Page 106 of Breakneck Hockey

What I don’t like is what I’m seeing from Casey. His hands clench and unclench. He’s running his hands through his hair, looking around, not making eye contact with anyone.

He doesn’t like being in charge like that. Sure, he can be, but it makes him fucking nervous. Especially with this being televised.

“No,” I say.

“What do you mean no?” Milton says, finding his balls. “Gina, do something about your over-sized monkey.” He throws his hands up.

“Do you have a better idea?” she says to me instead of trying to force me to do anything. At least she’s got some intelligence. What’s she doing fraternizing with a snake like Milton?

“I do. Casey and I will run a dryland practice—together. We do a short game after that for fun,” I stress, “with either Casey and I coaching both sides equally or apart, but he decides.”

That’ll take the wrong kind of pressure off. Casey loves a good battle with me on the ice, but this is different. This is us right in the middle of a PR circus that’s stressing the fuck out of him.

Casey’s nervousness vanishes. A hint of a smile graces his lips. “I like that, Sutter. Quick, roll the cameras, we’re agreeing on something. That should make national headlines.”

“I don’t like it,” Milton says. “It’s boring.”

“Don’t you want to cool everyone’s jets, not stoke them?” Casey says. I’m glad Casey’s standing up for himself to that douchebag.

“It’s the best you’re gonna get,” I add. “It’s this or nothing.”

Milton makes a frustrated sound and glares at me. “Fine. Do what you want.” He storms to the side like the child he is, planting himself on one of the benches.

“Ready to do this, Alderchuck?”

He smiles like I hung the moon. Perfect. I still have plans to teach him a lesson, just not with this—that’s a line that shan’t be crossed. But his smile validates my theory. He wants me to chase him.

“Ready, Sutter.”

We take the kids through a bunch of drills, turning this into a “dryland practice sponsored by two professional hockey players” kinda day for them. They love it. It’s clear that some of them aren’t hockey players, and don’t want to be hockey players, but they’re all Canadian kids, so they’re having a blast participating.

The drills are simple, but they’re high energy. I high-five each kid at the finish line, giving them honest encouragement with some friendly critiques. Casey lets the kids laugh at him while he maneuvers through each drill, pretending to botch it in catastrophic ways. Even my lips twitch as I fight to tamp down on the laughter that wants to break free. He’s a giant child. One of the kids laughs extra hard, and with the way she shoutsCasey, I get the impression she knows him.

By the time we reach the family-friendly game, it’s clear Casey’s ready for a little competition, but he opts to do the “coach them together” thing.

“I don’t want to make a fool out of you in front of all these kids,” he says, winking.

Yeah, sure, Alderchuck.

One of the kids barrels toward me. She’s a tiny wisp of a thing and the same little girl who was laughing the most exuberantly at Casey earlier. She clings to my leg, squeezing it tightly.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Sutter! I like you,” she says.

“How dare you, Lorelei Meyer? I thought we were bros,” Casey says, bumping knuckles with her.

I introduced myself as Coach Mitch to the kids. If she knows I’m Sutter, she knows a lot more about me than I have any idea.

“She’s got good taste,” I say.

She looks up at me with her cornflower blue eyes. “I said I was gonna marry Rhett, but I might marry you instead.”

I smirk in Casey’s direction. He’s fuming, but also slowly coming to the realization that he’s jealous of a little girl.

“Sorry, Miss Lorelei, but I’m taken,” I tell her, shaking her hand. “But it’s nice to meet you.”

She sighs. “All the good ones are.”

I laugh.

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