Gunnar
The thud of sticks slapping pucks and the rumble of voices punctuated by whistles echoed through the arena. I paused inside the tunnel as I looked over the ice, homing in on my target.
Most of the CATS were now friends with Zaila, so they had to be aware of the issue Jay and Jeff had caused with my staff, and evidently Jeff’s antics were once again dragging down the team—something Silas had told me just as Leon had popped his head through my door earlier, stating that the board had convened and requested me in the conference room.
Now that I knew what that had been about, I returned to the Jeff issue. As I rounded the corner into the arena, Jeff grinned at the offensive line, skating lazy circles as if he owned the ice. Stol, Naese, and the rest of the players avoided looking directly at them, like spectators at a fight they didn’t want to stop but didn’t dare join.
My jaw flexed. This ends today.
I descended the steps to the rink, boots echoing. Heads turned. The chatter died. Players nudged one another as I walked toward the boards.
“Cross.” My voice carried, low and lethal. “Locker room. Now.”
Jeff’s grin faltered for a fraction of a second, then returned, cocky as ever. He flipped his stick up, resting it across his shoulders as though this were some game. “Sure thing, boss. We need to strategize about my brand, right?”
Murmurs rippled through the players.
My brand.
The words slashed across my conscience. I didn’t wait. I turned on my heel and strode toward the tunnel. Jeff followed, sauntering like he was on the way to a photo op.
As we entered, the locker room smelled of sweat, soap, and old leather, which was the Wildcatters’ cocktail. The other players trailed in behind Jeff, unwilling to miss what was about to go down.
Jeff flung himself onto the bench, sprawling like a teenager in detention. “What’s the emergency? Didn’t like the posts Zaila queued up for me?” His grin widened. “She’s got a real eye for my best angles.”
The words hit like a sucker punch. My vision narrowed. Zaila. He’s dragging her name through this filth. I forced my hands to unclench. “You think this is a joke, Cross?”
Jeff shrugged. “Not my fault your golden girl figured out what sells. I mean, the engagement numbers don’t lie. Fans love me. Sponsors love me. Maybe she does too?—”
“Enough.” The word cracked like a whip.
Jeff leaned back, smirk still in place, but there was a flicker of unease in his eyes now. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. If she wants to build my rep while she’s crying over her mom, that’s?—”
I moved before I thought. I slammed my fist into the locker behind Jeff’s head, rattling the metal. Jeff flinched despite himself.
“Zaila’s mother died last week, Cross, and you took advantage of that.” I raised my eyes so that I met each of my players’ stony gazes. “Her laptop was on her desk, not with her. I know because Zaila was with me last week.”
Cormac and Maxim nodded, and Stolly and Naese crossed their arms over their chests, eyes narrowed, looking like club bouncers.
“This organization,” I said, my tone sharp, “is built on respect. For the game. For the team. For the people who give their lives to it. You, Cross, have shown none.”
Jeff scoffed. “I’ve shown plenty. You just can’t handle that I’ve got charisma. You old guys—Cormac, Stolly—you’re all jealous. I’m the future, and Zaila saw it. She?—”
“Say her name again,” I growled, “and you’ll leave here in an ambulance.”
A hush swept the room. Never had I threatened violence. I had never shown even a crack in my control. That’s why I’d let the guys follow us in. I needed them to keep me from doing something rash, as well as act as witnesses as I tossed Jeff to the curb.
Cormac stepped forward, folding his arms over his massive chest. “We won’t tell if you want to follow through on that.”
Maxim cracked his knuckles. “Half-assed drills. Late to practice. Trash talk about wives. And now this crap with Zaila?” His accent thickened with anger. “I’d be more than happy to teach him a lesson.”
Jeff barked a laugh. “You guys are pathetic. Hiding behind Daddy Evaldson because you can’t handle a little competition. I’ve already got a brand. I’ll be fine without you.”
I stared at the pathetic little shit for a long, cold beat before I smiled. “Good. Because you’re done here.”
The words dropped like a guillotine.
Jeff blinked, the smirk sliding off his face. “What?”
