While I hate Hopie’s husband because he’s an absolute douche, I despise this asshole because he’s a predator.
Unfortunately, that trait isn’t uncommon in hockey. I do my best to avoid dickheads like Dirk and put them in their place when I can. But if I went around beating every man who takes advantage of a woman, I wouldn’t have time to play the game.
But Dirk? I would fucking love to put him in the ground.
“Derek, right?” Adeline says, her voice deceptively light, her expression completely neutral.
If not for the rage simmering in my blood right now, I’d laugh at the way the asshole scowls in response.
“Dirk,” he grits out. He has the audacity to glance at Sidney with a sneer that saysCan you believe this chick?My teammate ignores him completely, and the disgust on Jarred’s face makes me hopeful that he’s not going to offer him any camaraderie.
He doesn’t bother looking at me. He knows better than to expect me to join in.
“Oh really? That’s different.” Adeline tilts her head. “Do you go by a nickname? One that might be easier to remember?”
Behind her, Brooks chokes, his face turning red. I’m pretty sure he’s holding back a laugh.
Nicknames are a thing in hockey. We all have them. My whole life, the fans have called Brooks Saint. And he is a damn saint, both on and off the ice. The guy had more shutouts than any other goalie during his career.
Aiden was the Leprechaun. The nickname goes back to his high school days and stuck when he brought luck to the Bolts, scoring during his first pro game and later helping the team win those three Stanley Cups.
Personally, I always called the kid hovering beside us now Limp Dick, but the name that stuck in high school is so much worse. “He’s the Muffin Man. Remember him now, Coach?”
Adeline Langfield hasn’t aimed a real smile in my direction in nearly half a decade, but the one that splits her face wide open now is fucking spectacular.
“Oh, right,” she says with a laugh. “Couldn’t stop even the slowest of pucks back then if I’m remembering correctly. Hope you’re better in my net this time around.”
Cade is choking now too, he and Brooks turning away. Sidney has a gloved hand over his mouth, trying to stifle his own laugh.
“That’s—I—” Dirk stutters.
He shouldn’t even bother. He dug his grave a long time ago. No apology could ever make me like the man. And I’m positive he won’t rise to a level that would incentivize the Bolts to keep him here for long. Still, his presence makes me itch.
“Time to get started,” our coach calls from the ice.
The players all head for center ice and circle around Gavin. Addie doesn’t give Dirk another second of her time. She lines up along with the other coaches, her head held high, though she garners more than a few stares. The guys aren’t used to having a woman out here, and if I had to guess, more than a few of them are skeptical of her right to stand in that lineup. She’s twenty-six, which is young for a coach. And she’s a woman. Can’t sugarcoat that.Then there’s the family name.
But what most don’t understand is how incredible she is. Sidney, thankfully, knows what she brings to the game like I do, and she’llspend most of her time with the two of us. Which means if anyone has a problem, they can deal with us.
“Hope you all had a nice, relaxing break,” Gavin starts. He’s been the Bolts’ head coach for twenty years, and while there have been rumblings of a retirement after this season, I don’t think he’ll do it unless we make it to the finals.
It’s possible. Last season was a good one, and if we can make the right tweaks and the young blood can keep up, we really have a shot.
With Addie’s help, there’s no way Sidney and I won’t be ready.
I chew on my mouthguard, a bad habit, and stare daggers at Dirk. He can’t possibly think he’s going to impress anyone after he spent years torturing Adeline.
In any other position? Maybe. But as a goalie, the likelihood is diminished even further. The Bolts already have two goalies on the roster. We don’t need another, and management sure as shit won’t replace Sidney or me with the likes of the Muffin Man.
I chuckle to myself over the damn nickname. I had the honor of coming up with it. I whispered it to one of the kids at camp after Dirk had been a complete dickhead to Adeline, and the rest is history.
A slow puck is called a muffin shot, and after Dirk’s slow as hell reaction when I punched him, the nickname came easy.
And damn if it hasn’t stuck with him all these years. Fucker deserves nothing but misery.
Sidney and I both have a good rapport with management and the coaching staff and have remained in good physical health since I was drafted, mostly because Gavin and Cade are strategic about how they play us, allowing us to rest during long hauls because it doesn’t really matter which of us is in the net. With either, the crease is protected.
Though that changed last year when Cade pushed for me to take on more of a front-line position. Sidney made it clear that he agreed with the tactic, and I expect it’ll be more of the same this year.
