I huff a laugh. “Yep.”
“Right.” He nods too fast. “Cool, just checking.”
“Don’t flinch,” I add, standing to roll out my shoulders. “He feeds on weakness.”
That gets a ghost of a smile.
“And if you hesitate again when Chase winds up, I’m painting a target on your chest myself.”
Chase sighs dramatically. “Ahh, the warm, nurturing energy of the Storm mentorship program.”
Eli whistles low. “That was mellow for Hutchy. Must’ve got laid.”
Coach Benson steps into the room before I can claw my way out of their bullshit. He doesn’t give speeches, doesn’t really need to. But he pauses just inside the door, eyes sweeping over the stalls to Jake, Logan, Eli, Chase, and Viktor. All here, early and voluntarily, for training camp.
“Half of you aren’t even scheduled for camp,” he says. “But I guess when your starter misses half the season and comes back swinging for playoffs, the rest of the pack comes running.”
He doesn’t smile, but there’s a beat of pride beneath it. A glint in his eyes as they sweep over us all and land back on me.
“It’s because he gives off Daddy Energy, Coach, and he—”
“Shut thefuckup, Walton,” Logan groans through a chuckle, shoving him.
“The day Hutchison’s your daddy is the day I let you run a press conference,” Coach says without looking over at Chase, and the entire locker room loses it.
Coach makes his way to the exit. As he passes my stall, he turns to me and mutters almost inaudibly.
“Lead like you mean it, Hutchison.”
Then he’s gone.
I nod once to myself and get back to taping.
Already am.
***
Coach Benson claps hard once. “Last set. Battle drills. Hutch, crease.”
I tap the pipe with my stick and drop into stance.
Jake’s first up. He’s fast, but I know him too well. I block the shot low and hard, and feel it vibrate through my chest. Chase takes the next one and gets too cute. I flash the glove and toss the puck back at his skates.
“Try again when you’re house-trained.”
“Oof,” Chase mutters, skating around the net. “Daddy’s in amoodtoday.”
There’s another whistle, followed by another drill. By the end of the skate, sweat’s soaking through my base layer, and my legs are on fire. But I feel good. Solid and ready.
This year, I’m not easing in. This year I’m making it count.
As we wrap the last drill, Benson calls out the schedule—first pre-season away game’s in Calgary, then a two-city stretch before we’re back for the home opener.
Three weeks, five games. A lot to prove.
I strip off my gloves and stretch out my shoulder, heat still humming through me.
Yeah.
