Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Forecheck - Applying offensive pressure in the opponent’s zone.
Phoenix
I felt like I was walking into a trap, honestly, and I had no idea how Cole had persuaded me to attend the game tonight.
He’d decided that apparently I was now working for his agent.
He'd even tried to give me a fancy iPhone, but I lied and told him Ricky had given me one.
He never questioned it, which showed how distracted he was.
I had no idea what working for his agent translated to, but he’d even had a suit delivered that fit me.
The promotional event pass hung around my neck like a collar.
The further we got through the tunnels under the arena, the more convinced I became that someone was going to spot me and throw me out mid-period.
Maybe that was why my palms were sweating so bad, or maybe it was just nerves.
I kept wiping them on my pants, but it didn’t help.
Cole walked in front, all confidence and focus, like he owned every inch of the place. I couldn’t tell if that made it better or worse. I followed him up two flights of stairs, then down a hallway that didn’t smell like popcorn or spilled beer, just disinfectant and money.
The VIP suite was nothing like the arena seats I’d seen on TV.
It was quiet, carpet soft under my shoes, fancy food set out on white tablecloths, and a wall of glass overlooking the rink.
There were only three other people inside: one middle aged man on his phone, two men in suits, one younger and the other older with eyes that seemed to see everything.
Cole introduced me. “This is Phoenix. He works for my agent.” He didn’t say anything else, but the way he said my name made my chest tight. Like I was allowed to be here. Like I mattered. "Ignatius and Doryu."
The man, Ignatius, gave me a polite nod, but his eyes barely lingered. “Pleasure.” He shook my hand briefly. Didn’t offer a drink or a joke. Just that one word, clipped, and then he turned away to watch the ice like nothing I did could possibly matter.
That was fine. I was used to it.
Cole gestured me toward the glass, the best seat in the house, and I went, careful not to look at the food in case I embarrassed him by taking too much.
I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to eat. The last time I’d been around people like this, I’d been serving them.
Not the guest. Definitely not the VIP. Then he left and I had the ridiculous urge to call him back.
The other guy, Doryu, who was around my age, grinned at me as soon as I sat down. “You ever been to a game before?”
I shook my head, keeping my hands in my lap. “Only watched on TV. New job,” I added.
He laughed and popped an entire slider in his mouth, like he didn’t care what anyone thought, then chewed and swallowed. “It’s better live. You can actually feel it when they hit the glass.”
I looked at Ignatius who was talking to two other suits that had just come in. Something about contracts, maybe. The words went over my head. They weren’t for me.
Doryu leaned in, lowering his voice. “The food’s free, you know. They won’t kick you out.” He nudged the plate closer. “Try the smoked wings. They’re insane.”
I hesitated, then picked one up, careful not to drip sauce on my suit. It was good. Like, really good. I’d never tasted anything like it. I tried not to eat too fast, but after nearly a week of soup, my stomach didn’t get the memo. I caught Doryu watching me and felt my ears burn.
“Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “First time I came here, I ate half the buffet before they even dropped the puck.”
“Not sure I could afford to replace the suit if I spilled,” I muttered, which made him laugh harder. I had to be careful, but it was almost like I recognized someone in Doryu that shared my sort of life.
“Who cares? You’re here with Armstrong. They’d probably buy you a new one.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just stared out at the rink. The lights, the crowd, all that energy. After a while, Cole appeared on the ice, helmet under his arm, jaw set like he was heading into a war and not a game.
Doryu followed my gaze. “He’s intense, huh?”
I nodded. “He doesn’t really know how to turn it off.”
“Yeah, but that’s why he’s good.” Doryu’s voice was almost soft. “People like that—they bruise easy, but they never quit.”
I glanced at him. He was younger than the rest, but there was something sharp about him. Like he’d seen too much.
“You work for Ignatius?” I asked before I could think better of it.
He grinned. “Partners.” I stared in shock and a little envy. I knew he didn’t mean business partners. His eyes flicked toward Ignatius, who was still deep in conversation with another man. “He’s not as scary as he looks. Just doesn’t trust many people.”
I got that. I didn’t trust anyone, either. Not really.
We watched the teams warm up. The VIP box was almost soundproof, so the roar of the crowd was barely heard. Doryu pointed as the team began warm-ups. “That’s Ignatius’s nephew, the rookie, Keegan Steel. He was a big deal in college, but they have to earn their place here.”
Doryu was easy company. “First time I was here? I was so nervous I nearly puked on Ignatius’s shoes.”
That made me laugh, which felt weird. But good-weird. Ignatius didn’t look over. He was still talking quietly with the suits, voice too low to make out, but I could tell he kept his attention on the ice. Or maybe on Keegan. It was hard to tell.
The game started. I tried not to look for Cole every second, but it was impossible. He was magnetic. The way he moved, the way the play seemed to orbit around him even when he didn’t have the puck—it was like watching a storm that didn’t know it was beautiful.
Doryu leaned in. “He’s really something, huh?”
I nodded. My throat was too tight to answer.
The first period was brutal. Chicago was bigger, meaner. They checked Cole into the boards every chance they got, but he just bounced back up. I could see the sweat running down his neck, the flex of his jaw when he lined up for face-offs. He looked like he was fueled by pure spite.
“You know him well?” Doryu nudged, like he could tell I was watching too close.
I shrugged. “Not really. Just…work stuff.” I didn’t want to say more. Didn’t want to risk it.
He didn’t push.
My gaze drifted back to the ice just in time to watch Cole hop the boards mid-play. Smooth, effortless, like gravity was optional for him.
“How do they know when to do that?” I asked. “He didn’t even look! He was just—” I fluttered a hand. “Gone.”
“Ah.” Doryu leaned closer, elbows on his knees, eyes tracking Cole with unnerving precision. “Line changes.”
“I’ve heard the term,” I admitted. “Still doesn’t help.”
“You see each group?” Doryu pointed with two fingers. “Forwards skate in lines. Defense in pairs. Every line has its opposite on the bench. When one comes off, the next jumps on.”
“But how do they…know?” I pressed. “He didn’t speak to anyone. He didn’t even nod.”
“Instinct,” Doryu said simply. “And awareness. Hockey rewards those who can read the ice.” His mouth twitched. “And Cole reads it very well.”
That was an understatement. Cole skated like he was listening to music only he could hear.
“But that was dangerous,” I said, pointing as another player leaped on just as another staggered toward the bench. “They almost collided.”
“Almost is fine,” Doryu said. “Colliding is normal. Illegal is when the replacement jumps before the other is close enough to the gate.” He tapped the glass gently. “Five feet is the rule. Less, if you’re clever.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Less?”
His smile returned, subtle but knowing. “Some players bend rules by habit. Some…forget rules when emotional. And some forget entirely when they’re overheated.”
I frowned. “Overheated?”
Doryu didn’t explain. He only watched Cole a little more closely.
Cole, who at that moment refused to end his shift even though Max was tapping his stick sharply against the boards.
“See?” Doryu murmured. “He should come off now.”
“He’s staying out because he wants the puck,” I said.
“Mm,” Doryu hummed. “Or because he’s trying too hard.”
A flicker of worry stirred in my chest. “He does that?” But Doryu didn't answer, just watched Cole intently.
Cole finally came off, looking flushed under the bright rink lights. As he skated toward the bench, his eyes flicked up toward the VIP box. Just for a heartbeat. Just long enough for my breath to catch.
“You’ll learn the rules soon enough,” he said. “What matters isn’t the system. It’s knowing when someone you care about…needs the change before they do.”
I swallowed. “I don’t think he listens to anyone.”
“That’s because,” Doryu said gently, “he hasn’t tried listening to you yet.”
The game roared back to life below us, but all I could hear was my pulse thudding in my throat.
Ignatius finally joined us, eyes cold and sharp, except when they fell on Doryu.
It was subtle, but I caught it. The way Ignatius watched him.
Not with suspicion or boredom, but like he was listening for every breath Doryu took, like it mattered.
It made something twist in my chest, but not in a bad way.
Doryu caught me looking and grinned. “He’s all serious business for everyone else, but he lets me pick the music on the drive home.”
Ignatius raised one eyebrow but didn’t contradict him. I wondered what it would be like to belong to someone that much. To know you could eat all the food in the world and still not get thrown out. To know you could mess up and someone would cover for you, just because.
I watched the game, trying not to stare at Cole, but it was impossible. He was everywhere at once. On the ice, on the bench, jaw clenched and eyes locked on the play even when he was supposed to be catching his breath. He looked at me just once.