Chapter 1
“How do you feel about today’s loss, Cash? Does it sting?”
I blink. Blink again.
Who the fuck does this reporter think he is?
Of course losing to Dallas fucking stings. They’re the worst team in the league, and we let what should have been an easy win slip through our fingers.
We lost. How does this guy think I’m supposed to be feeling? Ecstatic?
Fucking reporters. I hate these questions.
“Cash?”
“Well, it doesn’t feel good.”
“Do you think you getting into fights on the ice and giving Dallas two power play goals contributed to the loss?”
“Well,” I start, “if the refs would have called the penalties against them since they were at fault, then maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference.”
It’s not my fault the refs have their heads up their ass and can’t see a penalty when it hits them in the face. The Dallas guy hit me with a high stick first. I had to return it, didn’t I?
“And how will you bounce back against Tampa?”
“Play better,” I deadpan.
Seriously. What does he think I’m going to say? We’re just going to lie down and take the loss and keep losing?
“And how do you plan on doing that?”
This guy is a good head shorter than I am. He has an air about him that he is a know-it-all of everything hockey. It makes me dislike him even more.
He probably did a quick Google search on what hockey is and then called it a day before getting this job. It shouldn’t bother me as much as it does, but I can’t help it.
Idiotic questions bring out the best in me like that.
He shoves the mic farther into my face.
Don’t punch this guy, Cash. Stay calm.
“We’re going to roll over and just give away the rest of the season.”
“What?” He stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. I’ve thrown him off his game of asking each question he usually asks after the game. Not the PC answer he was expecting.
“What do you think we’re going to do? It’s one loss. It’s not the end of the fucking world.”
“I think that’s all we have time for today.” Cassie, our PR woman, appears at my side. “Thanks, Franklin.”
He takes his dismissal better than I would have. The Denver Tribune reporter caught me in the tunnel before I made it to the locker room. Which makes me like him even less.
“Cassie—”
“Not now, Cash.” Her heels click on the tunnel floor as I follow her back to the locker room. “Clean up and meet me outside when you’re done.”
Fuck me.
Just what I want after a hard game. A conversation with our PR manager. No doubt I’m going to get my ass handed to me for my responses in that interview.
From day one, we’re given a strict lesson on how to deal with the press so we don’t paint ourselves or the team in a bad light. Sometimes, it’s just hard to handle after a tough loss.
As if it’s not bad enough that we got beat on home ice tonight, but also answering inane questions from reporters? It’s the last thing I want to deal with.
“Oh, sorry! Didn’t see you there.” A small body bumps into me. I look down at Noah Fields’s little sister. A bright smile is pasted on her face and blonde hairs stick to her cheeks. “Sorry about the loss, Cash. You’ll get ’em next time.”
“You know we lost, right?”
“I know.” She looks too chipper for the team losing. “You still have a winning record. One of the best in the league. I think you’ll bounce back.”
“You’re about the only one.”
“Cash! Don’t keep me waiting!” Cassie barks at me before heading down the hall that leads to the corporate offices.
“Sorry. Guess you need to go.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t let them get you down.” Piper gives my forearm a squeeze.
I don’t respond, but watch as she heads toward the training room. There’s a pep in her step that’s hard to ignore. I shouldn’t be ogling her. She’s my teammate’s little sister. But damn, does she have an ass on her.
When the door clicks shut, I shake off the ass-induced fog and head into the locker room. Instead of the jubilant, postgame celebration of a win, heads are hanging.
Some losses are harder than others. Losing to an opponent—one that we assumed would be an easy win—is always hard.
Walking around the Black Diamonds logo that covers the carpeted floor made to look like the ice rink in the arena, I head to my locker. From the day I walked into the arena, I was told it was bad luck to walk on the Black Diamonds logo. Maybe someone walked on it and that’s the reason we lost.
I drop onto the padded leather bench seat in front of my locker.
Wooden lockers, lit up from above, line the room. The light has a blue tint to it for our team colors. Except tonight, it highlights the way everyone is feeling.
It smells like sweat and regret in here.
“Not the result any of us wanted tonight, men.” Coach Barney isn’t overly emotional. Only a big win or loss will get a reaction from him. Clearly that reporter needed to come talk to Coach B. If he’s not worked up about one loss, why should the rest of us be?
“We’ll take a look at the film tomorrow and see what mistakes we can clean up. Don’t let this loss settle in. Brush it off. Tomorrow is a new day.”
Maybe if I had said that to the reporter, I wouldn’t have to go talk to Cassie. It’s all adding to my mood taking a nosedive. I grab my towel and hit the showers.
Steam fills the shower room from guys already in here. I ignore all of them and find the last stall at the end. Where I always go after a game—win or lose.
I hate losses like this. Any loss sucks. You never want to be on the wrong end of a game when the final horn blows.
Especially when that voice comes back into my head. The one that tells me I didn’t play well and let my team down. How I’m a waste of space.
Fuck. This is why losses get to me even more some days.
Hot water sluices down my body, but it does little to help my shoulder muscles, tightly bunched around my ears.
I crack my neck and rinse off. No sense in standing here if it’s not going to help my sour mood.
I sling a towel low around my hips and head back to the locker room. A few guys are already heading out, likely to meet their loved ones in the family suite.
I’ve never had anyone there to meet me. Not that it bothers me because I don’t want my family here.
“Don’t let it get you down, Cash.” Troy slaps me on the shoulder as I dry off and slip back into my suit.
“Easy for you to say. I have to visit Cassie.”
“Ouch.” He winces. “What’d you do to incur her wrath?”
“Just being my usual delightful self.”
“Don’t know if I’d call you that.” Troy laughs.
“Get out of here, cap. Go see the wife.”
“See ya at practice tomorrow.” Troy doesn’t need to be told twice, running out to see his family.
Must be nice to have someone to go home to. Not that I don’t love going home to my chocolate Lab, Puck, but it’s not the same. Instead, I grab my wallet, keys, and Dopp Kit and head to Cassie’s office.
The cinder blocks of the tunnel echo around my dress shoes. With the game ending so late, most of the staff hurried to get out of here and are gone.
Photos of bygone teams line the walls. The history of the team and its greatness presses in on you anytime you’re here.
The Colorado Black Diamonds have been one of the most successful teams in the history of the league. Even if we have an off year, we always bounce back. We are in the top ten of most Stanley Cup wins with four.
We pride ourselves on being the best. This is the only professional hockey team I’ve played for, and I want to keep it that way.
I pass through the glass doors of the executive offices and make a beeline for Cassie’s. Her door is wide open since she’s expecting me.
“Cassie.” I drop down into one of the chairs in front of her desk. It’s all glass with a black shelf behind her holding numerous degrees and awards.
A.k.a., don’t mess with her.
“Can you not keep it together during a postgame interview?”
I guess she’s not going to beat around the bush tonight.
“That reporter was a dick.”
“And he was asking you the questions that any reporter would ask after a loss.”
I roll my eyes. “And how many times do I have to answer that we’ll play better next time? It’s a stupid question.”
Cassie opens her laptop and starts tapping away. “Do I need to go over the basics of PR with you again, Cash? You’ve known this since you were drafted. And don’t even get me started on your language. Cash, you’re supposed to be a role model for fans to look up to.”
“I didn’t ask for that.”
“Well, it comes with the territory.”
I grind my teeth together. I do know this, but sometimes, I’m tired. All I want to do is play hockey and not have to deal with the other shit that goes along with it.
“I know how to handle the press.”
“Really? Because after witnessing you out there on the ice and that disaster of an interview, I’m questioning whether you know how to do any of it.”
“Cassie—”
“No.” She cuts me off. “You should not have gone off on him. Weber is with the Denver Tribune, and they are one of our biggest sponsors.”
“So I have to play nice so they don’t pull their money?”
“No.” She holds up a perfectly manicured finger. I’m surprised it’s not her middle one—no doubt she’s thinking it inside. “You have to play nice because you are starting to get a reputation. Your attitude on the ice—this pissy tit for tat—is going to get you kicked off the team. Penalizing someone because they did it to you first? This isn’t kindergarten, Cash. And because of your performance tonight, on and off the ice, I’m going to have to spend my day tomorrow answering questions about why our top line player is turning into this jaded asshole.”
“So ignore them.”
Cassie gives me a pointed look. “Some of us actually have to do our jobs.”
“What, like I didn’t just play my ass off for the last sixty minutes?”
“Is that what you’re calling it? I think you spent more time in the penalty box tonight than you actually did on the ice.”
“Ouch.”
“Look, Cash,”—she leans across the desk, and I know whatever is going to come next, I won’t like—“you need an attitude adjustment.”
“I do not,” I grumble. “My attitude is fine. That reporter is fucking stupid.”
“Yes, I really want this attitude to stick around,” she says dryly, waving her hand around in front of me. “This isn’t the first time you’ve had a run-in with the press.”
“When were the others?” I ask, leaning back in the seat and kicking one Italian-loafered foot up on her desk.
Cassie wastes no time shoving it off and readjusting the picture of her wife and daughter on the table.
“Would you like me to start with just this season? Or would you like me to go back to when you were first drafted? Because you almost got into a fight with the reporter from Sporting News Weekly.”
“Because he was being disrespectful to the women’s team.”
“Beside the point.” Cassie holds up a hand. “You are a professional athlete, and your behavior reflects badly upon the Black Diamonds. And I’m the one that has to deal with it.”
“So what do you suggest?”
Cassie casts an ominous look at me. Studying me. I shift under her hard stare. This is not a place I want to be right now.
“I need to think.” She organizes a stack of papers on her desk. “But I can’t do that with you here. Now go. I would like to go home to my wife and daughter before midnight.”
She shoos me out of her office, ignoring the fact that she’s the one that called me in here after a game on a Saturday night.
“Nice talking to you too,” I tell her as I start to pull the door shut but am stopped when she says, “Be here bright and early on Monday morning. We’ll talk more then.”
“Looking forward to it.”