Page 4 of Game Misconduct
He’s a former pro center turned front-office whiz. Pragmatic, calculating, hard to read.
And he uses silence like a weapon. His hockey mind is as sharp as they come, and he’s known for talent spotting and aggressive trades.
My father handpicked him to be the general manager of the Vipers, having known Dean since he was a rookie in the NEHL.
And from what I gathered after my father passed unexpectedly, Dean thought he would be the one calling the shots.
The shots my father left for me to call.
Needless to say, Dean isn’t my biggest fan, which is fine with me.
I’m not his biggest cheerleader either.
I press the speaker button. “What’s up, Dean?”
His voice crackles, already annoyed. “Still nothing?”
“Still nothing.”
“Then we cut him. Call up the G2. Make it look intentional, and get the press off your back.”
“No. I’m headed to Boston now to talk to him.”
“Are you kidding me? He’s not worth chasing.”
“He’s a cornerstone and worth confronting.”
He snorts. “You want the league’s most volatile goalie anchoring your crease because…?”
“Because he’s still the best shot we’ve got at launching the new season with credibility.”
“You’ve got the whole team except him.”
“I’ve got a perfect launch—except one glaring hole the media is already picking at. This isn’t about chasing a man. This is about not letting silence write my story.”
“You sure this isn’t about proving something?”
I glance over at the framed jersey again, biting back a sigh.
Fuck me if legacy doesn’t feel like a noose some days.
“I’m sure.”
Dean pauses, the silence stretching.
“If there’s nothing else–”
“You’re letting your pride get in the way, Sloane.”
Pride.
It’s always the word they use when a woman won’t yield.
Never strategy. Never guts. Just pride.
“I’m not proud,” I say tightly. “I’m strategic. I know what optics matter right now. And if I let the only unsigned contract slide, I send a message I can’t take back.”
Dean sighs. “Then handle it,boss.”
