Chapter 10

Approximately 10 weeks later

P layer drafts are anxiety inducing on their own, but it didn't help that my flight was delayed and I barely made it in time. I had to put my suit on in the airport bathroom, grab my rental car, and haul ass to the arena. The cold sweat is finally dissipating. Luckily, the only thing I missed was recognition of team scouts, red carpet photo ops, and watching interviews with athletes and staffers.

In the past, I've always been on the player end, but now I'm on the floor. Standing next to me is Whit Moreau. Behind us, the hum of exuberant chatter fills the stands and echoes through the arena. Families, friends, and fans are settling in while we take our seats at the designated Rogues table on the drained floor of Colorado's NHL arena.

I sense Kendra's presence even though I haven't seen her yet. She and the camera crew are hidden in the throng of media attendees. I keep my head down and try not to look for her. It's been weeks since we've seen each other. She's kept me at a distance and has stayed professional. It's almost as if our last night together never happened. I've been respectful of her boundaries, but despite her efforts, my attraction for her has only grown.

Barrett and Raleigh are in the stands somewhere. Not only for me but for the athletes who spent time with his organization, Camp Conway, and are now up for the draft. Including Timber Healy, a goaltender we have our eye on. I can't imagine the pride he feels. Probably similar to the loved ones of the players wringing their hands right now. Their children, siblings, spouses, and significant others are about to be the first hockey players of the inaugural PWHL season. They're making history. The anticipation is palpable.

Everyone at the Minnesota Rogues's table has been handpicked by Whit. It's mostly executives and team scouts—those who are important to help with on-the-fly decision-making. A couple seats are reserved for members of the organization with higher status, like the owner. We try to keep the table neat, which isn't easy between all the laptops, tablets, papers, water bottles, and snacks.

I've made small talk saying hi to past colleagues, but now people are settling into their spaces. Next to me sits Jeanine Vance, the assistant coach, and we discuss the players and our plans to work with our athletes once it's established today. We're eager to get our roster filled and begin their training.

Once the emcee goes through the fanfare of this being the first PWHL draft in history, things are ready to begin. The order of picks is determined by a computer, and when we see the results, Minnesota is picking first.

Fuck.

The order goes in snake format, so once we get through the list, the order is reversed, meaning we don't get to pick again until the end of the second round. It drops our odds on the elite players since most will be picked through by the time we choose again. However, winning teams aren't composed of the best players, they're made of the right players. We have three minutes to submit our pick.

"Cori Kapowski," Whit mutters next to me. It's a no-brainer. Cori is a power forward and was born to play this game. She's played internationally on women's teams, and we planned to pull her first. Fans call her Celly Kapowski. We all nod, we've already figured most of our choices and the order we would take them in, but going first means this pick is easy. Going forward though, we'll need to make sure we stay the course.

We submit our decision, and once the name is announced, Cori stands and takes the stage along with Margaret Baylor, chairwoman of the board for the PWHL. Our runner supplies the jersey she receives. She holds it up for photos. We'll shake hands later. Much of the fanfare is saved for after the draft when everyone gets together for photo ops during contract signings.

From our table, we watch as the remaining nine teams pick off players. We cross them off our list as we go. A few grumbles can be heard among staffers, and even Whit let out a sigh a time or two. We decide our best bet is to get our top goalie lined up next. Goaltenders are critical and can make or break a team. Our defenders are important, but when it comes to shots on goal, we need to make damn sure the person we put in our net is the best. And the best is Timber Healy.

She's a tremendous athlete. Focused and dedicated. Oftentimes, goaltenders get away with more shit because they know how important they are to a team and organizations will let that shit slide as long as pucks are staying out of nets, but she's solid.

We put forward our pick for Timber Healy, and as soon as her name is called, I glance up to the crowd and catch Barrett standing alongside Timber's parents and clapping like it's his daughter presenting that Rogues jersey.

We have back-to-back picks this round and have to focus. "Okay we've got a powerhouse in Kapowski. Let's add Delta Makkonen, she'd be a great winger. They would be great together."

Whit pulls up her profile for what seems like the hundredth time. It's like he's getting cold feet when it comes to her. I can't figure out why.

"We need to cover our defense," he says. "Joanna Breck."

Joey is damn good defense. Unfortunately, she's also got a reputation for being a wild card off the ice. Even the media calls her "Trainwreck Breck." When it's our turn to submit our pick, the scouts are all in for her; they know how talented she is. The rest of the staff, including me, exchange looks, knowing she's a liability.

"We need Makkonen now," I argue. Timber is great on defense, but we need to grab up one of the best wingers before she's snapped up by another team.

"Timber Healy has a rapport with Breck. We must establish our defense."

"Whit, I'm with Sully on this one. Delta Makkonen should be priority," Jeanine says, backing me up.

The scouts waffle between themselves too. I duck my head next to Whit's shoulder. "Delta won't be available after another eighteen rounds… Last night, we were solid on choosing a winger third. Makkonen is it. What the hell changed overnight?"

He closes the tab on his laptop with her face and stats and reopens the submittal window. "I'm pulling rank on this one. If she's available next round, we'll get her then."

I clear my throat and swallow down my frustration. What the fuck? There's nothing I can do here, and I'm not about to make a scene. When I played for the Lakes, we had a player named Banksy who was the biggest pain in the ass as far as liabilities go, and after I left, he replaced me as captain, turning everything around. I've seen miracles happen. I just hope Joey can hack it.

I nod. We'll figure out a way to get the other shit under control later on. Whit blows out a breath and taps the enter key to submit her name.

"Do you think our PR team will be submitting their resignation or requesting raises?" Jeanine mutters and I chuckle.

As soon as Joey jogs up to the stage on her sky-high heels, she accepts the jersey and hollers out a boisterous "Hell yeah!" Shaking my head, I hope we didn't make a mistake.

Whit chuckles next to me before answering, "Resignation."

"She's worth it," Tanya, one of our player scouts, chimes in. "Promise."

"I'll remind you of that when our Christmas bonuses are spent on PWHL fines," one of the staffers, Jonathan, adds.

"Enough," I say, ending the jokes.

Waiting through the next eighteen rounds is fucking anxiety-inducing. Picking first sucks.

The emcee announces Yasmin Nielson for Toronto's pick. I cross her name off our list. Next is Renata Lacroix, and she goes to Vancouver. Shit. Leah Pendergast, New York. Fifteen more rounds of picking and it's our turn again. Somehow Delta's name hasn't been chosen yet. Remember how I said I believed in miracles? I exhale relief.

"Delta. Makkonen." I say it more firmly than necessary.

He nods, but his voice conveys he's conceding rather than being thrilled we were able to grab her. The fuck is up with him?

We submit her name for our fourth round, and I cross my arms. As soon as the emcee announces her name, I return to our next choice now that we're back on track. Our next pick was supposed to be Lacroix, but now that Vancouver has her, I throw out the next best thing. I pull up Kiana Jackson's stats, and we go back and forth with some scouts on whether to pick her or Jamie Paulson. We submit our choice: Kiana. Afterward, we settle in our chairs, waiting out the next fifteen rounds before we can choose again.

"You may not want to hear this, but I think we should consider Delta for captain."

He nods without looking at me, and I raise my eyebrows.

"She works hard. Has a good attitude and personality. She'll be a solid leader," he agrees.

Jonathan, one of the male staffers getting on my nerves as the night goes on, decides to open his mouth and join our conversation. "And she's hot, which means she's pretty enough to charm the refs and officials will have a hard time saying no to her."

Next to me, Whit's back stiffens.

I glare at him. "How many NHL players have you said that about?" I counter. Delta hasn't gotten to this point because she's attractive, she's here because she works her ass off.

Jonathan rolls his eyes at me. "I'm just being real here. Come on, Sullivan, I know you know what I'm talking about. She's a good player, all I'm saying is she's got other qualities that'll be beneficial to the team."

I raise an eyebrow. Fuck this guy. Jeanine scoffs next to me and mumbles something about him being an asshole. Justified. Before I can respond to him, Whit leans forward and stabs a finger in Jonathan's direction, whose face has gone pale at the attention he's garnered from the Rogues's general manager, not to mention the rest of us. Whit drops his voice to a low growl. "Don't ever talk about her—or any other player—like that again. When we get back to the office on Monday, you can pack your shit."

"You're firing me?"

"Yeah. You're dismissed." Whit doesn't spare him another glance.

Jonathan looks around at our faces, seeking support but gets none. Eventually, he shoves his chair back from the table and walks off. Everybody stares at Whit with wide eyes after witnessing his normally calm demeanor shift into overdrive. He adjusts his tie and rolls his shoulders back. "I'm implementing a zero-tolerance policy for sexual harassment, that goes for not only our players but every other member in our organization… Can we finish picking our fucking roster?"

Jeanine grins.

"Let's get back to work," I announce, hoping to remind everyone what needs to be priority. "Who's our next forward? Paulson or Baylor?"