Coach's Challenge

by Avon Gale

  “You mean how you’re the most difficult puzzle I’ve ever solved?” Troy asked as he pushed back from the table and got to his feet.

  “You haven’t solved me,” Shane scoffed, and he also stood up. At that rate they’d get the puzzle finished in approximately sixteen years.

  “Good,” said Troy. “That’ll keep things interesting. At least you don’t look like a Dalmatian.”

  “You worry me, Cally,” Shane said, but some of his tension seemed to ease. “This could end up a fucking mess.”

  “It could,” Troy agreed, and he backed Shane up so he could press him against the wall. “But we’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t. I’ll call Coach Samarin and ask him for some pointers. How about that?”

  Shane laughed, but Troy wasn’t kidding.

  WHEN HE went to meet Gabe and Quinn, Troy wore the same suit he’d worn to his interview for the assistant coach position with the Rangers. It was nicer than the ones he usually wore to games, but he wanted to make a statement.

  Quinn was smiling and talking easily to Gabe when Troy showed up and took his seat. If Troy didn’t know that Quinn was a lying sack of shit, he would think he’d hallucinated that whole blackmail thing. Quinn gave him a half wave, and Troy wondered if the dumb son of a bitch thought he was going to leave the office as the new head coach of the Ravens.

  “Good morning, Coach,” Quinn said.

  Troy didn’t bother to respond.

  “I won’t beat around the bush,” Gabe said after they both sat down. “We’re here to discuss some personnel changes that need to be made in response to your attempt to force Coach Callahan to quit his position due to his relationship with Shane North.”

  Quinn wasn’t quite quick enough to hide his surprise at Gabe’s bluntness. “Uh… what?” His laugh was shallow and clearly forced. His face quickly turned a dull shade of red.

  “You heard me. Don’t play dumb, Quinn. It might have worked up until now, but it’s not going to do anything from this point forward but piss me off. You thought you could threaten Troy because of his relationship with North, and it’s not going to work.”

  Quinn’s affable expression tightened. “These are serious allegations. I’m going to want a lawyer present if you’re accusing me of something just to get rid of me. Not to mention, I’d like to speak with Mr. Hargett.”

  “That’s not a problem,” said Gabe. “I spoke with Mr. Hargett this morning, and in fact, he’s waiting for me to call and is willing to speak with you—and a lawyer, if that’s what you want. He supports my decision, and he has all of the facts, Quinn. No one is lying to him. He knows about Coach Callahan and Mr. North, and that you’ve attempted to use this information to get yourself hired as the head coach.”

  “…I think you must have made some mistake, Mr. Bow.”

  Oh, Mr. Bow now, was it?

  “Have I?” Gabe asked, and his neutral tone changed to one of disgust. “He also knows that you were more aware of the situation in the locker room last season than you reported. I’d think through your options very carefully if I were you right now, Brian.”

  “I can practically hear the hamster wheel in your brain turning,” said Troy, unable to help himself.

  Gabe gave him the “would you stop” look and continued. “Brian, let me tell you your choices here. You can resign and leave this team without saying a word, or you can go through with your ridiculous plan to discredit Troy, and you’ll be fired. Either way it’s up to you. If you choose to resign quietly, you’ll hear nothing from the team or our lawyers. If you choose to try and drag this team into a shitstorm after I fire you, that’s your choice, but I have to tell you that it won’t do any good. We’ve already taken the necessary steps to make a brief announcement about why Shane is retiring, and the front office is committed to supporting Troy as the head coach of this organization. Am I making myself clear?”

  Quinn was quiet, so either his manipulative little brain was coming up with some way to spin things to his advantage or he was fuming.

  “You’re not as good at blackmail as St. Savoy,” Troy informed him. “And I’m not twenty-fucking-five years old either. And Shane never considered, even for a second, staying in the closet because of you. You underestimated him more than anyone.”

  Gabe’s warning glare to shut up was a little more fierce. “If you want to spare yourself some tiresome legal proceedings and save a shred of dignity, Brian, I’d resign today and move on.”

  “How do I know you’re not bluffing?” Quinn asked Gabe. “About Callahan coming clean, about Hargett, about any of it? For all I know, you haven’t called anyone.”

  Jesus, was this guy serious? Troy still couldn’t wrap his brain around the idea of anyone going through that much Machiavellian scheming to get a coaching job.

  “You don’t,” said Gabe. “But you’ve made some serious errors in judgment so far, so whatever you think is likely, it’s probably the opposite.”

  “He could never coach again,” Quinn said as though Troy weren’t right there next to him.

  “Try to start shit, and you definitely won’t,” said Gabe, and it was obvious he was also starting to lose his temper. It took a lot to rile up a goalie—well, most goalies, unless they were Isaac Drake or Patrick Roy. But once you did, watch out. “You’ll look like a homophobic manipulative bastard, just like St. Savoy. And he has two Stanley Cup rings and can’t get a job, so I doubt you’re going to fare any better.”

  Quinn didn’t even so much as glance at Troy. “Then I’ll be out of here by the end of the week.”

  Troy was relieved that he wasn’t going to have to do a press conference about his personal life, which held as much appeal as a bag skate. Quinn might be lying, of course, and might go straight to the media. But Troy didn’t think he would. Hopefully this would be the end of it.

  “You’ll be out of here today,” Gabe corrected. “No excuses.”

  Quinn just nodded and stood up. “I’ll have my resignation letter on your desk in an hour,” he said stiffly.

  “Email it,” said Gabe. He had the full-on goalie stare going on now.

  Troy stood, stretched, and yawned facetiously. “We done here? I have a practice to run later.”

  “We’re done.” Gabe stood as well, but he didn’t offer to shake Quinn’s hand. “I’ll phone Stu and let him know about the personnel change.”

  Troy almost wished he could tell Quinn that Shane was getting his job, but he didn’t want to rock the boat when things had gone so smoothly. If anything might prompt Quinn to say “fuck it” and go for full-on sabotage, that might be it.

  As they left Gabe’s office, Quinn turned to him. “It wasn’t personal, Callahan,” he said, as though that were some kind of apology. “It was just business.”

  “Of course it was personal,” he said. “You’re an idiot if you think it was anything else.”

  Quinn shrugged. “It could have gone worse. I’ll just say we had differences of opinion about the team, and everyone knows you’re an asshole. They’ll imagine I couldn’t take your attitude and went looking for another position.”

  “Gee. Are you going to try and put me in a death trap now that I know your evil plan?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Callahan. I tried something, and it didn’t work. But there are other jobs, and the thing is, you can’t say a word about me if I keep my mouth shut about you and your boyfriend. So the way I see it, this one was a loss, but that doesn’t mean the next one will be.”

  “All this effort, and you could have taken a few coaching classes. But I guess that’s just too hard, huh?” Well, that and Troy doubted it would help. All the classes in the world wouldn’t give Quinn the passion he needed. Not if all he cared about was the money and the… whatever else he cared about. Troy had no idea. Certainly not fame. No one got famous coaching minor-league hockey anywhere in the country, much less the South.

  Oh, well. Quinn was no longer his problem. Maybe Troy would burn that stupid dry-erase board in e
ffigy.

  Quinn shrugged again in response to Troy’s comment, but Troy didn’t buy the nonchalance for a second. He half expected to go out later and find his tires slashed. “Like I said. It didn’t work this time, but that was always a possibility. I’ll survive.”

  “They do say that the only thing to survive the apocalypse will be cockroaches and Twinkies,” said Troy agreeably. “Too bad they’re both disgusting.”

  Quinn left quietly, but as far as last words went, Troy was pretty pleased.

  Chapter Sixteen

  SHANE WAS used to wearing a suit on game day, but it felt strange to show up at the arena and know that he wouldn’t change into his uniform that night. He waited for some kind of pang, some kind of flash of nostalgia or yearning, but he was more worried about Troy’s announcement to the team and his first night as an interim assistant coach to think much about it.

  “Stop fidgeting,” said Troy as he finished up some notes in his office. He’d had a door installed again, because the lack of one had done nothing to make the locker room less dramatic and he couldn’t stand T.J. Clarke’s thrash metal Thursdays another goddamn week.

  “I’m not fidgeting,” Shane said defensively, even though he totally was.

  Troy rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head. Shane wondered if next year they’d have to share the office. If so, maybe they should take that door off again, because they might end up distracted.

  Not that the lack of a door would stop them. It hadn’t yet. The team being in the locker room, though, was a different story.

  “I told you, we don’t have to say a word about us to the team. We can just say that you decided to retire early because you were a good fit for the assistant coaching job and since you’ve basically been doing it for a few months already.” Troy’s stare was sharp. “Our business is our business, Shane. We don’t need to tell them unless there’s a reason.”

  “They’re my teammates.” Shane forced himself to stop messing with his tie. He gave Troy a wry smile. “Or they were. I sort of feel like I want them to know, but maybe that’s not appropriate. What do you think, Coach? And hey, are you still gonna find it hot when I call you that?”

  “Always,” said Troy. “I don’t care how you tell them, if you tell them, or if you just kiss me when we finally beat the goddamn Spitfires. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Shane took a deep breath. He wanted the team to know without having to tell them. If he weren’t the new assistant coach, he’d just tell Cory Martin and let him tell everyone else. That seemed like a cop-out now that he was kind of, sort of, in charge.

  “You ready?”

  “I was born ready,” said Shane, because he’d always wanted to say that. Troy came up and kissed him, and Shane kissed him back until he started to get distracted. He pushed a little on Troy’s shoulder. “We keep doing this, team’s gonna know what’s up just by looking at your suit pants.”

  Troy snorted and pulled away, and they both took a moment to compose themselves. Troy opened the door, and Shane followed him and eased next to a row of lockers as Troy whistled sharply and told them to turn off the pregame music. “Listen up. I’ve got a few announcements, and they’re important.”

  The team fell immediately silent, and Shane saw a few of his teammates glance his way.

  “There’s going to be an official announcement about this tonight, before the game, but you’re going to hear about it now.” Troy stood in his customary spot with one foot propped up on the bench. The team stood expectantly around him, in various stages of dress. “To put it succinctly, which is a fancy word for saying I’m not gonna bullshit you, Brian Quinn is no longer the assistant coach of this team.”

  There was silence as the team exchanged some surprised glances, but no one looked particularly bothered. Shane heard Cory Martin mutter to Evan Snyder, “Was he ever?” and had to muffle a laugh in a discreet cough.

  If Troy heard—and he probably did—he gave no hint of it. “And we’re replacing him with our own Shane North in an interim capacity. But if he doesn’t fuck up too badly, then you’ll see him back behind the bench with me next season.”

  That got a reaction—a lot of cheers, stick taps, and whistles. It also got him a lot of back pats and hugs, and that was nice, if horribly embarrassing.

  “You want to say anything, Shane?”

  “Just, uh… thanks for the opportunity,” Shane said, which sounded lame and like he was a rookie talking to the press for the first time. “I’m excited to stick around. This is a great team, and I’m happy I get to be a part of it, even though I’m finished playing.”

  “Aw, man,” said Josh Baker, the center for Shane’s former line. “I liked having North out there on the ice. He was so slow it made me look good.”

  Shane laughed at the expected chirping. “Better watch it. I get to make you skate laps for saying that shit now.”

  “Man, though, North,” said Cory, “we didn’t even get to celebrate your last game. We were gonna have, like, an epic party. With beer and everything. We had a plan.” Next to him, Evan—and even Xavier—nodded emphatically.

  “It’s fine,” Shane reassured him but he felt about a thousand years old. “Really.” What the hell. He might as well get it over with. “One more thing. If you see me kiss Coach Cally here after a game, just, uh… go with it. Okay?”

  It was the worst coming-out speech in the history of ever, but it worked. The team went wide-eyed and looked back and forth from him to Troy like they were watching a tennis match. Troy didn’t so much as crack a smile.

  “Wait. What?” Evan smacked his hand on his forehead. “Oh. That’s why you’re not banging the hot surfer chick. Makes sense.”

  “Seriously, Snydes?” Shit. He couldn’t use team nicknames anymore. “Snyder,” he corrected. “Didn’t she tell you she was a lesbian?”

  “Yeah, but North, that’s hot,” Evan said reasonably.

  “Don’t make me send you to sensitivity training,” Troy interrupted. “Go look up what lesbian means, Evan. And don’t treat women like a commodity if you ever want one to date you.” Troy paused. “Also I better hear a ‘Coach’ in front of that ‘North’ next time.”

  “Oh, right. Sorry, Coach. Er, Coach North.”

  Shane liked the sound of that a lot. “Don’t worry about it. But he’s right about the thing about women.”

  “Seriously,” Cory said to Evan. “Ava probably wouldn’t like it if you talk about other girls being hot, anyway.”

  Ava must be the server from Tombstone Brewery. Evan smiled. “She’s open-minded. I’m just saying it all makes sense now that North—er, Coach North—is into dudes.”

  Shane opened his mouth to explain he’d always been “into dudes,” but he changed his mind. With his new position came a modicum of maturity, apparently. And he already knew that arguing with Evan would be pointless. He wished Ava good luck.

  “So, uh… you guys are….” Wes Kelly said as he waved a hand.

  “Your coaches,” Troy finished in a firm voice. “That’s all that really matters in here.”

  “It makes sense,” Cory said, nodding. “North… Coach North, you are kinda like, Cally, Jr.”

  Shane resisted the impulse to put his face in his hands, unsure if it was because he was blushing at the topic of conversation or smiling at the comparison. “Please stop talking.”

  “Sure. Just… congratulations or whatever. On the job and the boyfriend. Big day for you.”

  “Martin, seriously. Shut up and get dressed before I bench you,” said Troy.

  Shane wasn’t quite sure what to do. Troy went back in his office as usual, though he left the door open. Shane couldn’t discount the team making kissy noises or saying aww if he happened to go in there too. But as he was trying to figure out if he should look busy or just play a game on his phone, Xavier came up to him.

  “I didn’t want to say this earlier, since there were a bunch of people around, and please don’t make me skate laps for
this, Coach North, but no drunk sleep in the world is deep enough to tune you two out.” Xavier grinned. “I mean, it was hot, and if I hadn’t wanted to throw up—because of the beer—I probably would have enjoyed listening.”

  He laughed at Shane’s expression of horror. “I didn’t realize it was Coach Cally you were with, though.”

  If he’d ever had a more excruciating moment in his life, Shane didn’t know when. He didn’t want to know either. “Captain Matthews, go get your gear on.”

  “Got it, Coach North,” said Xavier. He laughed as he walked away and left Shane bright red and running his fingers under the knot of his tie, convinced he’d tied it too tight.

  They were playing the Spitfires for the last time, unless they happened to meet in the playoffs—if the Ravens even made the playoffs. Shane was just getting used to the weirdness of being behind the bench instead of on the ice during warm-ups when Isaac Drake skated over. He leaned casually against the boards in front of the Ravens’ bench. “What’s up with the suit, North?”

  “That’s Coach North to you, Drake. And I got a new job. Now when I tell my team to stop going top-shelf on you and shoot stick side instead, they have to listen.” He held his fist out.

  “Hey.” Drake laughed, but he didn’t look all that bothered, and he fist-bumped Shane right back. “Your team can go whatever side they want, Assville Raven. Oh, sorry.” He winked. “I guess that’s Coach Assville Raven.”

  “Drake, go back to your side before I decide you’re on my team and make you do laps,” Troy said to the irreverent Drake, who just gave another laugh and skated off.

  Shane got a nice cheer from the crowd when he was announced as the new interim assistant coach right before puck drop, and he went onto the ice to acknowledge it—as well as the enthusiastic stick taps from his team. He was probably bright red, but it was nice to have the crowd on his side—even if it was entirely possible they were just excited to finally have something to cheer about.