Page 25 of Cold as (N)ice

Lafreniere and Boucher.

The three of them were going to Quebec – and you could count the ticks of the clock on the wall before the explosion occurred. The uproar was a chaotic explosion of emotions that filled the room.

Batiste jumped to his feet, screaming in fury, and his hands reaching for them physically. The man’s face was contorted with betrayal, swift and deep. Giroux leaped up, throwing an arm around Batiste in a desperate attempt to hold him back, his own face a mask of frustration and shock. Thierry just slumped back against the lockers - defeated. His expression was one of utter devastation as if he’d just been blindsided by a freight train.

The once-united ‘golden team’ on the ice was now divided, splintered, and raw. Their bonds stretched to the breaking point. Coach Mike stood silently, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his face a storm of emotions he wasn’t ready to unleash.

This wasn’t just a trade.

It was a sneaky, deliberate move from the other team, blindsiding everyone and leading to the ultimate betrayal. No one in that room would ever forget it. He knew this would go badly announcing his move, but to find out that the three of them were going to the same team was telling.

This new team, the Wolverines – they were out for blood. It now made sense why they wanted married men, to give the illusion of a family, a team, an upstanding front because when this got out? The news would drag the new team through the mud… and them with it.

Craaaaap.

This was not the look he wanted starting in a new city, a new team. It was going to take some work to overcome this stain on all of their records, and Barrett chanced a glance at the other two men, who were obviously coming to the same conclusion as him. They had not only jumped from the frying pan, but they were standing in the fire being doused with lighter fluid.

“Boucher?” Thierry rasped, stunned. “When does… when did this all happen? I mean, Batiste is getting married in less than two weeks, and we’re the groomsmen. Lafreniere, what about our conversation to keep Boucher here, you know, the whole ‘Project: Boy Scout Reform’ to redeem his image?”

“Turns out I might not need it,” Boucher said bluntly.

“What about the widow and her children?”

“Mind your own business,” Boucher muttered, getting up and effectively turning his back on the team, mentally and physically. Barrett just sat there, reeling. None of this was going as planned in his mind. No, it was all falling apart, and he was in the middle of it. “I’ll be at Batiste’s wedding unless he doesn’t want me there anymore – and I’ll keep my word. The widow you introduced me to was the first to know about the offer, and the reason I took it.”

“You could have talked to me,” Coach Mike said hoarsely, his voice thick with disappointment and frustration. The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. His usually commanding presence seemed deflated as he rubbed the back of his neck, searching their faces for answers. “I would have gone to bat for you—any of you. What’s your excuse, Coeur?”

Barrett shifted uncomfortably, feeling his breakfast rumble in his gut. He might actually puke. He felt like such a traitor, felt so guilty, and knew it had to be written all over his face, but they had to understand, right? It was a lot of money and would help Irene and Stephen out.

Money.

He’d done this for money – and felt like a troll. He kept his gaze fixed on the floor like the linoleum.

“It’s private,” he finally uttered quietly, the words barely audible but loaded with tension. His voice cracked slightly, betraying the storm roiling beneath the surface. “Look, it’s done. I’m sorry, but I have my reasons, and I’d rather not share them.”

Molly, the physical therapist for the team, looked just as stunned as the rest of them. She was standing there on the far side of the room, against the lockers. Raising a hand, she slowly began to speak. “Coach Côte, if the trades are a done deal, I assume you have some leads on a few new players? When do I get to start working with them and evaluating their conditions?”

Barrett swallowed back bile.

Yup, this was going to be quick and vicious.

Coach Mike turned his gaze toward Molly, his eyes dark with disappointment. He drew in a long, measured breath before nodding curtly, staring at the floor almost like he couldn’t even stand to look at them right now.

“You three,” Coach said quietly, his voice tinged with resignation as he addressed Coeur, Lafreniere, and Boucher. “You may leave. You won’t be needed at practice, and I’m sure you all need to start packing and making arrangements for your move.”

Get out.

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and the three men rose from their seats slowly, their movements heavy with the weight of finality. Barrett was pretty sure he was less than an inch away from crying right now. He felt terrible but nothing could be done to change any of it.

He’d made his bed and had to lie in it – but it wasn’t just him. It was his new wife, his new stepson. They would never sit inAllons-y Alleywith the other wives watching the game. She would never wear his green and dark gray jersey with his number on it. Several sets of eyes were focused on them, and he couldn’t meet their gaze.

They looked like a group of men who’d just lost a family, not teammates. Thierry was the first to stop them, stepping forward and hugging each of them. “This isn’t how it should be,” Thierry muttered under his breath, his voice cracking with emotion.

“No, I know,” Lafreniere whispered, and Barrett nodded.

“Man, it’s been an honor, brother. See you on the ice,” Boucher said thickly, and Barrett cleared his throat. Oh yeah, the tears were coming.

He was a Coyote no longer.

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