Coach opened his mouth, but Thierry held up a hand, stepping in. Tate almost laughed.Of course.The captain always had to swoop in and save the day, like he knew how to reach him.
“Oh, this should be good,” Tate muttered under his breath.
Thierry dragged in a deep breath like he was praying for patience. One second, Tate was leaning back in the chair,shoulders loose and jaw tight, tuning out whatever lecture Thierry was winding up to give, and the next?—
“Do you have a sister, Tate? A girlfriend? A wife?” Thierry’s voice was maddeningly calm, so steady it almost sounded like a challenge.
Tate blinked, caught completely off guard. The guy was huge, quiet most of the time, with that calm-giant routine that drove him absolutely insane. And now he was poking around in Tate’s personal life? Why?
“I’ve got a sister,” Tate said begrudgingly, narrowing his eyes, already wary of where this was going. Was this another way to get all chummy with him? He didn’t want to be buddies with Thierry – in fact – he didn’t want to be anywhere with this man.
Thierry didn’t hesitate. He didn’t even give Tate time to brace himself. His fist shot out in one swift motion, landing square on Tate’s nose with acrackthat lit his skull on fire. White-hot pain shot through his face. His ears rang, his vision exploded in spots, and for a second, he thought the entire room tilted. It was like he’d tripped directly into a brick wall – with four fingers and a thumb. Tate reeled, clutching his nose as his eyes watered, anger flaring hot and bright.
“What the—” Tate snarled angrily, tasting blood. Thierry leaned in slightly, voice still maddeningly steady, like nothing had happened.
“Do you think your sister would appreciate it if I did that to her? Especially during practice?”
Rage spiked. Tate shoved himself upright, blood pounding in his ears. “You ever lay a hand on me again or my sister?—”
“I wouldn’t dare touch anyone like that - and you need to think the same way.” Thierry’s eyes hardened, and for once his calm wasn’t soft—it was sharp, dangerous. “But if you bodyslam one of the guys from our own team into the boards again like you did just now, I’ll put you in the hospital.”
The threat made Tate’s chest tighten with a rush of intensity. He grinned, a feral thing meant to show he wasn’t backing down. If the man wanted to pick a fight – Bring. It. On.
“I’d like to see you try…Fluffy.”
Thierry’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t rise to it. Nearby, Coach Côte groaned and rubbed his forehead, speaking.
“Oh my gosh, he’s got Coeur’s mouth and Batiste’s temperament. So help me—no one is putting anyone in the hospital, got it? We are a team. Weneedto act like it.”
Tate’s lip curled. “Why won’t you ask him why he’s so untouchable out there? He’s soft. He doesn’t even break a sweat playing or try.”
That got Thierry’s attention. His calm cracked just slightly, a flicker of heat sparking in his eyes. “Why you little?—”
“What?” Tate cut in, leaning forward with a smirk. “Truth hurts,Fluffy?”
“You can call me ‘Fluffy’ all you want,” Thierry shot back, voice low but carrying weight. “I’ve been called worse. But that’s the difference you don’t understand, Tate. We’re a team. Brothers. A family.”
Tate rolled his eyes and muttered, “Oh heck, here we go again…”
Thierry didn’t stop. “And if you were playing like you had our backs, like you were part of us, then I wouldn’t care. But you don’t. You don’t respect anyone on this team. I don’t even know if you’re capable of it. You’re a loner, a hater, a player who wants people to acknowledge and worship him on the ice… but alone –you are nothing.”
The words dug deeper than Tate wanted to admit. His throat felt tight, but he shoved it down, masking it with a glare.
“Which is why Cassidy’s starting therapy,” Coach Côte interrupted before Tate could bite back. His tone carried finality, the kind that silenced both of them. The coach turned to Thierry.“Get back on the ice. And keep an eye on Batiste—I don’t need him trying to murder Tate before practice ends. The man’s running on fumes since he found out his wife is pregnant, and his temper’s a powder keg.”
“Yes, sir.” Thierry gave a sharp nod, his obedience grating against Tate’s nerves. He didn’t resist the jab—he just took it and moved, like hebelievedin all that brotherhood garbage. Tate couldn’t help it—he mocked Thierry’s stiff tone under his breath.
The second the door shut, Coach Côte’s eyes pinned Tate in place. The silence was heavier than Thierry’s punch or the words he’d said, trying to get under his skin.
“You don’t respect him, do you?”
“Nope,” Tate popped his lips and leaned back in his chair, feigning nonchalance he didn’t quite feel. “Don’t like the man. Think he’s too soft, too focused on being everybody’s friend instead of addressing the real issues that we have on the ice.”
The coach steepled his fingers, studying him like a hawk. “Such as?”
“Such as Batiste could do a heck of a lot more for the team if he’d shut up and quit fighting. Thierry’s built like a tank and should be blocking, not babysitting. And our goalie?” Tate let out a humorless laugh. “He’s a pansy. He flinched yesterday. Again. We need someone willing to dive, even if it means eating a stick to the face. And don’t even get me started on Dominic?—”
“I get it.” Côte chuckled, cutting him off with a nod. “Now tell me this, Tate. If you went out there and called Justin a pansy to his face would he listen? Would he change for you?”
