Excerpt from Heartless As Puck #2
She raised her head and met our eyes. “Taggert, Halonen, Tremblay, and Olson. There are four players present who’ve transferred in from other teams: Gauthier, Fox, Elliot, and Schmidt—potentially to replace them because they play the same positions.”
I barely resisted the urge to pump my fist. If Taggert had been kicked off the team, that was the best news I’d heard in years.
Nick looked impressed with Jane. “Are you sure you’re happy staying with Heartless Harris? I could use an assistant.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t call him that. And yes, I’m happy where I am.”
A flicker of warmth lit inside me. It was hardly surprising that some smart-ass had come up with that moniker, considering how hard I concentrated on hockey to the exclusion of all else—including my social life.
But I only kept to myself because I’d learned early on that the people closest to me could inflict the most damage—thanks, Dad—so it felt nice to be defended.
“Are you going to call your agent?” Jane asked me.
“I suppose I’d better.” He didn’t like being kept in the dark. He expected to know things within seconds of them happening. Especially potentially career-altering changes such as this. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
I strode out into the corridor to make the call, arranging to meet with him tomorrow.
When I reentered the meeting room, Nick was chatting with Jesse, one of the younger players on the team, and Jane was still on her tablet. Sometimes I wondered if it was glued to her hand.
My agent had asked her to compile any information she had about the changes and trades, so I passed along the message, and she said she’d do it straight away. I’d known she would. I’d had assistants before her, but none as well-rounded and competent as her.
“You’d better get your gear from the car and get changed,” she said, looking up briefly. “You don’t want the new guys to show you up after all the hours you’ve put in.”
She passed me the keys and I hurried down the stairs, out the side door to the parking lot to grab my duffel bag from the back seat. As I carried it inside, Jane came down the stairs and I returned the keys to her.
“Good luck,” she said with a hint of a smile.
“Thanks.” I hoped I didn’t need it. I’d been working my ass off—not just the past few weeks, to get up to standard before the season began—but for my whole damn life.
She brushed past me and disappeared through the door. Behind me, someone sighed. I looked over at Matt, one of the defensemen, who’d been watching our exchange.
“I have no idea why in the hell someone like Jane is working for you,” he said, stuffing his free hand into his pocket.
I frowned. If that was some sort of slight against Jane, we were going to have a problem.
“Matthews. Harris. Enough chitchat. Get changed,” Willets barked.
We both jolted into motion, hurrying to the changing rooms and slipping inside. I made my way to my locker and paused, gazing at my name on the metal. The sight never grew old. I traced the outline of the letters, as I did every time I trained here or played a home game.
The interior of the locker was empty. I’d cleaned it out at the end of last season, but I carefully stacked everything I wouldn’t need today inside, then I stripped off and changed into my gear. Clothes first, followed by tape, then skates. The order had to be right.
Five minutes later, we were on the ice.
It was a disaster.
Perhaps it was just as well that the first official training session wasn’t until tomorrow.
I was in good form, but it had been a while since I’d run drills with others and had a hard time getting into the flow.
The rookies were either lost or trying too hard, and the guys who’d transferred didn’t seem to know what to make of the rest of us.
I got it. We didn’t function like other teams. We weren’t a cohesive unit. We’d been in an unhealthy environment for so long that we didn’t know how we were supposed to behave. It was a mindfuck.
My legs burned as I powered up the ice and intercepted a puck, internally reminding myself that I had a lot to be grateful for.
There was no Taggert yelling obscenities or taking too much joy in slamming his teammates.
We might be all over the place, but that toxic asshole was gone—at least temporarily—and with his departure came my opportunity.
After a couple of hours, Dunn ordered us to get our asses off the ice, shower, and be back bright and early tomorrow. I trailed behind the others, checking that nothing had been left behind. As I approached the gate, Nick came over to join me.
“Who do you think they’ll make captain?” he asked.
My heart rate picked up, but I did my best to maintain a neutral expression. “Could be you.”
Much as I hated to say it, he wouldn’t be a bad choice. He’d played for the Chaos for five years and was one of our most well-liked players. Not that that said much since none of us got on particularly well. Our former coach had had a habit of pitting us against each other.
Nick scrunched his nose. “They’ll probably want someone with a better scoring record. That could be you, if you wanted it.”
I drew in a slow breath. I wanted it with everything I had, but there was no way I’d say so out loud. I was too superstitious for that.
This could be the biggest turning point of my career. If I worked my ass off, Dunn might make me captain. But this was also the last year of my contract. If he didn’t like what he saw, I could lose everything.