The arena has gone from vibrating with sound and energy to nearly silent. Even the staffers who run the video and sound know not to put on some dumbass Baby Shark shit right now.
Carter is the heart of this team. He’s more than just our captain and leading scorer. Since he got custody of his three nieces after his sister’s death and married his wife Suki, he’s grown into a true leader. He makes sure every player is included in activities outside of work, and he prioritizes events where their families can be included. I’m the coach of this team, but he’s the head of the team family.
I think it’s one of his arms. He’s in a lot of pain—I can tell from his grimace. Our bench is still and quiet. It’s our first regular-season game, and none of the players can believe this is happening.
Caroline calls for a stretcher to be brought onto the ice. Isaac’s mask is off, his concerned gaze fixed on his teammate. I know every player has the same pit in their stomach I have right now.
Paramedics go onto the ice to help get Carter onto the stretcher. He’s clutching one arm to his chest, so it could be his arm or his shoulder.
The crowd roars its approval when he holds up his good arm and gives a thumbs-up as he’s rolled away.
“Heads in the game, boys,” I say, even though I know how hard it is to see a teammate taken from the ice during a game. “We still have a job to do.”
I’ve seen career-ending head injuries and skate-blade wounds in games. Whatever happened to Carter, it’s fixable. The big unknown is how long it will take out our star player.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jules
“Why are you laughing, Aunt Jules?”Eli asks.
I look up from my phone, which is propped on the kitchen counter so I can scroll my socials while I make the boys blueberry pancakes for breakfast.
“I just like it when Al Gore’s entire internet agrees with me.”
“What’s Al Gore?”
“I’ll tell you once you spell every word on the spelling list correctly.”
His face lights up with a smile. “Quiz me.”
I flip a pancake, press pause on my phone, and bring a plate of crispy, perfectly cooked bacon over to the table. “Where’s the list?”
“I’ll get it.”
Returning to my spot in front of the stove, I smile. The videos I’ve been posting of Noel have gotten a lot of attention overnight. Someone made a montage of him scowling in videos and photos, and their post is drawing people to the team’s socials. Myfavorite ones are of him at the bench during games, wearing a stern look as he’s talking to his players.
Coach Noel Turner from the Cleveland Crush got me panting over here. He can put his puck in my net anytime. That’s what the video creator captioned her post, with the hashtags #yesnoel, #tellmeimagoodgirl, and #coachmehard.
As the team’s social media coordinator, I can’t be anything but thrilled when there’s attention on the team. And I am thrilled—mostly. There’s some jealousy in there, too, because of the hundreds of comments from women agreeing about how hot he is.
He’s a walking thirst trap, and I even find it hot when he’s dismissive of me. He seems like a man with a lot on his mind, and I’m dying to know what’s going on inside his head.
Is he brokenhearted over his divorce? Lonely? Most of the players on the team are an open book if you just pay enough attention to what they say. The happily married guys congregate when we travel, for the most part. Probably because they aren’t interested in the same things as the single guys.
Leo recently announced that his wife, Mara, is pregnant, and he’s been watching parenting videos during travel downtime. Carter talks to his girls a lot. He knows when they have tests at school and calls to see how they went and just asks about their days.
Anson likes to exchange nudes with women. Lots of women. He’s always checking to make sure no one else can see his screen and then showing it to teammates, his leering grin giving him away. He thinks he’s discreet, but he’s louder than he realizes. That’s how I know he likes titties that bounce, screamers, and ass eaters.
Noel is pretty much a mystery, though. I know he likes black coffee and he’s great with kids, but not much else. The day I was filming the team teaching hockey to kids with disabilities, Noelnever stopped smiling. And it was a genuine, crinkles-in-the-corners-of-his-eyes smile. He spent a lot of time with one little girl in particular, pulling her around the ice on a plastic sled. She asked for his autograph when it was time to leave, and he took off his hat, signed it, and gave it to her.
“Aunt Jules,” Eli says impatiently.
“Oh.” I shake away my daze and pull a slightly burned pancake from the griddle, seeing his spelling list on the counter beside me. “Okay, um ... field.”
He’s a great speller, but we still study the list with him every week. We’re halfway through it when Blair comes into the room, going straight to the coffeepot. She usually says good morning, so I know something’s up.
“You okay?” I ask.
