Page 38 of Finders Keepers
With a nod, she picked up a handset and pressed a button. “Mr. Hennessey to see Stuart.” Setting the handset back in the cradle, she said, “He’ll be right out.”
“Thanks.” Nate turned and found the team’s history chronicled on the wall between the two frosted glass doors—photographs, newspaper clippings, and magazine articles all framed in polished glass.
A door to the right swung open, and a man in a light gray suit with silver hair, bright blue eyes, and a wide grin strode out.
“Nate, hi. Stuart Mason. Director of Player Personnel. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too.” They shook hands.
Nate wasn’t quite sure what to make of the warm, almost jovial greeting. Wasn’t he in trouble? Shouldn’t this be somber and serious?
“We’ve got a conference room all set up. Follow me.”
Nate trailed Mr. Mason at a distance down a plush corridor, its deep blue carpeting matching the hallway outside the elevator. Rich paneling covered the bottom half of the walls while a creamy textured wallpaper adorned the upper half. A fancy wood chair railing separated the two. Pictures of the Locomotives’ brightest moments lined the walls between thick wooden doors.
Mr. Mason led him into an interior room that mirrored the corridor’s decor, only the walls displayed pictures of bucolic frozen ponds instead of hockey triumphs.
Three men rose from their seats at the glassy round dark wood table that was more reminiscent of an oversized dining table than a traditional conference room setup.
“Thanks for coming in,” said a tall guy with dark receding hair and brown eyes. He had a longish face and nose. He greeted Nate with a smile as well. “I’m Davis Montgomery, the Assistant General Manager.”
“Nice to meet you, sir.”
Mr. Montgomery indicated the two other men. “You know Coach Jameson and Coach Boudreaux.”
Nate nodded to each in turn. “Coach. Coach.” Boudreaux had pulled Nate off Tommy the day before.
Everyone cycled around the table for handshakes.
“Help yourself to something.” Mr. Montgomery waved toward a cabinet sitting right inside the door with a coffee station and a cluster of bottled water.
Nate grabbed a water. He definitely didn’t need any more caffeine.
By the time they were seated again, they were nearly evenly spaced around the table. Shit. He should have called Wade. This could go sideways fast.
Mr. Montgomery sat on the edge of his seat, his hands folded on top of an open portfolio. A couple of manila folders peeked from beneath the burgundy leather.
The coaches sat on either side of him. The head coach, Jameson, leaned back with an ankle crossed over a knee and regarded him over the rim of large metal travel mug. His silver eyes matched the silver hair that rivaled any flow in the league. Boudreaux, the assistant head coach, sat flush with the chair back, arms on the rests. As far as coaches went, he was on theyounger side with dark brown eyes, bright red hair slicked back from his forehead, and a freckled complexion to match.
Mr. Mason shifted beside him, folding his arms along the table’s edge. The movement made Nate straighten, his own forearms settling flat on the wood.
“Mr. Hennessey—”
“Please call me Nate.” Nate’s knee bounced beneath the table.
Mr. Montgomery nodded. “Nate. I understand you’ve had two altercations with Alex Tomlinson in the past few weeks. Walk me through what happened.”
Nate’s stomach sank. Montgomery already knew about the first fight—of course he did. Which meant this wasn’t just one strike. It was two. And two strikes could end a career. “I’m really sorry. I swear it won’t—”
Mr. Montgomery held up a hand. “Apology accepted. We’ll discuss consequences in a moment, but first, I want to hear exactly what happened between you and Tomlinson.”
Nate cranked open his water bottle and took a swig. “Well…after the visit to Children’s Hospital a couple of weeks ago, I invited Nader, PawPaw, and Tommy back to my place to play video games. I have a friend staying with me. He’s gay and a bit femme. You all get what that means?”
Everyone nodded. No one looked disgusted or angry or anything. Just interested.
“Anyway, we played video games for a while. Wesley—my friend—hung out in the living room with us for a bit, but then he wanted to rest. He was recovering from a concussion, and we were getting loud, so...”
There was more nodding.
