Roan stood with his arms crossed, posture tight, but still. He didn’t react with anger or annoyance, not outwardly. But I’d known Roan a long time. That stillness? That was steel being drawn. The rest of the team saw his command, his rock steadiness. Me? I saw the core. Rylan was so much meat when we got him in the grinder.
Rhett, predictably, was the first to break the silence. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered to no one in particular.
A couple of guys echoed the same sentiment. Younger players, mostly. We’d been so locked in this week, preparing for blood. The Vultures were the kind of distraction that stuck like a burr.
Coach didn’t flinch. Just gave the room one of his slow, deliberate scans.
“They’ve got three games to play before they even get a chance at you,” he said. “Three. That’s a climb. Meanwhile, you have your own path. Make no mistakes, we’re going to treat every game like it’s the damn championship.”
That quieted them. Even Roan gave a faint nod. It made sense. Make them work. Make themsweatfor the privilege of standing across from us.
Coach turned toward us again. His eyes swept from Roan, to Rhett, to me. “You think you’ve earned a break?” His tone sharpened just a touch. “You haven’t earned shit yet.”
He let that sink in.
“The bracket isn’t the reward. The finals are. Make them fight for it. Every damn minute. You play hard. You play smart. You protect each other. You keep your heads.”
I could almost feel Wren’s name echo in that last part.
Coach pointed a finger, steady and grounded. “Let the Vultures make fools of themselves in the media. We’ll handle our business on the ice.”
The team settled like a tide rolling back. Energy redirected. Focus restored.
Roan caught my gaze across the room and gave a slight tilt of his head.They’re not getting through.
I nodded back.Not if we can help it.
Rhett bumped my shoulder as we headed back toward the tunnel. “Still wish I could’ve decked Rylan first.”
“You’ll get your chance,” I said with a grin. “Let them climb the ladder. We’ll be at the top, waiting.”
We hit the ice again like a unit forged in fire, sharper, harder, and totally dialed in. Roan snapped through corrections like a man possessed, but the team didn’t flinch, not now. They absorbed the critique and adjusted. Rhett kept the energy high, his taunts just light enough to keep things competitive without sending the younger guys into ego overdrive.
And me?
I did what I always did. Kept us steady. Leveled the emotional pitch, bridged the space between Roan’s intensity and Rhett’s fire. Adjusted the tone when the tension got too thick, talked rookies through a failed play, gave pointers, tapped shoulders.
We were balancing each other without even thinking about it. Practiced. Trusted.
The bracket was just the start.
If the Vultures made it to the finals, they’d be crawling by the time they got there.
We’d be ready.
Waiting.
Hungry.
Ready to deliver the final blow. They picked the wrong damn team to start this fight with, and we had zero problems with ending it.
Chapter
Thirty-Two
WREN
By the time I pulled into my driveway, the clock on my dash had just ticked past 11:42 p.m.
