Rage bubbled from the pit of Riley’s stomach into his throat, and his fist was raised when the whistle blew, which shocked some sense into him before he could think to throw it.
“Everyone, gather here,” Coach Sullivan shouted, her voice carrying over the ice. “We’re going to discuss the plan for today.”
Riley still had his fist raised, and Sloan was still smirking like he was daring him to punch him, but it wasn’t worth it.
Sloan wasn’t fucking worth it.
Jaw clenched, Riley skated to where the rest of the guys were huddling and took a knee beside one of the Citadel players. He made the mistake of meeting Sullivan’s eyes as Sloan dropped down beside him, accidentally scowling at her in his discomfort.
Her glance between him and Sloan was subtle, but Riley felt his cheeks burn from the silent scolding. It was obvious that neither one of them was making a great impression, and at this rate, Sloan would be playing beer league hockey with him and Jake by the end of the week.
“We’re going to split the two teams evenly and play on half ice,” Sullivan began. “I want to see how fast you can think under pressure, especially since this will be the first time we’re mixing the teams.”
The goal, Riley understood, was to test who could keep up with the guys playing on the NHL level. They were looking for Admiral players good enough to compete if there were injuries on the Citadel roster throughout the season—and it wasn’t a secret that that roster still wasn’t finalized.
Riley listened to the rest of the explanation of what was expected of him, and then he was up and ready to start. They had put the Citadel goalie, Markus Castillo, in the net. Castillo wasn’t a veteran goalie, but at twenty-one years old, he had helped get the Los Angeles team to a Stanley Cup win.
In other words, he wasn’t a pushover.
And to make matters even more intense, Riley found himself facing Sloan, who now had fuel to make his life hell after their argument.
“You need to find a way to deal with him.”
Riley looked up from his stick, coming face to face with Khan Bannerjee. Brown-hazel eyes bore into him from behind sweat-dampened black hair, and his frown was so serious that Riley thought the guy was angry until he remembered Bannerjee was known for his resting bitch face.
“Deal with Sloan?” Riley asked.
A single nod was all he received, and then Bannerjee’s attention turned to Sloan, who was chatting it up with Dylan Carr.
“If you figure out how to make his words cut surface level instead of bone deep and work with him, more doors will open for you,” Bannerjee said, then nodded towards the skyboxes. “If you think we’re here for a basic training session, you’ve already failed.”
Riley glanced at the skyboxes and spotted two figures standing side by side, leaning against the rail with their attention on the ice. He knew one was Jake’s father because he would recognize that silhouette anywhere, which meant the other was likely the second GM of the Halifax Citadels.
“I’m Banner, by the way,” said Bannerjee. “There wasn’t time for introductions since Coach wanted us on the ice as soon as possible, but we’ll have time to get familiar with each other during the team lunch later.”
Riley had no idea there was supposed to be a team lunch. Hell, he hadn’t known there was going to be a mixed team training session. Every instinct he had was on edge now that he knew Mr. Valero was watching, which wasn’t something he needed.
Banner smiled at his lack of response and nudged him with his elbow. “Come on, I’m going to show you how to skate your way into an offer from the Halifax Citadels.”
He made it sound so easy, but as Riley got into position for Coach Sullivan to drop the puck, he knew it was going to be anything but a leisurely skate onto an NHL line.
And even though Banner said he would help show Riley what to do, the result turned out to be the exact opposite. The moment the puck touched the ice and Carr flicked it to Sloan, Banner was on Sloan and pressuring him against the boards, roughing him up in the corner until he stripped the puck and sent it to Riley.
Riley’s reflexes were fast enough to catch the pass, but then Carr was all over him, and Riley found himself shoved into theboards the exact way Sloan had been—with a bruised ego and a missing puck.
This continued, over and over, until frustration built up and Riley’s jaw ached from how hard he was clenching his teeth. Carr and Banner were less aggressive whenever someone else had the puck, but the second it touched Riley or Sloan’s tape, they were like feral wolves trying to rip them apart.
Riley couldn’t make any good plays while being hammered against every board, and he couldn’t show off his speed when they were only using half of the rink, so he didn’t understand what the fuck he was supposed todo.
And his frustration was nothing compared to the raging force who was Kingston Sloan, currently standing in the corner, shaking andfuriousas a whistle called for the play to stop.
Riley was surprised he couldn’t see steam coming out of his ears, but after being shoved around for twenty minutes, Sloan was probably too exhausted to start a fight.
“Wow, Sloan was right about you,” Carr said as he came to a stop beside him. “Sorry, bud. I don’t think you’re good enough to compete on an NHL level, but you could ask the GM if he has a job in real estate for you? I heard you and his kid are close.”
The comment stunned Riley into silence. He opened and closed his mouth several times like the motion would somehow restart his voice, but other than his loud panting, nothing happened.
He shot a look at Sloan, wanting to glimpse that infuriating smirk to see if that could trigger a stronger response, but whatever Banner was saying to him had Sloan gawking the same way Riley was.
