Chloe
Watching the guys practice together for the first time in months was almost as stressful as a postseason game. My stomach was in knots, and I had to fight every instinct in me to jump up and scream for them to get their act together.
These guys were my family, and as much as I loved them, right now they sucked. Bad.
We had a lot of work ahead of us to get to the point we ended last season, holding up the Stanley Cup.
They were slow. Missing passes. Yelling at each other rather than communicating the plays.
As much as I wanted to march down to the bench and make some suggestions to Coach Romney, that wasn’t my job.
The only thing that was on track so far was the arena.
The Fury logo had been repainted, and the sponsors had been updated.
The fresh, gleaming ice reflected the fresh start.
We had a lot to live up to. Two championships put a target on our backs, and though I would never say it out loud, I was worried about them.
I was huddled in my red and black Fury hoodie watching George, the team photographer, on the ice. He promised me he’d get all of the shots I needed for the blog, but I was dying to get out there with him and check.
Too bad it would cause a complaint-fest with the Pride, the group of players’ wives and girlfriends. They tended to make every little thing the ignition to a drama fire.
Most of them understood my position with the team, but a few liked to throw tantrums over me having more access than them. The players didn’t need that today of all days. There was enough on their minds and couldn’t afford distractions.
Maybe I wouldn’t have to get all the way on the ice. I’d just talk to him from the side.
Before anyone could ask me where I was going, I stood and hurried down the stairs to the glass.
George had his back to me, so I pounded until I got his attention. He dropped his camera from his face just in time to roll his eyes but walked over to me.
“What?” He had to shout to be heard over the sound of sticks slapping the ice.
“Are you getting individual action shots?”
“Yes, Chloe,” he said with disdain, but he couldn’t hide his smirk.
“Even the new guys?” I’d need pictures of them for their introduction on the team blog.
“Yes. Now, let me do my job.” He waved me off and pulled his camera back to his face.
“Thank you.” I shouted it and knew he heard me, despite his lack of reaction.
None of the women said anything to me when I took my seat, so I opened my laptop and got back to work. Writing about hockey and our team professionally was a step toward making my dream come true.
These guys were my life, and I’d spend all my time here anyway, so getting paid for it was a perk. While I was here, I was learning all I could and making connections so one day I could reach my ultimate goal of managing the team’s charity foundation.
I’d just started a new page about the captain when someone tapped my shoulder. I forced a smile before turning around.
“Erik looks great. Did he spend the whole offseason in the gym?” Sasha, Porter Vaugh’s wife, asked while eyeing him. Her long red hair brushed against her pale shoulder as she shivered. She might be a total vixen, but I’d never understand wearing a tank top this close to the rink.
Normally, I didn’t appreciate people talking about my brother like he was a piece of meat, but I’d learned over the years that she was harmless.
When I first met her, I pegged her as a trophy wife. A former Miss America who met Porter at a charity event. But was smarter than she let on. The brain behind Porter’s brand.
With her help, he’d become one of the most famous players in the league. That’s how I knew she was just checking out the guys as players. Sizing them up and searching for weaknesses that needed improvement.
“You know him. I tried to convince him to go to Mexico with me, but he refused to take time off.”
Emma, Olli Letang’s wife, leaned forward and smiled. “That’s why he’s the best.”
She was the polar opposite of Sasha. Petite with honey blonde hair and as sweet and reserved as they come. She hated the limelight but supported Olli whenever the occasion called for it. I knew she would prefer to be at home with a book, but she came to every practice for her husband.
She was right, too. Erik wasn’t the best left wing in the league from luck. He’d been dedicated to the sport since the first time he laced up his skates.
“All of the guys look great,” I said. “Hopefully we can find our groove with the new guys and win another championship.”
Emma and Sasha beamed. There was nothing better than winning for our guys, and they earned it from the blood, sweat, and tears they put into last season. Plus, it was easier to live with them when they were winning.
I turned around and ignored the chatter of the other girlfriends and wives and focused on the guys.
They were running drills, finding their feet, and getting comfortable with each other again.
We had gotten a few draft picks and some trades this season that were going to need a few practices to find their flow, but overall, the team was looking great.
Emma nudged me. “Don’t look now, Chloe, but code bimbo at nine o’clock.”
I looked up to her, and she pointed at the portal to our left. So much for don’t look now. A bleach blonde wearing barely-there shorts was making her way down the stairs in precariously high heels.
I narrowed my eyes as the woman paused and waved with both arms to someone on the ice. I followed her gaze to one of the rookies. He wasn’t waving back, but he’d stopped skating and was looking back at her—with panic in his eyes.
“Duty calls, ladies.” I shut my laptop and slid it into my bag before standing and making my way down the row.
“Go get her.”
“You show her, Chloe.”
“Rookie mistake.”
I ignored the comments of the Pride and focused on my target. The rookie, I think his name was Adam, knew better than to bring a groupie to practice. The guys made the rules clear for the newbies. No wonder he looked like he’d been caught.
When I was close, the young woman looked at me, and her smile disappeared. My resting face had that effect on people. Erik told me I didn’t come across as an overly nice or welcoming person when people first meet me, but I couldn’t help it.
When I was a few feet from her, I stopped. “How can I help you?”
She looked from me to the ice. I watched, waiting for her attention to return.
“I’m here for Adam.” She pointed as if I didn’t know who she was talking about.
“These are closed practices.”
“But he said—”
I held up my hand. “I’m sure he said a lot of things he didn’t mean.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you with him or something?”
“No.”
“Then why do you care if I’m here?”
Oh, I loved when they challenged me. “You don’t belong here.”
She pointed over my shoulder to the Pride. “What about them?”
“They’re family.”
“How do you know I’m not?” She rolled her shoulders back like she just bested me.
I looked her over and shrugged. “A feeling.”
She glared at me. I smiled.
“I know every one of those guys. I know each of the women behind me. I also know that you don’t belong here.”
She opened her bubblegum pink mouth to interrupt me, but I stopped her with a look.
“We don’t allow the public to be here. That’s why it’s a closed practice.”
Her eyes darted once again to the ice. Like Adam was going to run up the stairs and back her up.
“Look, I’m sure you’re great, and if Adam is interested in you, I’m happy for you guys, but we don’t allow random people to watch these practices. That’s why it’s called a closed practice. Fans are more than welcome to come to watch the open practice next week.”
“I’m not a fan.”
“Obviously,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Frankly, I don’t care who you are. You need to leave. Please don’t make me get security involved. It’ll be so embarrassing for you.”
With one final, scathing glare, she turned and marched up the stairs. I looked to the security guard at the next entrance and nodded in the retreating woman’s direction. He turned and disappeared, not needing further instruction.
I sighed and crossed my arms. I didn’t like having to be the bad guy all the time, but the Furies weren’t back-to-back champions because they let distractions in. We ran a tight ship. Nothing to take the players attention off what mattered most: winning.
The Pride chapped and cheered when I walked back, and I took a mini bow before sitting down. Throwing out the trash was sometimes uncomfortable, but I’d do just about anything for the guys.
“She looked like a fighter,” Sasha said with a laugh.
I shook my head and pulled my laptop back out. “She was stubborn for sure, but we’ve had worse.”
“Remember the one that threw herself at the glass trying to escape from security?”
I laughed. “She still has the record.”
Emma and Sasha continued recounting all the past crazies while I worked on my post.
“There’s the new guy.” Sasha’s voice raised an octave. It was enough to make me look at the ice.
Sure enough, a new player was skating around the perimeter, warming up. He passed us in a flash.
The women all began talking at once.
“He’s fast.”
“He’s cute.”
“He’s the new right wing.”
“A late trade.”
“The best.”
I ignored the rest of the comments and focused on the man circling the rink.
Emma leaned forward and put her hand on my shoulder. “Reese Murray.”
Two words, and I was gone.
The Fury got Reese Murray?
Why didn’t I know this? I was supposed to be kept up to date on all the players. It was my job. How had this slipped by without anyone telling me?
Murray was one of the best players in the league. He was also a notorious jerk. Not what we needed this season.
“Who did we lose for him?”
She cringed. “Horran, Merck, and Benning.”
Crap. Benning was our backup goaltender. If Olli got injured, we’d be pulling from the farm team. “He’d better be worth it.”
Sasha rested her chin on my shoulder, a literal devil on my shoulder. “He’s single.”
I ignored her and focused back on my screen.
“Handsome, successful, wealthy… What more could you want?”
I shrugged, hoping she’d back off, but she was stubborn.
“Just take a look, Chloe.”
I fought the urge. I really did, but the next time he came around, I may have peeked.
Fine. He was handsome.
“You know me better than that, Sasha.”
“Rules are meant to be broken,” she whispered, and I fought the urge to shove her away.
“One, Erik would kill him. Like, bury him in an unmarked grave.”
“He’d get over it.”
I shook my head. He wouldn’t. “Two, I don’t date players.”
“Such a shame.”
“And three, I work for the team. It’s a conflict of interest.” I wasn’t sure about that one, but it seemed legitimate enough.
“No such rule, Chloe.”
She couldn’t know that. But maybe I was underestimating her. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“The first two reasons are more than enough to keep me away from him.”
She tilted her head until we were cheek to cheek. “You deserve to be happy, too, you know. Erik doesn’t always have to come first.”
I scowled. She was a tiny bit right, not that I’d admit It to her. I did deserve to be happy, and I was…mostly. But being with a player would bring nothing but heartbreak and drama for the team.
Little did I know that was exactly what was about to happen. But not for the reasons I thought.