Page 127 of On the Power Play

“He’s struggling.”

Jack nodded. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about on Friday, actually.”

Novak’s eyes widened. “Oh really? Well, perfect. Coach and I realized you were still out there and thought we’d snag you for a quick chat anyway.”

Jack shifted in his seat, wondering whether that was a good idea or not. “Do you want to give me what you’ve got first?”

Kreviasuk turned the computer monitor his direction. “Sure, let’s get at it.” He started the reel, and Jack immediately understood what he was after. The fact that they hadn’t scored on their second power play. They’d barely pulled it out on their first.

“They’re shutting down our single swing, so we want to pull out centre lane tomorrow night.” He paused with his finger on top of Vic Hussen. “He wants to bite. It’s like he’s begging for it, so we’re going to send Gaudreau out as bait, then you’ll be our first wing option.”

“Not Monahan?”

“He’ll be there, but he’s the obvious choice.”

Jack nodded. “Got it. Anything else?”

“More forechecks. We need you there on the boards.”

“Right.” Jack wondered what Delia would think of that. Why would people pay to watch people hit each other? He stifled a smile, remembering he was supposed to phone her back.

“Let’s hear it, then. What do you have for us on the rookie?” Novak leaned back in his chair.

Jack drew a deep breath. He hadn’t had time to organize his thoughts, and he scrambled for any advice he’d heard on how to give criticism kindly. Praise first? Sandwich method? “Uh, I’ve been concerned. He’s got a lot of potential, and I don’t think we’re seeing it.”

“Damn straight. He needs to lock in.”

Jack clasped his hands together. “I don’t know if he does, actually.” Novak frowned, and Jack’s insides twisted. This was where it happened. Where he pissed everyone off and killed his chances for ice time. “I think there are a lot of players who thrive under pressure, who battle harder under a firm hand, but I don’t think Liam’s one of them.”

“We can’t be soft on him if that’s what you’re asking, Jack?—”

“It’s not being soft. It’s a different strategy.” He looked pointedly at the screen. “Liam’s got some things he’s working through, and he already feels like shit. He needs to feel wanted. Like you’re not going to give up on him, even if he gets his ass handed to him.”

Kreviasuk scoffed. “That’s our job, Harrison. We have to weed out the bad eggs.”

Jack’s jaw tensed. “Sometimes an egg can be deceiving.” He pushed up from his chair. “I know what it’s like to be thrown in the compost. I had plenty more to give, but my coaches had made up their minds. It’s up to you. I’m not a coach, and I’m not trying to overstep, but MacDonald was drafted for a reason. Might be worth a little upfront effort to get him there.” He nodded and walked to the door, not waiting for a response, and dialed Delia as soon as he exited into the hall.

“Jack?”

His heart stopped in his chest at the panic in her voice. “Delia, what’s?—”

“I’m on my way to the airport. I’m so sorry. I had to leave as soon as I heard.”

Chapter Thirty

Delia stretched her seatbelt until she could shove her head between her knees. She wasn't made for moments like that. Put her on a stage and she'd stare down a thousand people no problem, but tell her that her mom was running a fever of a hundred and four? Nope. Her brain turned into Cream of Wheat.

"Okay, slow down and try one more time." Jack was still on the other end of the line even though she wasn't making any sense. This wasn't the plan. She was going to be there for him. She was going to be sitting in the hotel room waiting when he got back. They were going to have a naked nap and she'd massage his shoulders or something and force him to drink enough water and eat protein or whatever he needed to get ready for game two.

"I can't, Jack. I can't think. I wanted to be there–I'm so mad I'm not there for you–but I had to?—"

"Delia, take a breath. Please."

People always told her to take a breath, and it never helped. It only made her lungs forget they'd ever known how to breathe in the first place. But it wasn't his fault. Jack didn't know that. He didn't know that what she was supposed to do was start naming facts about her surroundings and—oh, damn. Had she just therapized herself?

Delia looked up. The seat was leather. It was black. Her brain scrambled to hold onto the chaos, but Delia turned her head and kept noticing. There was a piece of lint on the floor. Her suitcase was on the seat next to her because she'd dragged it in before her driver or Alvin could put it in the back. It was rose gold. Alvin had stripes of grey in his beard. He was coming with her because Mary was going to drive back to Calgary and close things down at the bed and breakfast since they only had it for another week and a half?—

Nope, that thought wanted to send her down another spiral of leaving Calgary and missing Jack, which was the opposite of helpful.

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