems to me he's the one that needs to practice what he preaches."
My shoulders sag a bit, because when you say it like that, it sounds like I'm the bad seed in this group.
"Ryker had cause to do it, and it wasn't a sucker punch," Alex says, and I startle over his defense of me. After the fight that night, he made all of us agree not to tell anyone so it wouldn't blow up. The mere fact he's delving into it has me astonished.
"What-the-fuck-ever," Sam spits out to defend his friend. "He came barreling at Claude and he didn't have a chance to defend himself."
"Hey, I can't help it if I'm faster than he is," I mutter.
Alex growls at me but then says to the team, "It is not okay to make demeaning statements about women. This organization has an image to uphold. We are role models to adults and kids. So pardon me for thinking this, but I think Claude deserved to have his ass kicked when he said Gray Brannon wouldn't be so high and mighty if he shoved his dick down her throat."
I notice several of the players wince, a few turn quickly to glare at Claude.
"Or that she just needed a hard fucking to put her in her place," Alex adds, so no one mistakes the nature of Claude's comments.
"Dude...not cool," I hear someone murmur.
"You're an asshole, Amedee," another says.
It seems we're back on track when Mikkel Erat speaks up. "Forget the fight and what Claude said, which admittedly was stupid. The fact of the matter is, we're being run by a general manager that not all of us trust."
"That's a fair statement," Garrett says as he stands and faces Mikkel. "But what is it exactly you don't trust in? Is it only because she's a woman? Or is it because you don't like her methodology? There's a big difference, in my opinion."
"Listen," I say, then take a deep breath. "We all know it was a major shakeup to this league and this team when Gray Brannon was hired as general manager. The media made a huge deal about her being a woman, but let me remind you. She has played hockey. She's a fucking two-time Olympic medalist, so do not discount her because of her gender. On top of that, she was one of the top scouts in the league and she's responsible for many of you being on this team. You clearly trusted her when she scouted you for the Cold Fury, so why not trust her now?"
I look around. Most people are looking directly at me, a few have their faces averted in what I think might be shame. So I continue.
"If you don't trust the way she makes her decisions, all I can tell you is I get it. It's new to all of us, and I don't know if it's going to work. But the one thing you should ask yourself is this: Is there anything she has done so far that has hurt this team? In fact, go one step further...don't we have a fucking amazing team that she's helped to put together? Are we not at the top of our division and the conference leader? I'm mean seriously, dudes...what more do you fucking want?"
Now several men are nodding with me in agreement. Claude still glares. I look directly at him as I talk. "We are missing unification, and we've let ourselves get sidetracked by something that we shouldn't be wasting our time on. Not one of us can change the management, so we need to roll with it. We need to put our heads together and we have got to get back our camaraderie. Our hearts are what make this team strong. If we don't, we are going to fall completely apart and you can kiss that Cup goodbye."
"That's the truth," Pavel calls out in his thick Russian accent.
Most of the guys are now nodding enthusiastically with renewed hope. I turn to Alex and mutter. "It's your show now."
"All right," Alex says. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to take Ryker here and walk across the street to Houlihan's and buy him a fucking beer because that makes a lot of sense to me. If any of you want to join us, come on over. I'll buy everyone a beer, and let's start getting back our mojo together...as a team."
"Fuck yeah," Zack says, and starts for the door. Most everyone stands from their chairs and starts heading out. Of course, I have no clue if they'll come to Houlihan's, but it will be interesting to see what they do.
Some teammates walk by me as I stand at the front of the room with Alex and Garrett. Several guys fist bump me, punch me on the shoulder, or give me a supportive nod. Max Fournier comes up to me and we clasp hands, pull each other in for a chest bump, and clap each other on the back. "Dude...you know that fucker doesn't speak my sentiments about the goalie slot, right?"
"Yeah, I got that. I want what's best for this team, that's all."
"As do I, brother," he says with a grin. "Meet you over there for that beer, and are we doing yoga on Wednesday?"
Garrett coughs and Alex snorts. "Yoga?"
"Yeah," Max says with a nod of his head. "Ryker got me into it. He's been taking a class from Gray and it's really great for our flexibility."
"Oh, really," Garrett asks with a sly laugh. "Yoga, huh? That's, um...very manly."
"Fuck off," I growl at him. "I'd like to see you try a class. You'll be crying like a baby when you're done."
"Oh, it's fucking on," Garrett says as he puffs his chest out. The proverbial gloves just got thrown down.
"Wednesday at ten o'clock, bitch," Max says with a playful punch to Garrett's shoulder, and we all laugh.
When we get to Houlihan's, it's packed. I look around and as best I can tell, every single member of the team is there.
Every single member except Claude and Sam.
I'm pleased to see Mikkel seems to have come to his senses, and he raises his beer up to me when we make eye contact. A silent apology, which I accept.
Not bad when it comes to unification. It's actually better than I expected. It's my hope, at least for now, that this team will quit focusing on things they can't control and put their efforts into that which they can.
If we can do that, we've got this fucking Cup in hand.
Chapter 20
Gray
This is it.
Right here.
The epitome of what it means to be a general manager of a professional sporting team. It's also going to be the first major decision I'll help put into effect when it's all said and done.
It's February fourteenth, and while most are thinking of Valentine's Day, I'm thinking about the trade deadline that is approaching in less than three weeks. My scouts have been busy checking out the minors, Frank's been talking to other team managers, and I've been analyzing the players' stats. We have until March fifth to make our trades, or otherwise anyone we pick up after that will be ineligible to play in the playoffs. Usually there's a mad scramble at the deadline to do some final wheeling and dealing, but I want to get this out of the way. I want to get our last trades done so they can gel with the team. I think that's crucial so we are solidified going into the playoffs.
The executive conference room is huge and can hold twenty people easily around the oblong table. Right now, there's just four of us. Me at the head of the table and my father to my left. He took that seat on purpose, putting me in the kingpin's chair so it was clear who was running this meeting. Frank is to my right, and on the other side of him sits Coach Pretore. The rest of the seats are empty because I just sent the scouts out of here after they delivered their reports to us.
There's one more person we need to talk to and he should be here soon, but before I invite the team captain in, I want to talk about options.
"As of now, I think we've identified three players that we may want to either release or trade," I say as I look down at my notes. These players were chosen after much talk and debate. I relied on my statistical model. Coach Pretore relied on his observation skills. Frank went old school and relied on his hunch, and my father had no opinion. Well, I know he has an opinion, because he always does, but he's withholding. He's making it clear that in his role
"Are you sure Halik is done?" Frank asks Pretore. "Maybe another round of therapy?"
Jani Halik is a promising center we picked up two years ago, one of my finds actually, but he has not been able to bounce completely back from a groin pull from more than a year ago. He gets healthy, then he gets hurt again. Healthy, hurt, healthy, hurt. He's become unreliable, but this was one that Pretore voiced concern about.
"I don't think it will make a difference," Pretore says. "He's only good enough for the third line if he's healthy, and we don't know when that could be."
"We won't get much in trade for him," Frank says.
"We can release him," I suggest.
"Or tack him onto another deal," Frank counters. I nod because that's a good option for sure.
"So we also have Atkinson and Amedee," I continue, hoping my voice stays neutral. I really had hoped I wouldn't have to be doing this. I wanted Claude to prove me wrong and not let his bitterness and dislike of me affect his game, but his numbers have plummeted the past three months. I've also heard through the grapevine he's stirring up a lot of shit. Luckily, Coach Pretore also had some misgivings about keeping him around, so at least Frank won't think I'm targeting him because of Amedee's attitude toward me.
"Before we make our final decision," Coach Pretore says, "let's get Alex Crossman in here and see what he has to say."
I use the moment to stand up from the table and stretch. I don't think it really matters what Alex says unless he has some information we don't know yet, but I'm hoping he'll at least confirm our choices. Once that's done, we can start looking at the scouting reports and figure out who we want to try to cut a deal with.
Once Alex is seated and small talk is exchanged, I ask him, "You know we're getting close to the trade deadline and we are looking at what we can do to make this team stronger. We've focused in on three players we are looking to cut, and we want your opinion. Of course this remains confidential."
Alex nods. "Of course."
Coach Pretore doesn't waste any more time and just lays out their names. "Atkinson, Amedee, and Halik."