Fontaine snickers. “Wrong protest, dumbass.”
Coach turns his attention back to me. “Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and we have a sold-out crowd tonight. If we don’t take the ice, fines will be the least of your worries.”
Waiting until puck drop to voice our demands was a hell of a risk. If we don’t take the ice, it’s likely to alienate our fans. It will definitely piss off the commissioner. But it also strips Jonathan Powers of his negotiating power.
He doesn’t have time to jerk us around or bring up guys from the AHL. He’s got to deal with us, and he’s got to do it quickly unless he wants a forfeit and a massive fine.
One of the assistant coaches peeks her head through the door. “Coach Carlyle, they’re calling for us on the ice.”
Coach stares at me, and I stare right back.
Finally, he turns to the AC. “Stall. We have a situation here.”
Her eyes dart to the team, and then she backs out quietly, the door clicking shut behind her.
Coach turns to one of the other assistants and barks, “Get Jonathan Towers down here right away.”
The assistant makes a beeline for the coaches’ suite. There are no phones allowed in the locker room, but calling him will be faster than running up to the executive suite.
Coach shoots me a stern look, and I feel like a kid who’s just been sent to the principal’s office.
“You couldn’t at least give me a head’s up?” he mutters.
“I thought it would be better this way. Plausible deniability and all that.”
He shakes his head, but a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll give you this much, you don’t do anything halfway.”
“Speaking of which,”—I grin—“you should probably send for Ava. She’s in section 101. Row 12, seat 8.”
He stiffens. “She’s here?”
“Begrudgingly.” It wasn’t easy to convince her, but I pulled it off in the end.
Coach sends our last AC to have security locate Ava.
“Let’s just hope this gamble of yours pays off,” he says wryly. “Otherwise, Ava won’t be the only one looking for a new job. We’ll all be shitcanned.”
He’s not wrong, but I can’t think about that right now. I’ve got to stay sharp if I want any chance of convincing Jonathan Towers to reinstate Ava.
Coach stares at the rest of the team. “That goes for y’all too, you know.”
The atmosphere in the locker room is tense as we wait for the GM to make his way down from the executive suite. When Towers rolls through the door, his jaw is set, and there’s a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead.
“What the hell is going on?” he demands, laser-focused on Coach. “Why isn’t the team on the ice? The ref is going to issue a bench penalty any minute.”
It’s a foregone conclusion at this point.
Starting the game with a two-minute penalty isn’t ideal, but we’ve come back from worse.
“The team is refusing to take the ice,” Coach says, sweeping his arm to encompass every player in the room.
Towers pulls a face. “Excuse me? I must have misheard because there is no way you just said the Gliders are refusing to take the ice.” Ignoring me, he turns to glare at the rest of the team. “That would be a violation of the collective bargaining agreement and would get this organization fined a minimum of one million dollars.”
Coach nods. “Yes, sir. That is correct.”
Towers plants his hands on his hips. “This is completely unacceptable. Tell them to get their asses on the ice right now.”
“Jon, they’re grown men,” Coach drawls. “I can’t actually force them to do anything against their will.”