Page 6 of Shootout
“Sadly, Kyle retired this summer after seven years with our organization. He’ll be greatly missed.”
More murmurs of agreement.
Pete’s gaze swung to where I was seated. “But we’re very fortunate to have Jessica Wilder joining our staff as a player development coach. If you’re not aware of Jessica’s credentials, she comes to us after a successful assistant coaching stint at the University of Minnesota. Prior to that, she played on the first line of the Women’s D1 Collegiate championship team. She’s an Olympic gold medalist and holds several scoring records in women’s college hockey. We’re thrilled to have her. She’ll be a great addition to our team.”
The words he spoke were welcoming and flattering, yet his tone betrayed his real feelings. He wasn’t happy about my hiring. I’d known that from the day I’d been offered the job, as I’d been forewarned by a friend who was a former staff member that these guys would be a tough group to win over. Pete had made it clear I wasn’t his first choice, but he’d been overridden by Lauren Schneider-Parker, wife of the owner and director of player development.
Pete’s speech garnered a smattering of unenthusiastic responses.
“And she’s also the sister of Sockeyes defenseman Jason Wilder.”
That got their attention. I felt their eyes on me. I dug my fingernails into my palm. I’d asked Stevens not to mention my brother. I didn’t want his status with the team to influence my success here. Too late for that. Stevens had disrespected my request and given these guys the one bit of information I’d prefer they didn’t have.
“Jessie, this is Mike Millard,” Pete continued.
“Nice to have you on board. I’m so busy with the premier boys, it’s great to have help with the girls and not-so-talented boys,” said Mike. His tone indicated anything but. I bristled. His insinuation that girls were substandard to his male hockey players struck me the wrong way and made that chip on my shoulder even heavier.
Mike was in his forties and had played minor league hockey but never quite made it stick in the bigs. He had a rep as a great teacher of teenage boys with a knack for making small adjustments that produced impressive changes.
“Rob Green,” continued Pete.
“Welcome aboard.” Rob, in his thirties, was friendly enough on the surface, but I sensed him distancing himself from the newbie. Rob worked with youth who weren’t quite ready for Mike and Pete.
“And last and not least, Jonas Novelle.”
“Hey.” Jonas grimaced, but I suspected that was his version of a smile. Jonas was the newest of the staff and was in his late twenties. I knew little about his background other than he’d had a promising pro career until an injury forced him to retire early. I’d heard he had a chip on his shoulder, and I couldn’t blame him, considering the cards he’d been dealt. I had news for him, though. I also had a chip on my shoulder—some would call it a boulder.
After introductions, they regarded me warily when they weren’t studiously ignoring my presence. The few times I spoke up, they turned to Pete before acknowledging my ideas or thoughts. Pete would nod. His remarks hit me as borderline patronizing. I hated that but held my tongue. Words wouldn’t gain their respect, nor would arguing with them. I’d prove my expertise by coaching the kids on the ice where it counted.
I hadn’t expected a warm welcome. After all, I’d been fighting the good old boys’ club my entire life as a female hockey player, but the frostiness of the coaching staff was disconcerting all the same. Lauren had expected there to be an adjustment period. While she’d never voiced the issue as sexism, she’d pointed out this group, except for Jonas, had been together since the inception of the SHAC’s youth program.
I was an outsider and the wrong gender. Two strikes against me.
Going all girl power on these guys wouldn’t get me anywhere. I’d have to earn their respect through hard work and skill at my job. Eventually they’d be forced to acknowledge I belonged here.
Leaving the meeting, I held my head high and found my way to my tiny office, grateful all the youth coaches had their own private space. I had just settled in my chair when there was a rap on the door.
“Come in.” Curious, I watched the door, half expecting my brother to be on the other side.
A beautiful brunette peeked through the crack in the door. “Do you mind if I come in?”
“Of course not.” I studied her as she gracefully walked the few steps across the room and perched on the corner of my desk, the only other seating available in this room, which was barely big enough for one piece of furniture. I knew her face, but I couldn’t place her. She wore Sockeyes workout gear, which indicated she had something to do with the team or the facility.
“Welcome to the SHAC.” She held out her hand, and I shook it, still racking my brain as to why she looked familiar. “I’m Marina.”
At the confusion on my face, she clarified, “Marina Sanders-Delacorte. I’m the director of skating operations here at the SHAC. Specifically figure skating.”
Her name hit me like a ton of bricks. Everyone knew Marina. She was a household name in this country. A onetime Olympic medalist in women’s figure skating who’d fallen from grace and risen from the ashes. One of those feel-good stories of redemption you love to hear. She’d married the Sockeyes’ former young star, Drew Delacorte, who retired from hockey at twenty-six because he’d lost his passion for the game. His departure had shocked the hockey world, and I recalled it clearly, unable to understand how someone at Drew’s level and with his talent could lose their fire.
“I’m thrilled to meet you.” I wasn’t lying. I was thrilled. As a teen, I’d watched Marina’s bronze-medal-winning performance and her humiliatingly bad performance four years later. She was rumored to be one of the up-and-coming figure skating coaches in the world. Her young talent included skaters who were short-listed for the next Winter Games.
“I wanted to introduce myself to the only woman on the youth hockey staff. Trust me, I know it’s not easy being a woman in a man’s world.”
“It’s not, but I’ve fought the stigma that women are inferior hockey players for most of my life.”
“I’m sure you have.”
“How long have you been here?”
