“Probably.” Griffin’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Especially if he thinks he’s getting under my skin.”
“Is this personal or professional?”
“Personal.” The word came out flat and certain. “This is about more than hockey.”
I leaned forward, curious about the background of Griffin’s trade. “How did you find out Colorado was trading you?”
Griffin was quiet for so long I thought he might not answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight. “Social media.” He let out a bitter laugh. “I was at home, scrolling. The Glaciers posted a tribute video—highlight reel, emotional music, ‘Thank you for sixteen years, good luck in Portland.’ I found out at the same time as everyone else. Marketing was supposed to wait until after the GM told me and after the Portland roster announcement, but they posted early.”
“Jesus.” I couldn’t imagine the humiliation. “That’s?—”
“Brutal?” Griffin’s smile was humorless. “Yeah. I watched my entire career with Colorado summarized in a two-minute video before anyone told me I’d been traded. The comments were already flooding in—fans saying goodbye, debatingwhether it was the right move, Cory Boucher posting about ‘looking forward.’ All while I was sitting on my couch trying to figure out what the hell was happening.”
“That’s unprofessional.”
“It was a mistake. Communication failure.” Griffin shrugged, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “I had less than twenty-four hours to get to Portland for the roster announcement. Packed a bag, caught a ten p.m. flight, met with GM Davidson and Coach Roberts the next morning.” He paused. “Then I met you. And your autocorrect.”
The last part was said with the hint of a smile, like the memory helped ease the sting of everything else.
But the injustice of it hit me like a physical blow, even though trades were a way of life in the NHL. I hated feeling powerless, and hearing about Griffin being blindsided like that—treated like a commodity instead of a person—made something fierce and protective rise in my chest.
“That’s inexcusable,” I said. “You deserved better than that.”
Griffin met my eyes, and for a moment, the careful professional distance between us felt less important than the simple human connection of someone understanding your pain.
“Does that make you want to prove something when you play the Glaciers?” I asked.
“Yes.” No hesitation. “I want to show them what they gave away. I want to make them regret that trade every time they see the highlight reel.”
His competitive fire was clear, burning just beneath the surface. This was what made Griffin Lapierre the kind of captain who’d led the Glaciers to win the Cup—the ability to channel hurt into motivation, to transform disappointment into fuel.
“All right.” I shifted back into professional mode. “Let’s prepare a response strategy. First rule: we’re not engaging with Boucher or anyone from Colorado on social media. No responses, no posts, nothing. If they want to throw punches in the media, they’ll be pulling their own penalties.”
Griffin nodded. “And when reporters ask me about it directly?”
“‘No comment.’ Every time. We’re not giving this story any more oxygen than it already has. Let Boucher look petty while you take the high road.”
Griffin leaned back and propped an ankle on a knee. “You think staying quiet is the right move?”
“I think responding gives him exactly what he wants—proof that he got under your skin. The best revenge is success, right? Let your play do the talking.”
Griffin’s smile was sharp and determined. “I can do that.”
“I know you can.” I started packing up my laptop, energy coursing through me that came with having a plan in place. “We’re going to get past this, Griffin. Boucher just gave us material and motivation for the next six months. By the time we’re done, Colorado’s going to be the team that looks foolish.”
“Good.” Griffin stood and extended his hand to shake mine. “Because I’m going to show them on the scoreboard.”
His handshake was firm and warm, lasting just a beat longer than strictly professional. As he walked away, I realized Cory Boucher had made a serious miscalculation.
He’d just given Griffin Lapierre and the Portland Stormhawks exactly what they needed—a reason to prove the doubters wrong.
And Griffin was going to make sure they did exactly that.
CHAPTER THREE
Wesley
I stared at my phone for a solid thirty seconds before typing the text, my mind already steps ahead, planning Griffin’s public image strategy while simultaneously wondering if I was finding excuses to spend more time with him.
