Chapter 5
DANNY
The smells of the downtown rink hit me as soon as I walk inside. Cold, air, rubber, and fresh ice. And they charge me up, same way they do at every arena I play in.
I blame Noah Enver for making me paranoid about punctuality.
There are about thirty kids here already, from maybe six to twelve years old, all wearing hockey gear that’s either too big or too small. They’re skating around, shooting pucks, completely unaware that in fifteen minutes they’re going to be stuck with me for three hours.
“You’re early.”
I turn when I hear his voice. Noah’s standing behind me, holding a clipboard and wearing jeans instead of a suit for the first time since I met him. I have to drag my eyes away. He looks younger. More approachable. Also annoyingly attractive, which I need to ignore for a hell of a lot of reasons.
“You told me not to be late.”
“I told you to be here at ten. It’s 9:45.”
“Better early than late.”
“You’re just full of surprises.” He checks something on his clipboard. “Okay, here’s the plan. You’re working with the older kids, ages ten to twelve, on defensive drills. There’s another coach handling the younger group.”
“Defensive drills. I’m a forward.”
“You’re also six-four and intimidating as hell. The kids will listen to you.”
“I’m not intimidating.”
Noah looks at me like I just said something incredibly stupid. “You threw a man into a barricade four days ago. You’re intimidating.”
“That was different.”
“Tell that to the kids who’ve seen the video.”
He has a point. The video’s everywhere. These kids have probably watched it a dozen times.
“So what am I supposed to tell them? Don’t assault people at charity events?”
“Tell them about teamwork. About protecting your teammates the right way. About making smart decisions under pressure.” Noah glances at the kids on the ice. “Tell them what you wish someone had told you when you were their age.”
I swallow a snort. That’s a more loaded question than he knows.
“And if they ask about the video?”
“Be honest. You made a mistake. You let your emotions override your judgment. You’re working to do better.” He looks back at me. “Think you can handle that?”
“Yeah. I can handle that.”
“Good. You’re on in ten minutes.” He starts to walk away, then pauses to cast a look over his shoulder. “And Masterson? Try to smile. You look like you’re about to check someone into the boards.”
“I always look like this.”
“I know. It’s terrifying.”
He walks off, and I’m left standing there trying to figure out if that was an insult or a compliment.
Probably an insult.
I head onto the ice and skate over to where the older kids are gathered in a group. They stop what they’re doing immediately, all eyes on me.
“Hey,” I say. “I’m Danny Masterson. You guys ready to work on some drills?”
One kid who’s maybe eleven and wearing a Raptors jersey with my number on it raises his hand.
“Are you the guy who beat up that fan?”
Direct. Gotta respect that.
“I’m the guy who made a bad decision at Puck Fest, yeah.”
“My dad says you’re a hero. Says that guy deserved it.”
“My mom says you should be banned from hockey,” another kid chimes in.
Great. I’ve been here all of two minutes and I’m already getting hit with parenting philosophy debates from twelve-year-olds.
“Both your parents have a point,” I say. “The guy was being a jerk. But the way I handled it was wrong. There were better options.”
“Like what?” the first kid asks.
“Like getting security. Like using my words instead of my fists. Like thinking about consequences before I acted.”
“But he was saying bad stuff about Barnes,” the kid says. “You were protecting your teammate.”
“I was. And protecting your teammates is important. But there’s a difference between standing up for someone and assaulting someone.”
“What’s the difference?”
I think about Noah’s carefully crafted statements, about all the PR spin crap I’ve been fed over the last few days. Then I decide to just come clean and tell them the truth.
“The difference is control. I lost control. Got so mad that I stopped thinking and just reacted. That’s not protecting someone. That’s just being violent.”
The kids are quiet, processing this.
“So what should you have done?” one of them asks.
“I should have stepped between them. Should have told the guy to back off. Should have made it clear that kind of talk wasn’t okay.
And when he didn’t listen, I should have gotten security to remove him.
” I look at each of them. “What I shouldn’t have done is put my hands on him.
Because now I’m suspended, fined, and stuck doing community service instead of playing hockey. ”
“Is that why you’re here?” the kid in my jersey asks.
“Yeah. Part of my punishment is teaching you guys not to make the same mistakes I did.”
“That’s kind of cool, though. Getting to meet you because you screwed up.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Sure. Cool. Let’s go with that.”
We spend the next two hours running drills. I show them how to read plays, how to position themselves, how to anticipate what the other team’s going to do. They’re good kids - enthusiastic and willing to learn. They also ask questions that actually make me think about the game differently.
And that’s when I realize it. I’m having fun.
This doesn’t feel like punishment. It feels like something I’d want to do anyway.
During a water break, I notice Noah watching from the boards. He’s talking to one of the parents, but his eyes keep drifting back to the ice. Back to me.
When he catches me looking, he doesn’t look away. Just raises an eyebrow like he’s asking a question.
I shrug, like I don’t know what the question is.
He shakes his head and goes back to his conversation.
By the time the clinic ends, the kids are exhausted and I feel better than I have in days. The kids line up for autographs, and I sign every jersey, every stick, and every piece of equipment they shove at me.
The kid in my jersey is last in line.
“Thanks for coming,” he says. “Even if it was because you got in trouble.”
“Thanks for listening. Even though I’m sure you’ve heard this stuff before.”
“Not from someone who actually did it.” He looks up at me, serious. “My dad’s right, though. You are kind of a hero. Just maybe not the way you thought you’d be.”
Well, shit. Then he skates off before I can figure out how to respond to that.
Noah walks over to me. “That went well.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am surprised. I expected you to spend three hours complaining about being here.”
“Why would I complain? These are good kids.”
“They’re kids who just watched you admit you made a mistake and explain why it was wrong. That’s not easy to do.”
I look at him. He’s watching me with that same intense expression from the conference room, like he’s trying to figure something out.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. Just... you’re good with them. Better than I expected.”
“Again with the low expectations,” I say with a roll of my eyes.
“Can you blame me? You assaulted someone a few days ago.”
“And today I taught kids how to play defense. I’m full of contradictions.”
“Clearly.” He checks his clipboard. “You have two more of these scheduled. Next Saturday and the Saturday after that. Different rinks, different age groups.”
“Same cheerful PR babysitter overseeing everything?”
“Same cheerful PR babysitter.” He tucks the clipboard under his arm. “Media training Tuesday. Nine AM. Don’t forget.”
“How could I forget? You’ve mentioned it four times.”
“Because you strike me as someone who needs reminders.”
“I strike you as a lot of things, apparently. Most of them not great.”
He’s quiet for a moment, then says, “You were good today. With the kids. Honest. Real. That’s what they needed to hear.”
It’s the first genuine compliment he’s given me, and I hate how much it lights me up that the stick-up -his-ass PR guy actually thinks I did a good job.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late.”
He almost smiles. Doesn’t quite get there, but it’s close.
“See you Tuesday, Masterson.”
“See you Tuesday, Noah.”
I watch him walk away, trying not to notice how his jeans hug that tight ass of his.
It takes a minute before I finally tear my eyes away. This is a problem.
Noah Enver is uptight, controlling, and way too invested in protecting the team’s image. He’s also Coach’s son, which makes any interest I might have completely off-limits.
Except I keep thinking about the way he looked at me when I was honest with those kids. Like maybe he was seeing something different than the reckless player who makes terrible decisions.
Like maybe he was seeing someone worth paying attention to.
I head to the locker room, change out of my gear, and try not to think about the fact that I’m looking forward to Tuesday.
Not because of the media training.
Because of him.