Page 16 of Captain's Claim

My office is a glass-walled fortress on the top floor of Icehawk Stadium, the highest vantage point in the whole building. Below, the town of Iron Ridge stretches out in a picture-perfect postcard scene.

Snow-capped mountains, winding streets, the towering old clock tower in the square. Even the practice rink to the side of the town center sits in full view, the surface gleaming under the morning sun.

It's theidealsetting for a small-town hockey revival.

If I pull this off.

I flick my pen against my notepad, staring at the digital renderings of upcoming campaign ideas on my tablet. Some are decent. A few aregood. But none of them feelbigenough. None of them feelright.

A sharp knock sounds at my door.

Greg Mathers doesn’t wait for an invitation—he justwalks in, dropping a thick folder onto my desk with athwackthat makes my stomach jump.

His charcoal suit is crisp, paired with a navy tie that screamsI make the budget cuts around here. In one hand, he clutches a coffee mug emblazoned with the Icehawks logo, steam curling from the top like he’s fueling up to bulldoze through whatever resistance I might throw his way.

“You’ve got something here, Hart.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

He plants a hand on the file, tapping it once. “This. This is the winner. We need to do this.”

My spine stiffens. There’s only one thing that could make him this enthusiastic.

I stare at the file like it’s about to self-destruct. I know it because I felt it too. For days, I've been scouring the competition, searching for ideas, inspiration to get things going here at the Icehawks.

Slowly, carefully, I reach for the file, flipping open the top page. And sure enough—

Blake’s youth program.

The Iron Ridge Youth Hockey Program, in bold across the top. My own notes scrawled in the margins, red pen underlining key themes. Personal growth. Overcoming adversity. The raw, emotional power ofrealstories. The kids of this town and their stories are at the heart of my biggest idea.

Greg is still talking, oblivious to the way my stomach hascompletely dropped.

“This haseverythingcorporate’s been asking for,” he says, gesturing at the document like it holds the meaning of life. “It’s heartwarming, it’s gritty, it’shuman. And best of all… Maddox is at the heart of it.”

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “Maddox is… not going to like this.”

Greg barks out a laugh. “Maddox doesn’t likeanythingthat isn’t hockey and punching people, but he’s thebrand, Hart. Whether he likes it or not, he’soursto market.”

I stare at the document, my pulse pounding in my ears.

This is it.Thisis the pitch that could change my career. It’s the kind of emotional storytelling Iexcelat. It’s the reason Big Mike hired me. The reason my mother refused to let me do anything except this.

It’s also theonething that will make Blake Maddox hate me more than he already does.

Greg slaps the desk, standing with a grin. “I’ll set a meeting with Big Mike. We’ll roll this out before the month’s over.”

I nod automatically, my fingers gripping the edges of the folder so tight my knuckles go white.

Blake is going to kill me.

And the worst part?

Istillwant to see how he looks when he's furious.

Chapter Five

Blake

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