Power Play (Nashville Assassins Next Generation 2)

I bite my lip. I’ve never been to a meeting like that. I usually just sit on the bench and talk only to Jakob or Dad. They do all the talking to the team. I don’t have to do that. This is new, and I am completely out of my element. “Do I have to talk or something? I’m the assistant. I thought I assisted?”

Jakob laughs. “I think you’ll do most of your talking on the ice. In the meeting, you’ll only explain what I don’t explain correctly. We’ll be on the same page, though, so I’m not worried. You shouldn’t be either.”

I’m worried.

“Oh, okay. So, eleven?” I ask after looking at the schedule. “When is lunch?”

“Ten thirty. We eat early on game days. Don’t worry. We know the power play can’t be fixed in one day. It’s struggling. Though, we’ll make the play-offs—I don’t doubt that—but we won’t win if we can’t fix this. I don’t even know what has happened, but it’s bad.”

“Last in the league, and three for sixty-two, yeah, I’d say so,” I say, disgusted by the stats. We play better shorthanded than we do with the extra man advantage. Makes absolutely no sense. How we are still third in the league is beyond me, but our McBroenes line is generating a lot of action. Their line alone averages two goals a game. That’s incredible. Plus, we have a rookie goalie, Branden Peca, who is taking the league by storm. He’s putting up numbers like Tate Odder used to put up. I mean, the kid is unstoppable. No one thought Shelli could do it, but she somehow convinced my mom to make some big moves this summer, and they’re paying off. Now we gotta fix the power play.

“Listen, ever since Shelli came in, things are changing. And I think you are the missing piece we need. I think you’re going to get us that second Cup in a row. I’d love to have back-to-back Cup wins as a coach. Let’s make it happen, eh?”

Shelli is so great, and now I’m expected to be the same. Yeah, no pressure.

“Totally,” I agree, and he sends me a beaming grin.

“I’m proud of you, kid. You’re going to make a difference. I can feel it.”

Can he throw some of that confidence my way? I’m a whole lotta nervous. I click through my emails; mostly, they’re from the coaching staff, welcoming me and sending me their bios as if I don’t know who they are. I know everyone. I know the players, and I know all of the staff. I may be a “new” coach, but I’m hardly new. Don’t people realize I had a crib here when I was a baby? I’m basically one of the fixtures here.

I’m almost done with my emails when my door opens, and in comes Shelli, holding a huge bouquet of purple tulips. This is probably the girliest thing about me, but I love a bouquet of tulips. They’re so gorgeous! Just like my sister.

In sky-high black boots with red bottoms, she wears a formfitting sparkly purple dress that hugs her in all the right places. It also has the Assassins logo at the bottom; she and my mom had them made for game days. Yes, I rolled my eyes. And no, I didn’t want one. Her hair is down, straight, but with a pin holding back one side. Her lashes are long and pretty, and her makeup is impeccable.

As always.

“Congratulations!” she coos as she sets the bouquet on my desk. “We need you,” she says with her hands on her hips. “I was the one to suggest you when Mandella quit. He wasn’t a good fit, and I told Mom that in a meeting. I guess he took the hint and scrammed, but you are a perfect fit.”

I perk a brow. “You said that in front of him?”

She nods. “Yes, he needed to know. Jakob is good at teaching the plays, but we need a playmaker—you. We need you.”

I grin. “Wow. Thanks, Shelli.”

She leans on my desk. “Don’t thank me. Your talent speaks for itself, and I’m so proud to call you my sister.”

Wow. Okay. This is going so well. “Thanks, really. That means a lot.”

But then she focuses on me. Her expression turns to one of disdain as she holds out her hand to me. “What the hell, Posey? Did you not read the email I sent you?”

I furrow my brow and glance back at the computer. I point to her email that’s at the bottom. “I haven’t made it there yet.”

“What are you wearing?” she asks, straightening up and coming around the desk to look me over.

I’m wearing a pair of black windbreakers and an Assassins T-shirt. My hair is up under the Assassins ball cap I’ve had since I was ten. I’m not parting with this thing either. “What? I put lip gloss on!”