Page 14 of The Pucking Player

Logan shoots Nate a sharp look. “You really think I’d risk my entire career for something like that?”

Nate holds up his hands in mock surrender, but the tension is already spreading.

Dmitri, sitting calmly in the corner, finally speaks up. His deep, measured voice carries over the room like a steady drumbeat. “A house divided against itself cannot stand,” he says simply. “Let’s not accuse each other.”

He’s right. If we start pointing fingers, this scandal will tear us apart before we even have a chance to fight back.

I take a step forward, clearing my throat to draw everyone’s attention. “Dmitri’s right,” I say, my voice cutting through the silence. “We can’t let this break us. We’re a team, and we stick together—no matter what. No one’sguilty until proven otherwise, and we’ll make damn sure the truth comes out.”

Around me, I see nods of agreement, but the unease is still there, simmering under the surface.

The door swings open, and Coach Novak strides in, his presence instantly commanding the room. Six-four and built like a damn tank, he’s a man who can silence a room with just a look. He’s in his early sixties now, but you wouldn’t guess it from the way he moves—strong, purposeful, like he’s still got a few good shifts left in him.

Novak used to play center back in his heyday, and you can still see it in the way he carries himself. Broad shoulders, thick forearms, and a chest that looks like it could still absorb a cross-check without flinching. The short salt and pepper hair adds to the no-nonsense authority that seems permanently etched into his features. His jaw is sharp, his nose just slightly crooked from a career’s worth of battles, and his eyes are a cold, piercing blue—calculating, assessing, always three steps ahead.

The chatter dies completely as he surveys us, his sharp eyes taking in every detail.

“Men,” he begins, his voice low and firm. “I know you’ve all seen the news. The accusations against this team are serious, and trust me, wewillget to the bottom of it. But right now, our job is to focus on what wecancontrol, and that’s our performance on the ice.”

Murmurs of agreement ripple through the room, but the tension doesn’t lift.

“We’ve worked too hard to let this derail us,” Coach continues, his tone rising. “The Stanley Cup is within our reach, and we’re not going to let this bullshit get in our way.”

He taps his clipboard for emphasis. “Today’s practice is playoff intensity. High-pressure drills, simulated scenarios,and defensive adjustments. We’re going to stay sharp, stay focused, and stay united.”

Then his gaze hardens. “And after practice, everyone takes a drug test. No exceptions.”

The murmurs rise again, louder this time, but Coach doesn’t waver.

“Yes, everyone,” he says bluntly. “We’re going to face this head-on. Transparency is the only way we win this.”

I nod, the weight of his words settling on my shoulders. He’s right. If we’re going to beat this, we have to stick together and prove we’re clean—no shortcuts, no excuses.

I tighten my skates and stand, addressing the team. “You heard Coach. We’re here to play, to prove we’re the best damn team in the league. Let’s hit the ice and show everyone what the Defenders are made of.”

The guys nod, their jaws set, their eyes burning with determination.

Nate, of course, can’t resist a final chirp. “And if anyone’s looking for an edge, I hear Logan’s locker is fully stocked.”

The tension breaks as laughter ripples through the room, Logan shoving Nate with a mock scowl.

Coach shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Alright, enough. Let’s get serious. Every practice counts.”

With one final rallying cry, we grab our sticks and helmets and file out onto the ice.

As my skates hit the frozen surface, the cold air fills my lungs, clearing my mind. I shoot a glance at Adam, who’s skating a few feet away, his expression unreadable.

For the good of the team, I’ll make this work. On the ice, Adam and I are untouchable, and no matter what’s happening off it, I’ll make sure it stays that way.

6

HYPOTHERMIA

SOPHIE

Ifeel the satisfying burn in my muscles as I stretch into the final Pilates pose, my arms reaching long, my body taut and trembling. Beside me, my roommate Jenna mirrors my movements, her brow furrowed in concentration. The winter sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the dorm’s fitness room, casting a golden glow on our sweat-slicked skin.

“And…release,” the instructor announces, her voice calm and serene, as if she hadn’t just demonstrated an hour of grueling leg lifts, planks, and ab crunches.

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