Page 9 of Icy Pucking Play

I nod, watching him jog off toward the locker room. Only when he's gone do I let myself back into the wall, head in my hands.

What am I doing here? Evan clearly doesn't want me anywhere near his family. Maybe I should call Lexi, tell her to send someone else...

But then I think about what that would mean. Giving up on my first real chance to prove myself. Backing down when there’s some resistance. No. I've worked too hard to back down now.

Standing up, I straighten my coffee-stained blouse and take a deep breath. If Evan Daniels thinks I'm just another ruthless reporter out for a story, I'll just have to prove him wrong.

Even if it kills me.

Which, given my track record with regard to embarrassing myself in front of him, it probably will.

Chapter 4

Evan

There are few things more humbling than having your nineteen-year-old nephew score on you. Especially when it's because you're too distracted by a certain coffee-wielding reporter-slash-intern to properly defend your net.

"That's three!" Ryland shouts, doing a victory lap around the ice. "Getting slow in your old age, Uncle Evan?"

I flip up my mask to glare at him. "Again."

"Seriously?" He's practically bouncing with energy, clearly enjoying this far too much. "Don't you think we should talk about…"

"Again."

He sighs but takes his position. Smart kid. He knows when to push and when to shut up.

Unlike some people.

I definitely don't glance up at the media box where Sophie Bennett has been watching practice for the last two hours. And I absolutely don't notice how she's changed into what appears tobe Blades merchandise—probably left over from her internship days.

The oversized hoodie makes her look smaller somehow, more vulnerable.

Not that I'm looking.

"Ready?" Ryland calls out.

I snap my focus back to him. To the puck. To the one thing in my life that still makes perfect sense.

"Show me what you've got, kid."

This time when he comes at me, I'm ready. Block the shot. Clear the rebound. Simple. Clean. The way it should be.

"There's the Ice Man we all know and fear," Coach Martinez says as he skates past. "Good to have you back from whatever planet you were on earlier."

I grunt in response.

Coach doesn't need to know I was mentally replaying this morning's disaster with Sophie. Or thinking about the hurt in her eyes when I accused her of…

Focus, Daniels.

"All right, wrap it up!" Coach blows his whistle. "Good practice, everyone. Ryland, nice work on those shots. Even if your uncle was taking it easy on you."

"Was not," I mutter, but no one's listening.

The team files off the ice, but Ryland lingers.

I know that look. It's the same one he wore when he was seven and broke my favorite hockey stick trying to recreate a slapshot he'd seen on TV.

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