Page 51 of Snowed In With the PUCK

Jason raises an eyebrow. “I’m not asking you to manipulate him. I’m asking you to talk to him. Find out what he’s thinking.”

I stand up, my hands shaking slightly as I grip the edge of the chair. “No,” I say, my voice tight with frustration. “If he doesn’t want to stay, that’s his decision. But I’m not going to be the one to push him into anything.”

Jason watches me for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Fair enough,” he says finally. “But just remember, we’re all counting on you to keep things steady. This isn’t just about you and Eric. This is about the team, about the organization.”

I don’t respond. I can’t. My mind is spinning too fast, filled with questions I don’t have answers to. I turn and walk out of his office, my heart pounding in my chest.

As I head back to my desk, I can’t stop thinking about Eric. About everything we’ve shared over the past few weeks. I thought we were building something real since Christmas, something that went beyond the fake relationship we’d agreed to for the sake of the team’s image. But now I’m not so sure.

Has it all just been a game to him? Has he been planning to leave all along, using this as a way to keep things light and easy until he makes his next move?

The thought makes my chest ache. I don’t want to believe it, but the evidence is right in front of me. He hasn’t signed the contract. And Jason’s right—his refusal to do so says more than any words could.

By the time I leave the office, I’m not sure what to think anymore. I feel hurt, betrayed even, though I know Eric hasn’t technically done anything wrong. He’s just… not signing the contract. But that decision feels personal, like a reflection of how he feels about me, about us.

As I drive back to the house, I try to push the thoughts aside. Things are good between us right now. I don’t want to ruin it by confronting him about something that might not even be what I think it is. But deep down, the doubt is already there, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts.

What if I’m just setting myself up for heartbreak?

Chapter twenty-five

Eric

Bart Knowles. The namefeels like acid on my lips as I mutter it.

He is already loud and obnoxious when I walk into the locker room, his voice carrying over the usual pre-practice chatter. I see him standing near the back of the room, surrounded by a couple of the younger guys, and I immediately feel tense. His first day with the Avalanche, and he’s already acting like he owns the place.

I’m not in the mood for this. Not right after Christmas. My legs still feel like they’re made of lead from my own workout in the gym yesterday, and my head’s spinning from everything going on off the ice. The contract, the media, my relationship—or whatever it is—with Jessica. I’ve been juggling so many things, I can barely keep it together.

Bart sees me and narrows his eyes. The jerk. He’s going to be trouble, I can feel it. I ignore him at first, heading to my locker to gear up for practice, but I can feel him watching me, waiting. And sure enough, as soon as I start pulling my skates out of my bag, he makes his move.

“Well, well, well,” Bart says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Look who it is. Big Shot Gator. Gonna throw some punches today, huh? Or you saving that for the games?”

I grit my teeth, not wanting to take the bait. But Bart’s the kind of guy who doesn’t let things slide. He’s always been like that, even back in Nashville when we were rivals. Cocky, loud, and always looking for a fight.

“You got something to say?” I mutter, keeping my focus on my gear.

Bart steps closer, his skates clinking against the floor, making him my height. Almost. I still have two inches on him, though I’m not in my skates yet.

“Just wondering if you’re planning on pulling any of that same shit you did in Nashville, bro. You know, getting into fights with your own teammates. Real solid move.”

My jaw clenches, and I finally meeting his gaze. “Why would I fight my own teammate, Bart? You’re not that important. Besides,you’resupposed to havemyback out there. Or did you forget?”

Bart laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Right, but you’re still the guy who couldn’t keep his cool on the ice. Got yourself shipped out here because of it, didn’t you?”

The reminder stings. I don’t need him to tell me why I ended up in Denver. I know damn well why I’m here. But hearing it from him, of all people, rubs salt in the wound.

“Shut up, Bart,” I say, my voice low. “We’re on the same team. Act like it.”

“Oh, I’m acting like it,” Bart says, his voice mocking. “Just don’t expect me to play babysitter for you if you decide to lose your temper again. I’m not getting dragged into whatever drama you’re bringing to this team.”

Before I can respond, Coach Bill Stanton steps in between us, his face hard with frustration. “Knock it off, both of you,” he snaps. “This is exactly the kind of bullshit I don’t want to see on this team. You’re supposed to be professionals. If you can’t keep it together in the locker room, how the hell are you going to keep it together on the ice?”

I look away, biting back a retort. I can feel the eyes of the rest of the team on us, everyone waiting to see how this is going to play out. This isn’t the way I wanted things to go. Not with Bart, not with Coach, and definitely not in front of the guys.

Coach turns to me, his eyes narrowing. “Eric, I’m serious. If you want to stay on this team, you need to get along with everyone.You’re not in Nashville anymore, and this team isn’t going to tolerate that kind of crap. Got it?”

I stare at him—he’s calling me out like this, as if I did something wrong? What the heck! The unfair words sting. I’ve been trying—damn hard—to keep things together since I got to Denver, but it feels like it’s not good enough.

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