The Pucking Player

8. Playing with Fire

8

PLAYING WITH FIRE

LIAM

I ’m pretty sure there are less intimidating firing squads than the trio facing me right now. Coach’s office feels like a shrine to hockey—a living museum of dominance. Gleaming trophies line the shelves, each one polished to a blinding shine, and framed jerseys hang like sacred relics on the walls. But the air in the room feels heavy, charged with unspoken tension. And judging by the look on Coach’s face, it’s about to get even heavier.

He’s behind his massive oak desk, looking like he’s one bad headline away from breathing fire. To his left, our team owner Marcus Rothschild, is the picture of old money in his tailored suit. His silver hair is slicked back, and he’s got that look rich guys get when their toys aren’t performing as they want them to.

And then there’s Jessica, Sophie’s sister and our PR wizard, perched on the edge of her seat like she’s ready to jump into action at any moment. She’s a knockout in a crisp white blouse and a pencil skirt that hugs her curves just so. Her dark hair cascades over her shoulders in perfect waves, and her green eyes are sharp and focused, taking in every detail of the room. Jessica’s got this air about her—confident, driven, like she could charm the pants off a statue and then convince it to buy season tickets. She might be Coach’s daughter, but it’s clear she’s earned her place.

It’s not hard to see that the Novak genes run deep. Jessica and Sophie look so alike they could pass as twins if not for the age gap. They’ve got the same high cheekbones, the same full lips that seem to be a family trademark, and the same intelligence burning behind their eyes. But where Sophie has this sweet, almost bashful quality—like she’s still figuring out how to wield all that brilliance—Jessica’s the complete opposite. She’s a panther, sleek and calculated, ready to pounce the second she sees an opening.

Coach couldn’t have been clearer: both his daughters are strictly off limits. I still remember the day he stormed into the locker room after Jessica got hired—face redder than our home jerseys—barking out threats like a drill sergeant. He promised that anyone who so much as looked at Jessica would find themselves traded to Siberia faster than they could say “two-minute minor.”

Not that it stopped Finn from calling dibs the moment Coach walked out. Guy’s either got balls of steel or rocks in his head—the jury’s still out. He’s been orbiting Jessica for months now, circling her like a nervous satellite that can’t figure out how to make contact. Pretty sure she thinks he’s got some kind of inner ear problem, given how he always manages to be around but never actually close enough to say anything.

It would be hilarious if it wasn’t so painful to watch. I mean, the guy practically needs a GPS to find his way to a simple “hello.” At least when I spotted Sophie, I went straight for it.

Now would probably be a good time to stop thinking about how much Sophie resembles her sister. But damn, it’s impossible not to.

I’ve faced down two-hundred-fifty-pound defensemen without flinching, but just the thought of Sophie Novak is enough to make my palms sweat. And for the first time, I’m starting to wonder if Finn, with his slow and steady orbit, might be the smarter man after all.

“This is a disaster,” Rothschild says, his voice clipped. “We’re hemorrhaging sponsors, and the press is having a field day.”

Coach slams his hand on the desk, making us all jump. “For Christ’s sake, we’ve been doing regular drug tests! The whole team pisses in cups on the daily, and we’re still the bad guys?”

I wince. Yeah, that’s definitely not my favorite part of the day.

Jessica leans forward, all business. “The problem is, the public has the attention span of a goldfish on Red Bull. They hear ‘PEDs’ and ‘Defenders’ in the same sentence, and that’s all they remember. We need to change the narrative. Stat.”

“How?” I ask, feeling the weight of the C on my jersey more than ever. “We’ve released statements, we’ve been transparent about the testing. What else can we do?”

Jessica’s eyes light up in that way that usually precedes me being volunteered for something. “We need a good story. Something to humanize the team, show that we’re more than just the guys on the ice.”

Rothschild nods, warming to the idea. “Yes, yes. Something wholesome. Family-friendly.”

After a brief silence, Jessica turns my way with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “O’Connor.”

And yep, there it is.

“You’re our captain, our star player. What if we set you up with a fresh face? Someone the public can root for?”

I blink. “You want me to date for PR?”

Coach snorts. “Because Liam O’Connor, certified playboy, is exactly who we want representing wholesome family values.”

Ouch.

Fair, but ouch.

Jessica shakes her head, a sly smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “No, not date. Just one or two appearances with someone unexpected. Someone...” She pauses, her green eyes locked on mine, gauging my reaction. I can practically see the gears turning in that PR-savvy brain of hers.

She leans forward slightly, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “Someone like Sophie.”

Coach chokes on his next breath, looking like he’s about to combust. Rothschild, who was pacing like a caged lion in his Italian leather shoes, stops in his tracks.

“No fucking way,” Coach exclaims before he can get himself under control. “No way Sophie is going to date the team philanderer.” He slams his fist on his desk. “Jessica! For Pete’s sake! Come up with another idea.”

Jessica doesn’t react to Coach’s outburst. Her smirk widens, and I swear I can see a glint of mischief in her eyes.

She’s enjoying this, watching the big boys squirm.

I try to keep my face neutral, but I can feel my heart rate kick up a notch.

Jessica’s gaze flicks between me and Coach, assessing the impact. She’s like a chess master, three moves ahead and loving every second of it. I’ve got to hand it to her—the woman knows how to drop a bombshell. And I could kiss her right now if I didn’t think Coach would actually murder me on the spot.

As the silence stretches, Jessica leans back in her chair. She’s just changed the game entirely. And from the way she’s looking at me, I have a feeling she knows exactly what’s going through my head.

Damn, the Novak women are going to be the death of me.

And I can’t say I mind it one bit.

“She wouldn’t date him. Just one or two public appearances would do the trick,” she proclaims calmly, owning the room.

The tension in Coach’s office is thick enough to skate on, while I lean back in my chair, trying not to grin like an idiot.

“We need to turn this PR nightmare around,” Rothschild growls, taking Jessica’s side. “If we don’t act fast, the PED scandal is all they’ll remember about us.”

“I agree, but this is going too far. There must be another girl that can step in.”

“The Hope for Heroes gala.” Jessica leans forward as if she hadn’t heard Coach, looking from her father to Rothschild. “It’s the perfect opportunity to shift the narrative.”

Rothschild turns to her. “Go on.”

“It’s a fundraiser for pediatric cancer research,” Jessica explains. “If we have Liam and Sophie show up together, it’ll demonstrate our commitment to the community. It could go a long way in rebuilding our image.”

Coach’s face darkens like a thundercloud. “Absolutely not. We are not using my daughter as a PR prop.”

“Dad, it’s not like that,” Jessica argues. “Sophie’s already involved with the hospital. This is a natural fit.”

“Natural fit?” Coach scoffs. “There’s nothing natural about parading my little girl around on the arm of,” he gestures at me, “Casanova of the Year here.”

I lean back in my chair, the picture of nonchalance. “Coach, I’m hurt. I’ll have you know I was only runner-up for that title.”

Coach glares at me. “You’re not helping your case, O’Connor.”

Rothschild jumps in. “Now, now, let’s think about this rationally. The optics could be very good for us.”

“Optics?” Coach’s voice rises. “We’re talking about my daughter here!”

“Liam,” Jessica turns to me, probably hoping to diffuse some tension, “how would you feel about attending this gala?”

I shrug, the perfect image of indifference. “Sure, I’m in. Anything for the team, right?”

But in my head, I’m already planning my acceptance speech for Luckiest Guy Alive.

“No!” Coach roars.

“Dad,” Jessica turns to Coach, her voice calm and reasonable. She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, the picture of earnest concern. “It’s one evening. Please don’t make this a big deal.”

Coach’s scowl deepens, but Jessica presses on, her tone taking on a hint of enthusiasm. “Sophie’s pre-med, she volunteers at the children’s hospital. This isn’t just about PR for the team, it’s an opportunity for her too. It’s a win-win.”

I watch, impressed as Jessica works her magic. She’s like a master conductor, orchestrating the situation with precision.

“Think about it,” she continues, straightening in her chair. Her eyes light up. “This gala is a huge networking playfield. The guest list is full of top-tier doctors, hospital administrators, research scientists—people who could be instrumental in Sophie’s future career.”

Coach’s expression starts to soften, just a fraction. Jessica, sensing her advantage, goes in for the kill.

“Dad, you’ve always said you want the best for our futures. Think of the connections she could make in a single evening. It could open doors for her we can’t even imagine right now.”

And that’s the final blow. I can see Coach wavering, his resolve crumbling under the weight of Jessica’s perfectly crafted argument. His shoulders sag slightly, and he runs a hand over his face.

“You might be right about that.” His voice is gruff but still uncertain.

Jessica nods emphatically. “Absolutely. It’s a win-win. The team gets good PR, and Sophie gets to network with some of the biggest names in medicine. All while supporting a great cause. It couldn’t be more perfect if we tried.”

I bite back a grin, marveling at Jessica’s skill. In the span of a few minutes, she’s managed to turn Coach’s protective instincts into a reason to support this plan. It’s like watching a master class in persuasion.

Coach lets out a heavy sigh, and I know the battle is won. “Fine,” he grumbles. “But Sophie has the final say. If she’s not comfortable with this, it’s off the table.”

Jessica beams, the picture of a dutiful daughter. “That goes without saying, Dad. I’ll talk to her.”

As Coach nods reluctantly, I catch Jessica’s eye. She throws me a quick wink, and I have to stifle a laugh.

Note to self: Never, ever try to outmaneuver Jessica Novak. The woman is scary good.

“Look,” I chime in, unable to keep quiet any longer. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman. Scout’s honor.” I hold up three fingers, giving Coach my best ‘trust me’ smile.

He narrows his eyes at me. “That’s what I’m afraid of, O’Connor.”

Rothschild, who’s been quiet for a while, finally speaks up. “I like it. The star player and the future doctor, supporting a good cause. It’s a story people will root for. No one will remember the PEDs.”

“That’s the idea.” Jessica smirks and leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest triumphantly.

Coach sighs, looking defeated. “Sophie has to agree to this. And you,” he points at me, “hands to yourself, got it?”

I nod, trying to look solemn while doing internal fist pumps. “Absolutely, Coach.”

I bite back a grin. Things just have a way of working out. Now I’ve got a chance to spend an entire evening with Sophie Novak, looking like a hero while I’m at it.

Sure, I barely know her beyond the fact that she’s gorgeous and apparently smart as hell. But hey, that’s what the gala is for, right? Getting to know each other all in the name of a good cause and good PR.

I love it when the universe is on my side.

Rothschild nods, looking pleased. “Excellent. Jessica, you’ll arrange this with Sophie?”

“Of course,” Jessica agrees, a glint of triumph in her eye.

As the meeting wraps up, we all stand to leave. I’m already halfway to the door, my mind wandering to thoughts of Sophie in a stunning evening gown, when Jessica catches my arm. She leans in close, her voice low and deadly serious.

“Listen up, O’Connor,” she hisses, her grip tightening. “You hurt her, and I’ll make sure your body is never found. Got it? ”

I nod, and Jessica’s stern expression melts into a sweet smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Great! Looking forward to working with you on this.”

She saunters out of the office, leaving me slightly shell-shocked. I shake it off and turn to follow, but Coach’s voice stops me in my tracks.

“O’Connor. A word.”

I freeze, my hand on the doorknob. So close to freedom, and yet so far. Slowly, I turn back to face Coach’s icy glare, wondering if it’s too late to put in for that trade.

I turn back slowly. “Sure thing, Coach.”

“Close the door and sit down,” he growls.

As I settle back into the chair, Coach leans forward, his hands flat on his desk. The look in his eyes could freeze hell over. Twice.

“Now you listen to me, and you listen good,” he starts, his voice low and menacing. “That’s my baby girl you’re going to be escorting. If I hear so much as a whisper that you’ve stepped out of line, if you so much as think about treating her like one of your puck bunnies, I’ll make your life a living hell. Are we clear?”

I swallow hard, feeling sweat prickle at the back of my neck. “Crystal clear.”

I stand up to leave, itching to escape his office. But Coach’s voice stops me.

“I’m not finished,” he growls. “You might be our star player, O’Connor, but don’t think for a second that makes you untouchable. I’ve benched better players than you for less. One wrong move with Sophie, and you’ll be watching games from the stands. Got it?”

My mouth is suddenly dry. “Yes, Coach. I understand.”

“Good,” Coach leans back, his eyes steel. “Now get out of my face. ”

I head for the door on slightly shaky legs. As I reach for the handle, his voice stops me one last time.

“And Liam?”

“Yes, Coach?”

“Remember, I’ve got eyes everywhere.”

I nod once more and practically bolt from the room. As I make my way down the hallway, my heart’s pounding like I just finished a triple overtime.

But even as Coach’s threats echo in my ears, a foolish grin spreads across my face.

High stakes just make the game more interesting. And Sophie Novak is definitely worth the risk.