Page 4 of Gloves Off

“My philosophy is that working with people better than you is the best way to improve.” Ward leans back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. “What do you think of that?”

I rub the back of my neck. “You’re the coach.”

“I still want to know what you think.”

I don’t want to do this. Any moment not in a game, practice, or training is spent healing the multitude of injuries I’ve sustained over the years.

Besides, no one showed me the ropes. No one mentored me. I had to figure everything out myself.

“I don’t have time to babysit.”

Ward’s mouth twists in a wry smile. “I would really like you to make time. I want you to mentor Luca Walker and turn him into the player the Storm needs.”

What am I going to say, no? It doesn’t work like that. Ward’s a good guy, probably the best guy who’s ever sat in this office in the history of the Storm organization, but I’m not interested in incurring his wrath if I ignore a direct order.

He could buy me out of the remaining seasons on my contractand force me to retire, if he wanted to. He could trade me at a discount to make room for a younger guy.

I give him a firm nod. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

From the changes he’s made over the past few seasons, I suspect he has a grand plan for this team.

Jamie Streicher, one of the best goalies in the league, in net. Rory Miller, the league’s top scorer, as center forward and now captain. Hayden Owens, moved from defense to offense and surprising everyone with the jump in points on the board.

And now he’s set his sights on the rookie, Luca Walker. If there’s anything I love, it’s this team, and hell if I’ll stand in the way of our run for the Cup.

I sigh with frustration. “Why can’t you be an asshole like the last guy in here?” The last Storm coach was terrible. Red-faced, angry, always yelling at us. Berating us for every mistake, every loss.

Ward lets out a short laugh. “Thanks, Alexei.” He gives me a nod of approval. “I appreciate it.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” I head to the door.

“One last thing.” He frowns at his computer, pulling something up. “There’s a problem with your citizenship application.”

“Again?” My gut drops. This nightmare won’t end. Ward gives me a strange look as worry tightens in my chest. “This has been happening for years.”

“I wondered why you didn’t have citizenship yet.”

My family immigrated to Canada from Russia when I was eight. “We had visas and permanent residencies, but when I joined the NHL and we applied for citizenship, it all went to shit.”

Years of drawn-out issues over misspelled names, lost applications, rejections for no reason, and requests to resubmit. Headache after fucking headache.

If I could throw money at it, I would—god knows I have enough of it as one of the highest paid players in the league—but that’s not how the Canadian government works.

“The team’s legal staff is handling it now.” Ward gives me a reassuring smile. “They know what they’re doing.”

“Did they say how long it’ll take?”

“Usually a year for processing, interviews, and final acceptance. Could be up to three years, though.”

I don’t know if I have that much time. The reality I rarely admit is, one bad injury and I’m done. It happened to Ward. It could happen to me.

“And with the way your visa works,” Ward adds, “you’ll need to be with the team or have citizenship to stay in the country.”

Alarm races through me. I’m not interested in going back to Russia. I haven’t been back since we left. I definitely can’t let my parents be sent back. They were outspoken against the government—that’s why we left—and fled the country when their arrest warrants were issued. It’s not safe for them to return.

When I was growing up, they worked so hard to keep me in hockey, an expensive sport. They did everything they could to give me a better life here in Canada.

I have to fix this. This is our home. Our lives are here.

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