Practice started stiff and fast,like Coach felt the tension too and wanted to bleed it out early.
Didn’t work.
The second the blades hit the ice, the mood soured. Fast.
Lines were sluggish. Energy was wrong. A couple of guys looked like they hadn’t slept. A few others were justpissed.
And I didn’t have to ask why.
Wren was gone.
For the first time in years, her absence wasn’t logistics. It wasn’t travel or a split meeting or one of her carefully compartmentalized “off-the-grid” days.
This wasvisible.
Speculated.
And some of these assholes thought they knew why.
“You see the damn photos?” Nate muttered when we skated by the boards. “Beckett and her, all cozy? Press calling it a ‘quiet lunch between old friends.’ Yeah, I bet.”
I didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to. Jay, on the far edge of our formation, looked like he might actually snap his stick in half.
But it was Akshay, of all people, who cracked first.
During our fourth drill, after a missed pass and a bad check, he spun on Nate hard.
“Maybe if you paid more attention to puck control and less to Wren’s love life, we wouldn’t be eating shit out here.”
Nate shoved him.
I got between them before it could escalate, arms out, voice sharp.
“That’s enough.”
Nate growled, low and hot. “She’s supposed to beourPR lead, not getting cozy with some rival alpha who’s about to take someone’s contract.”
The subtext hit the ice like blood.
His contract. Nate thought this was all about him.
I stared him down. “You think Wren’s the one making those calls?”
“She’s in the room.”
“Then you should know better than to question her loyalty.”
Nate’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t push further. He backed off.
Everyone did, eventually. We skated hard. Longer than usual. Coach pushed drills like he wanted someone to snap. He wasn’t subtle.
But I didn’t break.
I didn’t yell. I didn’t slam a stick or throw a punch or even check someone with a little extra weight.
I just did what I always did.
