Page 120 of Puck Princess

“I mean a game where we have fun. Remember when hockey was fun? When hockey was about hockey and not which rich asshole’s pocket we were in?”

“Aww, look at you getting all sappy,” Heath croons. “Engagement has made you soft.”

I steer around that. “I’m serious. For one night, can we just forget about all the bullshit and play the game?”

Lance claps me on the back. “I like the sound of it. No more drama. No more politics. Just hockey.”

I tug on my helmet. “Alright. Then let’s get to work.”

We’re marching towards the door when Coach barrels into the room. “Sharpe! My office. Now.”

Everyone looks at me.

“What the fuck did you do?” Dax says under his breath.

I have no idea.

He’s interrupting practice on a game day. Meaning it must be important. Meaning I obviously didsomething.

Damn.

I don’t want to sit, so I stand in front of Coach Coleman’s desk like a statue in full gear.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors,” he says.

“Yeah. But they don’t sound like rumors.”

“They aren’t. The shift in chain of command is already in the works.”

“Lovely,” I grumble.

I don’t mean to say it, but it slips out. Coach’s eyes narrow.

“This will go a lot smoother if you cut the snark, Sharpe.”

It will also go a lot smoother if you get to the point.

My internal monologue is going to have to stay muzzled if I want to keep things chill.

“So, what’s up?”

Coach lets out a pained breath while wiping his hand down his chin. “I’ve been in meeting after meeting after meeting with Rodger Santos. Having him on our team will definitely help us turn the corner on the bad press. Unfortunately, it also might drive me to day drinking.”

Finally, I see it. The crack in Coach’s facade. He hates them as much as I do.

“Then why do it? Why let them have the team? Why fix what ain’t broke? We’re a little jacked up recently, but that has more to do with press—not the mechanics of our team itself.”

“Because hockey isn’t just a sport. It’s a business. It’s politics.”

In short? Even the head coach doesn’t have much control.

“Tonight’s game came with a lot of stipulations from Rodger.” He steeples his hands in front of him.

“Like?”

“He wants Spencer to start. As the center.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I snarl. “Did you tell him there’s no fucking way?”

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