I toss my glove at his face. “Not true.”
Jake takes off his helmet, shaking his sweaty hair out. “You waived your no-movement clause for the trade?”
“No, I’m staying,” I amend, the heavy weight on my chest for the past few weeks completely lifted. “But the reason has nothing to do with Logan.”
“Maya?” he guesses with a smug smile.
I shake my head. “Not her either.”
If I factored Maya into my decision, I worried that there could be a chance I’d eventually resent her because of it. And that wouldn’t be fair to either of us. Rather than live with that kind of what-if hanging over me, I made this choice for me and me alone. Not for Maya or Nathan or anyone else.
Cameron’s lips twitch into an almost smile. “Happy you’re not leaving us. How pissed is your agent?”
I cringe at the memory of that conversation. “He respects my decision, but I can’t say he’s happy to have spent the past few weeks working on a trade that’s now irrelevant.”
“He gets what? Five percent of your salary?” Cameron snorts. “He’ll be fine.”
“Plus, you give great holiday gifts,” Logan adds.
With a grunt, Jake hits his stick against the ice to focus our attention. “What was the deciding factor?”
“My contract’s up in two years. Maybe I’ll feel differently then, but I’m happy where I am now. The team still has a lot of work to do, and I want to be part of our success story.”
“Can you work on Logan’s anger management first?” Cameron asks, poking the Canadian bear.
Jake nods. “Or work on his speed? He’s been slow as hell with the puck during face-off.”
“Oh, fuck you both,” Logan whines. “Jake, you spend more time checking out my ass than checking on the opposition. And Cameron? You’re a littletoogood on your knees, if you know what I mean. You getting extra practice?”
With a sharp breath in, I wait for the arguing to ensue. As much as their bickering fuels my daily headaches, I’d miss it if I played for another team.
“Berrett!” Coach Henderson shouts. “Stop lollygagging and get your ass over here.”
Grateful for the excuse to bow out of playing referee, I skate toward the bench, where Coach is poring over a page on his clipboard. “What’s up?” I ask, arms resting against the boards.
“Rockwell called me this morning,” he says. If he spoke to the Bobcats general manager, then the implication is clear.
Internally, I wince. I’m not sure how in the loop he was about a possible trade with the Devils, but surely management gave him a heads-up.
He looks up from the clipboard, his expression impossible to read. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m feeling really good,” I admit with a nod. “It was the right decision for me. I’m not saying I’ll never be up for a trade. That’s just how hockey is. But I want to finish out the rest of my contract with the Bobcats. Maybe more. You and the team believe in me enough to let me wear the captain’sC, and I know there’s a lot more I can offer the team.”
He finally looks up from his clipboard. “While I appreciate the explanation, I meant how are you feeling about the game tomorrow? Rockwell and the other higher-ups are confident, but I wanted to check in with you.”
“Oh.” My face heats.Well, now I feel fucking stupid.“We’re ready.”
“The team feels confident about our new breakout tactic?”
My lips tip up at the wordsour. “Mm-hmm.”
Coach Henderson tilts his clipboard so I can see the simplified tactic we’ll be employing in the game tomorrow, then finishes our conversation by blowing his whistle, nearly piercing my eardrum in the process.
The team gathers on the ice where we go through drill after drill until our bodies scream for reprieve. I’ve never been a fan of ice baths—what kind of monster enjoys having their balls curl up into their abdomen?—but by the time we’re done, I crave the way it’ll soothe my muscles.
Logan swings his arm around me as we head into the locker room. “Do you have a firework guy?”
I shrug him off. “Do I have a firework guy?”
