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Rupert.
    Rupert felt his muscles tightening, a knee-jerk reaction apparently not cured by one night of friendly drinks.
    “Good morning,” Callum offered, pleasantly enough, and Rupert told himself to chill out. “Any news?”
    Rupert paused in his retreat to his office. “Pardon?”
    “About Oliver—that’s his name, right? Your brother?”
    Rupert blinked at him stupidly for a moment before answering. “Nothing.”
    Callum frowned. “I’m sorry.”
    Rupert would have believed Callum capable of many things, but empathy would not have made the list. He’d been wrong, it seemed.
    “Thank you,” Rupert said. “For asking.”
    It struck Rupert that this was the first time either of them had been the least bit gracious with each other. He was a bit ashamed of himself, really.
    That was the first day in the two weeks since Callum had arrived that Rupert didn’t check up on the construction project once. It was also the first time Callum and Jack sought him out in the afternoon to give him an update.
    It was the start of a détente of sorts. Each morning Callum would ask after Oliver, and sometimes do so again later when he and Jack stopped by or Rupert poked his head into their conference room on his way out. By a week in, Rupert only had to shake his head as he rushed to his office one morning before an important call, seeing Callum waiting in the doorway, the question on his face. Callum’s responding frown was fierce. He looked as frustrated as Rupert felt.
    Shaking off a ridiculous flash of warmth, Rupert dashed to his desk and grabbed his ringing phone. An hour later, the Ice Cats were down a seasoned defensemen but had a new, desperately needed left wing to fill out their second line, and a draft pick.
    In spite of the thrill Rupert got from the challenges of the work, the negotiation and back-and-forth, he never forgot that, in the end, these were people he was dealing on and off the team. It made it hard. Still, he was unprepared when, later that afternoon, the freshly traded defensemen came barreling into the Ice Cats offices, bellowing his name.
    The entire room fell into shocked silence. Rupert froze where he stood in front of the new trainer’s desk, his heart jackrabbiting into his throat.
    “Smythe! What the fuck have you done?”
    Rupert turned on unsteady legs as the man turned toward him and squared off, as if intending to check Rupert clear into the next province.
    “Can I help you, Derek?” Rupert asked, wishing his voice was stronger but pleased he’d managed to say anything at all.
    “You son of a bitch. What did you do?”
    “I traded you,” Rupert said baldly, betrayed by the quaver in his voice. “Your agent said he’d let you know.”
    “Yeah, he told me,” the man sneered, striding closer.
    Rupert stepped back, furious with himself for it but too aware of the fists clenched at the other man’s sides. He forced himself to look Derek in the eyes. “Did you have a question, then?”
    “I’ve been good for this team, and this is the thanks I get? Traded to some shit team in East Bumfuck?”
    The people of North Bay would probably disagree with that designation. Also, it was to the west, but Rupert carefully refrained from sharing these observations. “It’s a good team, Derek, and they’re paying you well. You’ll do them a lot of good, and we needed to make some changes.”
    “Make some changes? How the fuck would you know, you little—”
    A hand clamped down on Derek’s shoulder.
    “Think carefully before you speak,” Callum said in a deadly calm voice.
    The cold, furious look on Callum’s face was terrifying, but it wasn’t directed at Rupert. In fact, Rupert now realized he’d been getting off easy when it came to bearing the brunt of Callum’s anger.
    “You’re going to defend him?” Derek asked, gesturing at Rupert dismissively. “He doesn’t know shit about hockey. I can’t believe you’re letting him ruin this team.”
    Rupert noticed that some of