“I didn’t say you did,” she said after taking a moment to quiet her thoughts once more.
“Well, you must know that the cops think I’m a suspect,” he went on. He seemed to be uncomfortable with her blatant stare and he glanced down at his hands resting on his thighs though his jaw remained firm. “I was interviewed. Just a couple of questions. But they obviously think I did it.”
“I didn’t think they released any news about suspects yet,” Seraphina said after careful deliberation. “They certainly haven’t told me or my sister that you’re a suspect.”
“Yeah, but they asked you about me, didn’t they?” When Seraphina didn’t respond, he pressed his lips together in a triumphant smile that wasn’t reflected in his eyes. “See? Maybe it’s not official or anything but it’s obvious I’m a suspect.”
“You were the one who decided to hold out last minute instead of signing,” Seraphina pointed out, trying to keep her voice controlled. Certainly he could see why the police might suspect him. “You were the one who asked for more money. The timing was pretty bad, Mr. Thorpe. It wouldn’t be that much of a stretch for him to have refused you, for you to have gotten upset and kill him. You can’t deny that.”
“I can and I will,” he said through gritted teeth. His brow furrowed as he met Seraphina’s eyes again. This time there seemed to be fire behind the green irises. “Look, I’m not saying that I don’t see how they could suspect me for this. But that’s the only reason they suspect me; bad timing. Every player in their career has held out for a bigger contract. I just happened to have done it at a bad time.”
Seraphina felt her shoulder sag and her body to sink into the smooth leather of the chair. She even felt her feet touch the floor in order to slowly push her right and left, right and left, though it was nowhere near professional. “What makes you think you deserve a raise?” she finally asked, raising an eyebrow. A silent challenge.
“I know you and your family are going through a lot so I can understand that you don’t know the stats of your players just yet, but you should probably know that I’m the best goaltender in the league.” His voice still wasn’t arrogant; he truly seemed to believe what he said was a fact, not mere flattery.
“Maybe so,” Seraphina replied and pushed herself up so she leaned on her forearms, now resting on the desk, her fingers interlocked. “Maybe statistically speaking, you are the best goaltender in the league. How long have you been playing for the Gulls?”
“Three years.”
“Right.” She nodded to herself before meeting his eyes. “And in those three years, you have yet to take the Gulls to the playoffs. Do you want to know what your problem is? You blame your teammates for the goals that slip by you instead of taking responsibility for your mistakes. Sure, the puck has to get through every player on the ice before it gets to you. But if it gets past you, it gets past you and that’s that. And now, you’re sitting in front of me, saying how you deserve to get a raise because you claim to be the best goalie in the league? I don’t see any of my forwards coming up to my office and asking me for a raise, and I hear that our first line has the potential to be the best in the league. You’re an essential part of the team, don’t get me wrong, but so are forwards. We have nothing if we can’t score goals just like we have nothing if we can’t save them. You may be good, the best, but to me, that just means you play your best with this team. And now you’re asking me for a raise or you won’t sign? You should be thanking my grandfather for putting you in an environment where you reached your full potential.”
Brandon’s brow pushed up as his mouth dropped in surprise. He was silent as Seraphina reached into the desk to pull out her grandfather’s copy of the finances. Simon Spade, the financial advisor, had his own copy at his office. Seraphina had glanced through it during her nostalgia earlier that day and found something interesting she wanted to know from Brandon Thorpe.
“Did you know my grandfather was considering trading you?” she asked, picking her eyes up to look at him.
He was still surprised by her lecture, but this question seemed to upset him. His eyes got fiery again and his mouth turned down. “Yeah, I heard rumors but Ken never came to me directly about them,” he said. And then, under his breath, “He never would have traded me.”
“Why?” Seraphina asked, and though he seemed to believe what he said, his facial expression so entirely serious, she couldn’t help but be amused by his first show of self-centeredness. It made him not so attractive, she realized with a touch of sadness, and she hoped that he would get over himself. “Because you’re the best goalie in the league? You do realize that it would cost me less to trade you then to keep you with your current asking price, don’t you? Sure, a few teams might pay you what you want, but it wouldn’t be same for you.”
“What wouldn’t be the same?” he asked, arrogance gone for the moment.
“The game.” She sat up even straighter. “Face it; there’s just something in the water when you’re here, in Newport Beach. The environment is mellow and relaxed except during the games when people’s passion takes over and they feel personally involved in every pass, every turnover, every goal. I don’t have to preach to you about the weather, how people work their entire lives to be able to buy a house here, how people would kill to stay here.” Her eyes flashed to his face at her purposefully chosen phrase, but either it went over his head or he was extremely controlled because he didn’t even react. “The people are nice and sweet, offering a smile or a hello. And the fans. The fans love you, Mr. Thorpe. Even I know that, and I barely know anything about hockey. These fans are loyal and attend every game, despite the fact that we’ve never made playoffs because they believe. They believe we have the potential. And it doesn’t matter how many times we let them down because they’ll keep coming back because, for whatever reason, they still have faith even though we may not have faith. These are our fans. Nobody stops being a Gulls fan, which means the fan base will only increase which means more people packing Sea Side. Do you really want to give that all up for money?”
Seraphina locked eyes with him once more. She waited for him to claim that the people that occupied Newport Beach were stuck up and superficial, that he’d rather prefer the changing seasons to the static weather, that every fan base was generally the same save for the team they cheered for. But he didn’t. He didn’t say anything.
“And let’s be frank,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “No one’s going to take you with your current asking price given that you’re kind of a suspect in my grandfather’s murder.”
He shifted in his seat, but he wasn’t uncomfortable by the directness of her words. “Can I just say something?” he asked. “I don’t understand why you’re keeping me on the team when I am an unofficial suspect in your grandfather’s murder.”
Yeah, she didn’t either. But before she could stop herself, she said, “Because for whatever reason, I don’t think you did it.”
Seraphina was actually surprised the telling words came out of her mouth. She wasn’t sure she was even allowed to tell Brandon that she believed his innocence, but she knew it probably was the smartest idea, especially if he did do it. At the moment, Seraphina realized that if she wanted Brandon to be loyal to the team, she would have to show her faith in him. Even if all logic and evidence pointed to the contrary, she would take the position of innocent until proven guilty.
Brandon looked taken aback by her words, and again, she waited for him to say something, anything; maybe a thank you or even a laugh of disbelief at her naivety. But again, he said nothing.
Which gave Seraphina a small flicker of hope.
She swallowed before she began to speak. As the younger sister, she wasn’t used to giving out orders. She asked for permission, made a request, even made suggestions, but rarely did ever tell someone what they were going to do. That changed right now. She made it a point to lock eyes with him, and after taking a deep breath, she spoke.
“Here’s what’s going t
o happen: you’re going to play for the Gulls for the season with your current contract. You won’t officially sign until the investigation has been closed, but you will be paid for each game you play. I expect you to act and play as though you are still part of the team. Which means I expect you to interact more with your teammates. I don’t know if you’re brooding on purpose or just don’t like to socialize, but I don’t see any chemistry between you and the team, which may explain why we have yet to make it to playoffs. Go out with them after a game or practice. Talk to them. Get to know them. You’ve been playing with them for three years, and I guarantee you don’t know Matt’s middle name. Finally, once the season’s over, you and I will meet up and discuss how much you’ve improved, because even the best can get better, and we’ll reintroduce salary negotiations.”
She raised a brow, indicating that he really did have to speak this time, to tell her one way or the other if he was in agreement.
“You’re more like your grandfather than I originally thought,” he said. Maybe Seraphina’s ears were deceiving her, but it almost sounded as though he admired her for her similarity to Papa. “Fine. I agree.”
He said nothing more when he got up and left, but he didn’t have to.
Chapter 6
“I just don’t get it!” Seraphina exclaimed to her sister. She threw her arms out, clearly exasperated, as her newly acquired team headed back to their designated locker room after the first period of the first preseason game. And Seraphina’s first official game as owner and manager of the Newport Beach Sea Gulls.
The game was predominantly filled with Seraphina watching plays and asking questions. Because she knew absolutely nothing about the sport save that it was filled with violence and the goal was to get more goals, she figured she would buy a Hockey for Dummies book when she got the chance and read it as fast as possible. She never followed through with that, but luckily her sister was dating the captain of the team so Katella knew a thing or two about the game. When the fight broke out between Matt Peters and Benson from the other team, Katella stopped in midsentence, biting her bottom lip. She looked both aroused and worried as her boyfriend of two years got into an amateur boxing match, and it took a few minutes before the fight was finally stopped and Katella resumed her explanations.
It wasn’t hard to pick up the gist of it, and by the time the end of the first period, she knew the basic concept of the game. There were a few calls she would have to learn more about – the difference between a slash and a spear being a big one – but she would get the hang of it. She had to.
One thing she did notice was the constant booing every time Brandon Thorpe made a save. “No, that has never happened before,” Katella told her sister.
“All because people automatically assume he killed Papa,” Seraphina muttered under her breath. “Don’t they realize that if I thought he actually killed my grandfather, he wouldn’t be playing for the team anymore?”
Katella opened her mouth as if to say something then appeared to think better of it, and closed it. Normally, Seraphina would have asked what her sister wanted to tell her, but she was too distracted by the fan’s reactions to Brandon Thorpe. Yes, the guy was kind of a douche, but that didn’t mean he actually killed her grandfather. If douchebaggery went hand-in-hand with murder, she would have to call the police and report a slew of ex-boyfriends. The weird thing was, if a player like Alec Schumacher or Kyle Underwood or Matt Peters or anyone else on the team cleared the puck during a power play or attempted to score, the crowd cheered. It was only Brandon’s interaction that prompted the booing.
Seraphina didn’t understand; wasn’t a sports team a unit? Didn’t fans support each and every player when they were on the ice, no matter what went on in their personal life? In essence, the fans here cheered for the team as a whole, but individualized Thorpe, as though he wasn’t actually the Gulls’ number one goalie. What hypocrisy.
And yet, Brandon played as though he couldn’t even hear the booing. He blocked those shots she felt certain would go in. He skated out to retrieve a stray puck when she was certain the opposing player would reach it before he did. He would angle his body in a way she wouldn’t have even thought could block a shot. He caught the puck, stopped it, and the rebounds he let bounce off his knees or his chest were minimal at best.
“Brandon Thorpe is a real beast,” her sister murmured under her breath.
“Has he always been this way?” Seraphina asked. Katella had been to every game since dating Matt. Maybe she didn’t know him, exactly, but she watched him play.
“Not when Papa first got him,” Katella said. “I think his confidence has grown throughout the last two years. It really sucks we didn’t make playoffs last year. I think we could have gone all the way.”
“I just don’t understand why the people keep booing him. I’m sure if it was at any other point in Thorpe’s career, they would have been ecstatic to have him on the team.”
Katella shrugged. “People have different values, Sera,” she said. “Even so, it’s remarkable how well he’s playing, despite all the heckling.”
By the time the period ended, the score was still zero to zero, and people were booing Brandon Thorpe out of the rink.
“Neither team has scored, and a big part of that is because of Thorpe,” Seraphina continued, her arms continuing to gesture profusely. “If we were winning, do you still think everyone would be booing?”
“Probably,” Katella said. “Hey, I’m not saying I agree with it, but this is how people are. They don’t know what they want and nothing you do is going to satisfy them. If you keep Thorpe in, they’re going to boo. If you take him out and put our second in and we lose, they’re going to be upset. The only thing you could get away with is pull Thorpe and hope our second can fend them off.”
“You mean I should actually pull Thorpe?” Seraphina asked, surprised. The thought had never crossed her mind.
“That’s your decision, hon,” Katella replied. “But let me tell you this: I’ve been to every home game for the past two years including preseason games and I’ve never heard it this loud, even with the stadium being almost sold out and the team fighting for a playoff spot. I don’t want to go all dramatic, but if you keep Thorpe in, it is possible that riots could break out.”
Seraphina let everything her sister said sink in. She didn’t want a riot to break out as her first official night as the Gulls’ owner. But she didn’t think she should have to pull Thorpe either. Her mind clouded over with insecurity and doubt and she couldn’t help but wonder, for the millionth time in the past two weeks, why her grandfather thought it was a good idea to leave her in charge of a sports team. She didn’t know what she was doing, and now that she had to make a major decision that would upset people no matter what, she honestly had no idea what to do. She was in a crossroads of what she felt was right and what she felt she should do. Normally, she would just go with her gut, but that seemed to have dire consequences if Katella was right and a riot could break out. But for whatever reason, pulling Thorpe didn’t sit well with her.
Maybe Henry Wayne would help her decide. Without saying anything to her sister, Seraphina pounced out of her seat and headed down the stairs. Security let her through without incident and she managed to reach the head coach of the Gulls before he went into the locker room.
“Henry!” She suddenly clamped her mouth shut as her entire face turned red. When Henry turned to look at her, she gave him a sheepish smile. “Oh, I’m sorry, should I be addressing you as Mr. Wayne or Wayne or...”
“You can address me however you want, Sera,” he said, smiling so the skin around his grey eyes crinkled. “Really, you’re thinking too much about this. Weigh the pros and cons but ultimately, go with your gut. That’s what your grandfather always did, and it seemed to work for him.” He cocked his head to the side, crossing his arms over his chest. “Is everything okay? I have to get into the locker room and grill the guys about their playing, but you seem... What do you need?”
“I...” Seraphina let her voice trail off, and before she could stop herself, she felt tears begin to accumulate in her eyes without really knowing why. Henry waited patiently while the young woman got a hold of herself and her emotions. “I’m sorry. I feel a little overwhelmed right now. But I don’t know what to do. About the goalie situation. Surely I wasn’t the only one who heard the fans booing every time Thorpe made a save.”
“You weren’t,” Henry agreed.
“Well, what do we do?” She sounded more anxious than she wanted to, but the more she felt like she was losing control, the more her voice started to rise. “I mean, what can we do? How’s our second?”
“Miller?” Henry raised his brow and pursed his lips, taking a moment to think about it. “He’s not as good as Thorpe.”
“No one’s as good as Thorpe,” Seraphina muttered under her breath.
“You’re right,” Henry said. “What do you think we should do?”
Biting her bottom lip, Seraphina tried to weigh the pros and the cons of the decision, as Henry had suggested. People kept telling her that running a hockey team was like running a business, and sometimes, as the boss, she’d have to make tough decisions that won’t be liked by many people. But she’d have to do right for the company. Because the company always came first.
Right?
“For the sake of the franchise, we’ll have to pull him,” Seraphina said. “We can’t have our fans boo against us. Against Thorpe, I should say.”
Henry looked like he was about to say something, but thought better of it. Instead, he pressed his lips together and nod his head once in assent. “You’re the boss,” he said, before turning and heading into the locker room.
What was good for the franchise didn’t actually feel like a good decision. As Seraphina headed back to her seat, instead of feeling like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, she felt as though more had been added to her already heavy load. It didn’t feel right. Didn’t the right decision, no matter how disagreeable it was, always feel right?
Blood on the Rocks: A Slapshot Prequel (A Slapshot Prequel Trilogy Book 1) Page 5
