A Perfect Strategy. Anna Sugden
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the doors swung open, he cleared his throat. “Let’s go out there and show them the Ice Cats play the best damn hockey in the world.”
As he strode toward the ice, he allowed his mind one small lapse in focus to acknowledge that life couldn’t get much better than this.
Present day
“THE HOCKEY NETWORK, New York, isn’t renewing my contract?”
Scott paused, steak-laden fork halfway to his mouth, to look at his agent.
“They want to go in a different direction. They want a more ‘three-sixty’ coverage.” Andy added air quotes.
“You mean they’re changing me because I suck at color commentary.” Scott had never been good at running his mouth off and THNNY seemed to want to fill every second of the game with talk. He didn’t mind commenting on plays and stats, strategy and tactics, even guys’ college or juniors careers. But the network wanted him to gossip about the players, as well.
Sharing in-depth information about the men he’d been teammates with less than a year ago was something he had no interest in. He’d been on the butt end of that kind of intrusion enough this past season, between his retirement and divorce, to be real uncomfortable with sharing details about guys’ personal lives. He didn’t even like repeating locker-room tales.
Besides, who cared? Scott sure as hell didn’t. The only thing that mattered was what happened on the ice.
“I wasn’t sure I wanted to continue next season, so I guess that makes my decision for me.”
“You’re sure you don’t want to coach?” Andy patted his mouth with his napkin. “I’ve had feelers from several GMs about you. A future Hall of Famer is always of interest.”
Scott ate the piece of steak, using the time to mull that over. He’d done some work with the Cats this past season, helping the younger players tighten up their defensive tactics. He liked to think he’d played his part in helping the team win the Cup, even if he hadn’t been out there on the ice with them.
Getting his name etched on the silver chalice one last time had been cool, though it hadn’t made up for losing it the previous season. For sure, it hadn’t been the same as winning it as a player.
“I enjoy stopping by practice to work on drills with the guys,” he said finally. “But I don’t want to do it full-time. Or have the responsibility for running the team, day in and day out. I don’t have the patience. It drives me nuts to work on plays and then see it all fall apart come game time because they forget how to execute in the heat of the moment.”
Andy gave an exaggerated shudder. “You and me both. That’s the problem when you’re naturally talented. You can’t teach what’s in your gut.”
“I hope your gut is enjoying my food.” Ryan Grey clapped a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Good to see you, bro.”
“You, too, man.” Scott stood and greeted his friend and former teammate.
Ryan’s career had been cut short by repeated concussion issues. After a troubled few years, he’d decided to turn his love of cooking into his next career and now ran one of the most successful high-end steak houses in the tristate area, if not the whole East Coast.
“It’s been a while.” Ryan topped up Andy’s red wine. “How’s retirement treating you?”
“Still finding my feet,” Scott admitted. “If I was a better cook, I’d give you a run for your money.”
“You could try.” His friend grinned. “But I won’t be losing sleep over it. You’re a better D-man than chef.”
“True.” Scott didn’t take offense. He had enough culinary skills to survive without starving and had a sharp dialing finger for takeout and delivery. “Still, I can grill a mean burger.”
“Maybe you should open a sports bar.” Grey relit the candle on the table and straightened the centerpiece. “Don’t you have a business degree, too?”
Scott nodded. It was a bit clichéd—retired pro athlete putting his name to an eatery—but it could be fun. “That’s a good idea. I may look into it.”
“Anything I can do to help, give me a shout. I’m happy to share what I’ve learned.” Grey’s head lifted. “I have to go—my maître d’ is signaling. Don’t be a stranger.”
“I have a guy in my organization who specializes in second-career investment opportunities. He’s helped some football players with bars and nightclubs. I’ll put you in touch with him.” Andy pointed his wineglass toward Scott. “No pressure, but he’ll give you the facts and figures of what’s involved.”
“I’d appreciate his insights. But I’d still like to keep my hand in hockey somehow.”
Even though he knew his body couldn’t take playing at the highest level anymore, he didn’t feel old enough to be retired. He kept in shape and skated regularly. After so many years playing, he couldn’t give up hockey completely.
He wasn’t really part of the Ice Cats any longer. He was like an honorary uncle: included and indulged, but not a true family member. And he hadn’t felt like part of the commentating group—they’d been together a few years and it had been hard to slot into their tight-knit circle. Since his divorce one year ago, he sure as hell hadn’t felt like part of his family.
Andy signaled for the check. “You could join me and become an agent. Some of my best guys are former players. You definitely have what it takes.”
That was a major compliment. His agent didn’t bullshit or give praise lightly.
Driving home, Scott kept Andy’s advice front of mind. A couple of the opportunities they’d discussed made more sense than the commentating. In truth, the network had done him a favor by not renewing his contract.
Scott pulled into his garage and parked. As the door rumbled closed behind him, he took his time getting out of the car. Putting off the moment when he’d have to walk into the dark, empty house. Something he’d dreaded for the past year.
The divorce had come out of left field. Hell, it had been a freaking fastball from another freaking ballpark.
He’d assumed when he retired, he and Celine would spend more time together, especially now that both Angela and Wayne were in college. Since Scott and Celine wouldn’t be driven by the brutal schedule that had dictated their lives from September to June every year since they’d met, they would finally be able to do the things they’d always talked about. Instead, she’d left him.
His bitter laugh echoed around the garage. That was one play he hadn’t read at all.
Scott walked through the house, turning on lights. He kicked off his shoes in the front hall, then went into the living room and flicked on the flat-screen. Relieved to have noise—he didn’t care what channel was on—he padded to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of wine. Then headed for his den.
The silence was the worst. For the past couple months, his kids had hung out here a lot, particularly while their mom was traveling. But this week, they’d both headed back to college early—Angela had wanted to get a head start on her third-year projects and Wayne had football practice.
Leaving Scott alone in a house he’d never really felt was home. He’d bought it for Celine when he became captain. A thank-you for all the sacrifices she’d made and the fantastic job she’d done with their kids. While his responsibilities at the rink and with the team had taken up more time, she’d decorated, extended and remodeled, until it was perfect.
And it was. Perfectly color coordinated. Perfectly furnished. Probably perfectly freaking feng shuied, too. All he knew was that other than in his den—where she’d given him free rein—he felt like