Page 41 of Pucking my Enemy Boss

Liam grins at me, still wearing his helmet like it’s a fashion statement. "Yo! Carter! You ready to destroy today?"

"Always," I grunt, sliding into my routine. Gear on, head down, and just when I think I’m in the clear?—

One of the staff taps me on the shoulder. "Hey, Ethan. Reid wants to see you. Now."

Just perfect.

"Now?" I ask, halfway through pulling on my jersey.

"Yeah, says it’s urgent."

I shoot a glance over at Ryan, who’s busy flirting with the Gatorade cooler. He catches my eye and smirks again. "Uh-oh, someone’s in trouble. Did youfinallybreak something?"

"Shut up." I shrug into my jacket and head for Reid’s office, trying not to think about what fresh hell awaits. Meetings with Reid? Always a bad sign. Always.

The office is cold. Like,seriouslycold, which makes sense ‘cause Reid has all the warmth of a glacier. His office is all polished wood, glass, and leather, and he’s sitting behind his desk like a villain in a movie where the hero’s about to get fired—or worse.

"Ethan." He gestures for me to sit. Not a good start.

I sit, and he slides his tablet toward me, no smile, no small talk. "Thought you should see this before it goes live tomorrow."

I glance down at the screen, and boom—there’s my name in big, bold letters:

"Chicago’s Ice King Leaves Family in the Cold: The Real Story Behind Ethan Carter’s Success."

Raymond Blue strikes again.

I snort, because honestly, what else is there to do? "Thisguy. He’s obsessed."

“I know,” Reid leans back in his chair, arms crossed. "But that’s the problem, Ethan. It doesn’t matter what the truth is. What matters is what peoplethinkthe truth is."

Swiping through the article, my stomach churns. All this BS about my family, how they supposedly gave up everything for me while I turned my back on them. It’s ridiculous. But PR is a funny thing—funny in the way a punch to the gut is funny.

"This is insane," I say, my laughter a little too bitter. "No one’s gonna believe this crap."

"You sure about that?" Reid’s voice is low, but there’s no mistaking the warning in it.

The silence stretches between us, cold and sharp.

Reid taps the desk with his fingers, his face softening—just barely. "I’ve been telling you to engage more with the fans, Ethan. Show them who you are. Because if you don’t? This is what they see. And this? Hurts more than just you. It hurts the team."

My jaw clenches. "So, what? My life isn’t mine anymore?"

Reid sighs, rubbing his temple like he’s heard this all before. "When you’re the face of the Blizzards? No. Your life is public. You have toownthat, Ethan."

The words hit harder than they should. It’s not like he’s wrong. Doesn’t make it any easier to swallow, though.

"Fine. I’ll deal with it." Pushing the tablet back, I stand up, my chest tight. "But this? It’s low. Even for Blue."

Reid nods. "I know. But keep your head down. Focus on the next game."

Dismissed.

Great.

Back at the rink, I pull on my gear and hit the ice, but my head’s not in it. Every hit, every pass, feels too sharp, too fast. It’s like the anger won’t leave, no matter how hard I skate. The sound of a shoulder check hitting the boards is the only thing that feels real.

Then I’m face-to-face with the overeager reserve player who knocked me down, and before I know it, gloves are off and the whole team circles around us. Coach Andrew’s shrill whistle snaps me back to reality

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