Page 155 of The Stud

“I need to know,” Hennington pauses to motion a pointed finger between her and Blanc, “weneed to fucking know ifwecan trust you.”

“You can,” I quietly proclaim to both.

“Can we?” Coach promptly counters with a skeptical head tilt. “Because the last two games were an embarrassment, Frosky.”

“I admit, I didn’t play my best-”

“I don’t a give shit that you didn’t play your best,” he effortlessly bites. “No onealwaysplays their best. No one is always one hundred percent on top of their game, aye?” His body inches a little closer. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t bothershowing upon the days that you aren’t.”

Befuddlement bounces my lower jaw in a wordless nature.

“You weren’t there for the boys when they needed you and it wasfelt.”

Shock continues to run wild.

“They needed aleaderin that locker room. They needed aleaderout on the ice. They needed aleaderto rally them after a loss – especially with Cap on leave – but because your ass was too caught up in your own bullshit you didn’t deliver. You didn’t doyour job,” he stabs his finger in my general direction,“as alternate captain. Andthat’swhere the issue of trust comes into question.”

“Andthat’swhy I need to know if I can trust that wheeling Hoss won’t be a problem.”

“That you can still betrustedto do what it is you need to do on the ice regardless of what’s going onoff.”

“That wheeling Hoss isn’t more important than doing your fucking duty.”

“I’m not justwheelingHoss, Hennington,” leaves me in an aggressive tone. “I’m bloody in love with her.” Flying to the edge of my seat is a mindless action. “I’m beat my own head against the boards, skates over bucket, retire before I’m thirty, want to put a bloody ring on her finger right nowin lovewith her.” My attention swings back and forth between them. “She isn’t just some random rocket that I don’t mind seeing when we’re in the same town. She isthe rocket.She ismy rocket.She ismy Slayerand will be whether there’s a dragon on my crest or something else.” Additional fierceness fires through my tone. “And you’re right, Coach. Ididn’tdo my job. I let my personal shit spill into my professional one and wasn’t there for my mates like I should’ve been; however,oneblunder…one. Bloody. Blunder.Doesn’t negate all that I’ve done or do for them or mean that you should trade me. Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Trade you?” Hennington’s scoff shoots me back in my seat. “Why the fuck would I trade you?”

“The…Hoss and me…scandal?”

Her eye roll hurtsmyhead which is impressive. “Do you how many pylons havescandalsin this league?! You wheeling someone in adifferentdepartment – who you’re probably gonna marry – barely warrants the phone call I got asking me to send in documentation that this wasnotan abuse of power situation unfolding.”

Bobbing of my jaw occurs once more.

“In fact…your commitment tonotletting it be a focal point of this team, to going above and beyond to keep the media’s attention on what we’re doingrighton the ice as much as off it, is not just admirable, it’s deeply fucking appreciated.”

More movement with no words.

“You aremy stud,Frosky,” she states with passion and pride. “You are my top scorer. You have just crushed this franchise’s goals record. You’re in the top five of the league for points for the season. You’re typically a cap when you need to be, an assistant cap when Cap needs you to be, an enforcer when the defensive needs an extra body, and support whenever or wherever the boys need it most – on the ice or off. You have always given your best for this team…this family.It’s one of the things that makes you so fucking irreplaceable.”

New waves of awe keep me stunned silent.

“Butweneed to know thatwecan trust you to get your shit together.” A quirked eyebrow is shot in my direction. “That this shit with Hoss-”

“My relationship.”

“That yourrelationship,” she sassily corrects, doing her best to not smirk, “isn’t going to be a problem for your focus and isn’t going to interfere with your ability to do your fucking job because if it is…thenyou’ll no longer be the stud I knew you were when I signed you. You’ll just be another fucking pigeon; I have to figure out how to get rid of.”

“Such a way with words, boss,” Coach chuckles.

“It won’t be.” Yet again, I lean forward to reiterate my firmness. “FERDA.”

“Speaking of pigeons…we’ve traded Payne,” announces the GM.

“For a college rookie?”

“Sort of,” Coach scrunches his face while bouncing his head back and forth. “Your tilly a couple weeks back showed me the power in a heavy d that also knows how to assist, so our playoff focus is shifting that direction across the board. We’re fairly tight here – when all skates are laced – but Stroll’s needs more help and Payne is very centered on only what he can do versus what he can do for the boys.”

“We don’t need that,” Hennington needlessly reminds. “Remember.” Her pointed digit stabs the empty desk space in front of her. “We. Don’t. Need. That.”

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