She shakes her hips. “I knew it. You’re secretly a Steelie.”
I wink. “It’s not a secret. I’m basically his number one fan. Ask my hairbrush.”
Chapter 2
Finley
“CoachBlake,”Robsaysas he knocks on my open office door. I’m working through my overflowing inbox before heading to the arena for our game, and happy for the distraction.
“What’s up?” I smile at my assistant coach.
“I’ve got that list of veteran defensemen you asked for. Want to walk down together and review it as we go?”
I close out of my email, flagging two interview requests to come back to after the game.
“Yes. Thank you for turning it around so quickly. After the conversation with Dr. Pearce this morning, I don’t want to waste any time convincing White we need a veteran defenseman.” The GM argued against trading for one this summer, but even he has to admit that our team needs the support only an experienced defenseman out on the ice can provide.
After slipping into my black suit jacket, I do one final check in the mirror. No flyaways have escaped my ponytail, no lipstick on my teeth, and—oops, an upside-down Yeti. I twist the lapel pinon my jacket before tightening the back so it can’t flip again. Real drunk mascot energy when it does that.
Game day ready, I follow Rob past my assistant, Paige, and into the hall.
As we walk, he hands me a list with six names on it, and I scan through them quickly, all players I’m familiar with. My eyes snag briefly on the final one, and I force my body not to react to my high school crush who almost certainly forgot I existed after we spent a mere fifteen minutes together when I was sixteen. Instead, I make myself peruse the list again, thinking through each of them, trying to be unbiased.
“Thanks, Rob. Let’s cut Erikson and Kane before it goes to the front office, but otherwise, I think any of the other four could be what we need to help build some confidence and experience on the ice.”
“Great.” He crosses out both names, and some of the tension in my chest loosens. “I’ll drop this by White’s office. He knows to expect it?”
“I briefed him earlier after our conversation with Pike.”
Pre-game flies by in a blur of flashing lights, loud music, and ice-blue-and-black jerseys. The guys know Chicago is projected to make it deep into the playoffs this year, and despite it still being fairly early in the season, the energy in the locker room is reaching a level just this side of too much. I knock twice, giving the men a chance to cover their dicks before I enter. It’s really more for me than them, but I think we can all agree it’s better not to have flaccid penises out and about.
I give my pre-game speech, keeping it short and sweet like always. It’s J.D. Dalton’s job as captain to get them pumped up. My job is to remind them this is just another day at the office.
The first period is a bloodbath. Our defensemen let the energy of the place feed them as they push harder and faster than they normally would—than they likelyshould. I scan the ice,cataloging the movement of the players on both teams, noting when our lines start to get gassed.
“Well, you’ve got to give it to Pike,” Rob says as we huddle in my office between periods. “He’s stepping up.”
I nod in agreement. Leadership doesn’t come naturally to him, but he’s trying. He’s done everything we asked of him during our meeting. “He’s not going to have a voice tomorrow if he keeps it up, though,” I observe.
After a very quick debrief, we head to the locker room. I quickly talk through adjustments with the team, focusing primarily on our defensemen, but our forwards haven’t been perfect, either.
The second period starts better. Our breakouts are cleaner, the defense tighter, and Pike is doing exactly what we asked. He’s loud, more assertive, and the rest of the team is feeding off his energy.
Li hits their winger at the red line, and for a moment, it feels like the momentum is finally turning. The next line keeps up the pace, and I can feel the season turning in front of my eyes.
Li and Pike are back out on the ice for their second shift when the Guardians’ top line comes flying down the ice on an odd-man rush, the crowd rising. Li hesitates, for no more than half a second, but Pike crosses hard into the lane to cover.
He gets there, ready to blow up the play entirely.
Shit. “PIKE! BLINDSIDE!” I yell, but it’s too late. My heart flies into my throat, knowing what’s about to happen.
Their forward slams into Pike at full speed, causing his body to fly backward as his legs crumple beneath him.
Pike goes down hard, his gloved hands going instantly to his knee. Not screaming, not moving. Just that tight, breathless pain every hockey player recognizes.
“Fuck,” Rob mutters from beside me, and I couldn’t agree more.
Li reaches Pike as the referee blows the whistle. I watch, doing my best to keep my expression neutral. Using Li as leverage, Pike tries to stand but goes right back down. The trainers leap over the boards, and Pike is helped off the ice slowly, one bulky arm around each of the two trainers, barely touching his right skate to the ground.
