Power Play (D.C. Stars #2)

1. Piper

ONE

PIPER

If one more man tells me I need to smile, I’m going to deck him square in the jaw and not give a damn about the repercussions.

I grumble about the audacity of the male species as I walk down the hallway of United Airlines Arena, home of the DC Stars hockey team, with a stride as determined as my five-foot-two frame can muster.

The team is deservedly off after a hard practice yesterday afternoon, and the building is quiet without their yelling and joking around. I savor the rare silence, knowing in thirty hours when we play against one of our biggest rivals, this place is going to be a madhouse.

The tension I’ve been holding onto all morning melts away when I push open the door to the athletic trainers’ area and collapse in a chair.

“I hate men,” I call out to Lexi Armstrong, one of my best friends and the head Stars trainer. “Can we eliminate them from the face of the earth? I’m thinking an aggressive strain of the man flu. That would knock them all out, and life would be infinitely better.”

“Well,” a deep voice says, and I jump a foot in the air. “This is awkward.”

I glance across the room. Liam Sullivan, our goalie, is lying shirtless on a medical table.

A towel is draped over his lower half. The white scrap of terrycloth looks indecently small on his six-foot-three body, and my eyes can’t help but drift to the tattoos I had no clue he had.

There are a pair of sparrows and intricate flowers on his ribcage. Fern leaves on his forearms. Artwork that’s so unexpected, so hot, it’s almost pornographic.

I squeak when I realize I’ve been staring and cover my eyes.

“Oh, my god. Sorry. I didn’t know you’d be here, let alone be here and naked ,” I say.

“Hello, Piper.”

“Hi. Yeah. I’m going to go. You’re… there. And I’m not supposed to be here when your dick is almost on display. Totally unprofessional.”

“I have a towel.”

“That thing is like a sock.”

“I appreciate the flattery.”

I peek between my fingers and find him smirking at me. I huff and lower my hands, staring over his shoulder and not at his body laid out like some Greek god in waiting.

“I was here to see Lexi, but clearly she’s busy.”

“Ice,” he says, pointing to the door to his left.

“Did she say how long she’d be gone?”

“No.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Hamstring.”

“Why are you shirtless?”

“Because my whole body hurts and I’m trying to make it feel better.”

“Did the hamstring injury happen in the game on Monday?”

“I love the Twenty Questions game.” He throws an arm over his face, and I can tell he’s exasperated with me. Then again, he’s always exasperated with everyone. “It’s been acting up for a week. Shitty way to start the season.”

I hum in agreement, like I know what it’s like to be a hockey player with sore muscles. He lifts his leg and grips the back of his thigh, grunting out a noise that sounds like a tractor starting.

I take his momentary distraction as a chance to study him.

His jawline could be cut from glass, and his dark hair is longer than it was at the end of last season. There’s a faint scar above his eyebrow, a mark from the blade of a skate he took to the face when he was a kid.

I only know about the injury because of a trade-off we made at Media Day my first year with the team. He refused to speak with reporters—a trait that’s still going strong—and I needed someone to fill the time before our newest draft pick jumped on the mic and answered questions from reporters.

Liam and I reached a compromise: one piece of information about his life as a hockey player, and he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone else for the first half of the season.

He went with a graphic story involving stitches, but it worked like a charm.

Being the alternate in-game reporter and media coordinator for the team is a dream. A career opportunity I’ve been chasing for years, from working in the athletic box office when I was a student at Syracuse, to majoring in broadcast journalism with a specialization in sports, and then continuing on as an intern with New York’s ECHL team. After, I moved up to the AHL team in Philly for four years before landing in DC with the Stars.

The position requires adaptability, though. I need to be quick to switch gears and change the wording of prepared questions if a player gets busy postgame or doesn’t want to cooperate.

Liam Sullivan is the definition of uncooperative.

I’ve spent the majority of my tenure here chasing him down the hall. Tugging on his jersey. Begging and pleading for him to give the cameras eight seconds of his time.

It hasn’t happened yet, and I’m starting to think he enjoys being fined by the NHL for refusing to do any press.

That, or maybe he likes to annoy me.

“You’re staring,” he mumbles without opening his eyes.

“No, I’m not,” I lie.

“Twenty thousand people stare at me every night, Piper. I know when I’m being watched.”

“In a different line of work, that would be creepy as hell.” I smooth my hands over my skirt and change the subject. “If anyone can get you in peak playing condition, it’s Lexi. She’s the best in the league. Have you seen the little trophy behind her desk in her office? It says World’s Best Trainer .”

“Wow. I didn’t even have to pay you to say that.” Lexi laughs and walks into the room with a bag of ice. “You’re the best hype woman ever.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” I move out of the way so I can give her space to do her job. “Sorry for stopping by unannounced. I figured since the team is off, you’d have time to grab lunch.”

“Sullivan was a last-minute addition to my schedule.” She taps his shoulder. “On your stomach, please.”

“So you can torture me?” Liam keeps the towel over his lower half and flips positions with a handful of expletives. “Happy?”

“Isn’t he the cheeriest?” Lexi sets the ice on his left hamstring and grins when he curses again. “An absolute delight.”

“I’m only going to be here a minute. Five, tops,” he says.

“Yeah, right you are.” She props a pillow under his leg. “At least twenty, grumpy ass. And if you try to get off that table, I’ll tie you down.”

“Wow.” I lift an eyebrow, impressed. “You run a tight ship around here, Lex.”

“I have to. These guys want a shot at The Cup, and the only way to do that is if they’re in the best shape of their lives. Hobbling around with a weak hamstring isn’t going to help Goalie here with his save percentage.”

“My save percentage is fucking great,” Liam says. “Third in the league last season.”

“But not first. Are you doing the exercises I gave you?”

“Morning and night.”

There’s a reason Liam is in the goal: he’s dedicated to the point of obsession. He lives and breathes hockey, and if Lexi gave him training to do on the side, I’m confident he’s doing it religiously.

“Good boy.” She pats his head, and I hold back a laugh at the flash of annoyance in his eyes. “Do you mind if Piper and I talk, or would you prefer to lie here and stew with your thoughts?”

“Don’t mind. Gives me something to focus on besides how fucking cold this shit is.”

“Eloquent as always.” Lexi plops down in the chair I vacated and taps the spot next to her. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s silly to talk about this when you’re in the middle of your workday.” I sit with her and sigh. “There are more important things going on. Liam’s leg is probably worth eight million dollars. Shouldn’t you be focused on stretching him?”

“Do you do this a lot?” Liam interjects.

“Do what?” I ask.

“Pretend like your shit isn’t as important as other people’s shit.”

I blink, not sure how to answer his question.

Yes? No? I guess I do.

I guess I put other people first, preferring to help them solve their problems instead of agonizing over my own. There’s always someone out there who has it worse, who would be envious of what I’m going through, and it feels wrong to complain about my stagnant professional life and dumpster fire of a personal life when the man in front of me is dealing with an injury that could affect his playing career and livelihood.

“Sometimes,” I settle on, glancing back at Lexi. “It’s personal stuff.”

“What did Steven do now?” Lexi asks, referencing my ex-husband. “I swear to god I’m going to cut off his balls and dangle them from a stoplight.”

“That’s my cue to leave. I draw the line at castration. Yes, I’ll keep icing. No, I’m not sticking around,” Liam adds, then swings his legs over the edge of the table. He holds the towel at his waist, but it does little to cover the deep cut abdominal muscles stretching down his torso. “Lexi. Pipsqueak. See you tomorrow.”

He disappears through the door to the locker room, and Lexi looks at me.

“Pipsqueak? That’s new.”

“That’s only the second time he’s called me that. It’s not, like, a thing,” I say, blushing.

“I’ve never heard that man say anything borderline friendly before. And a nickname ?”

“That’s not true. He wished Hudson a happy birthday last week, and he didn’t even roll his eyes.”

Lexi reaches for my hand. “Are you okay?”

That’s another question I don’t know how to answer.

There’s air in my lungs. Money in my bank account. I know where my next meal is coming from, and I have a warm bed to crawl into every night.

In the grand scheme of things, I’m fine .

Good, even, comparatively.

But I’m also sad.

Stuck in a rut and unsure how to break out of it. Overwhelmed, despite a lackluster life. Tired, even when I’m getting enough sleep. Lost, and I haven’t strayed off the path I’ve been following: thirty-two, divorced, and attempting to start over.

“Steven keeps trying to renegotiate the assets we split in the divorce. He’s suddenly interested in taking things he didn’t want when he was busy sleeping with his secretary. And, on top of that, my boss made a comment during our monthly one-on-one meeting that was so slimy, I’m considering turning in my two-week notice.” I wince. “Shit. Sorry. That was a lot to unload on you.”

“Let’s start from the beginning. Have I mentioned lately how much I hate your ex?” she asks.

She has. In great detail, multiple times a day. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a dartboard with his face on it somewhere in her office down the hall.

“No,” I say sarcastically. “Can you remind me?”

“The guy is a damn millionaire. What does he want from you that he can’t buy himself?”

“My apartment, which I got after the divorce. I had to spend the first hour of my morning listening to his lawyer talk to my lawyer about how the natural light fosters creativity and—” Lexi throws up her middle fingers, and I laugh. “He’s not going to win that battle.”

“I’m still mad you didn’t let us key his car, but I guess that’s the downside of being mature, classy women.”

“It would’ve been for nothing. The Cybertruck he drives is hideous enough without you risking a criminal mischief charge.”

“Don’t worry about Steven. He’ll probably fuck off soon and go back to the hole where he climbed out of. And if he doesn’t, let me know. I’d love to have some words with that asshole.”

“Thanks, Lex.”

“Now to the other asshole. What did Charlie say?”

She knows my boss is one of my least favorite people in the world. Storming into her office and complaining about him has turned into a weekly standing date with us. One where we—and my other best friends, Maven Lansfield and Emerson Hartwell—quietly lament over the joys of being women in a testosterone-filled industry.

“It was a comment about my shirt.” I gesture to the top I put on this morning, back before the day turned to shit. “He told me it would do me some good to pop open the top button. And then he added in a parting zinger of telling me I needed to smile more.”

Lexi gags. “You need to go to HR. I doubt you’d be the first one to lodge a complaint against the dickwad. Promise me you’ll go in next week.”

“I promise,” I say.

“Good. Moving to the good news portion of our day. Are we having dinner with the girls on Friday? A late starting game on Saturday calls for a night of delicious food.”

“Yeah.” I smile. “I made reservations at the new Italian restaurant downtown. It’ll be nice to take my mind off the last couple of days.”

“I hope you know we’re here for you, Piper. The past few years have been shitty, but I have this feeling something good is going to come your way soon.”

“Okay, you oracle. If you’re so all-knowing, can you tell it to hurry up? I’m getting impatient.”

“Course I can. I’ll make some calls.”

“You’re the best, Lex. You are free for lunch, right? You don’t have any other players who need your attention?”

“I’m free as a bird.” She grins and stands. “Maybe we can TP Charlie’s office on the way out. Or! We can send him a glitter bomb that explodes in his squirrelly face and give that prick a piece of our minds.”

“Wow. Your quest for a takedown involves glitter bombs?”

“Why not?”

I link my arm through hers, grateful to have such a fierce woman in my corner. “Fine. But only because he’s a grade A prick, and I could use a little fun.”