Page 56 of Heartfelt Goals

Yeah, this was the moment. The night that would set the tone for everything to come.

“And the coach of the Wolverines… Jeff Starnes!”

As the last name was called, Dustin took his place on the bench, his heartbeat finally steadying. The season had begun.The Wolverines had arrived. And they were ready to prove it to the world.

Dustin sat on the bench, gripping his stick loosely between his gloved hands as he listened to the familiar cadence of Coeur and Boucher talking smack over the speakers. Their voices cut through the electric hum of the crowd, sharp as a skate blade gliding across fresh ice. He should’ve been focused on the game, on the ebb and flow of play, but his gaze kept drifting—again and again—to the stands where Laurel and Kendall sat.

They were huddled together, eyes locked on the action, their faces shifting between amusement and flinches of concern. He didn’t blame them. It was a rough game, more brutal than most. Boucher had already been sent to the box twice, and Coeur’s mouth was running at full speed, antagonizing the other team with the kind of humor that got under your skin and made you question your own existence.

“Hey Perry…” Coeur’s voice rang out over the ice, clear as day, and the crowd responded instantly, eating up every word. There was no one better at ‘chirping’ than Coeur. He had an uncanny ability to wield words like weapons, slipping under his opponents’ skin and setting them on fire.

“So, I hear you posted a naked selfie—was that before or after the head trauma?”

A few gasps peppered the audience, followed by a wave of laughter. Dustin smirked, shaking his head. Coeur was ruthless.

“Screw you, Coeur!” Perry snapped, already taking the bait.

“So, do you actually know what you’re looking for out here, or are you just rootin’ around like acochonlookin’ for a ‘shroom?”

Dustin felt his chest shake with silent laughter as Perry’s face turned an impossible shade of red.

“Man, will someone shut him up?”

“Perry, Perry, quite contrary…” Coeur sing-songed, tilting his head as he twisted the nursery rhyme to suit him. “How do youeven, bro?”

“I hate you, dude… I hated you on the Coyotes, and I hate you now on the Wolverines!”

“Ouch.” Coeur placed a gloved hand over his chest, feigning deep injury. “That struck a nerve. Hold on, hold on… I might feel a tear welling up. Nope. False alarm.”

“The second they drop the puck, I’m gonna dropyou.”

“Whatcha waiting for?” Boucher finally chimed in, his voice smooth, unbothered. He flung down his gloves—a motion that, to Dustin, looked so much like Batiste on the Coyotes that his body reacted before his brain could catch up. He pushed up from the bench, anticipation crackling in his veins. A fight was brewing, live and mic’d up for all to hear.

“Back off, Boucher,” Perry grumbled, rolling his shoulders. “We wouldn’t want you to get in trouble here like you did back in Dallas…”

Dustin inhaled sharply.

Low blow.

Boucher didn’t flinch. “Not gonna happen.”

“Do the Wolverines even know what a piece of trash they signed?” Perry sneered. “You’re pathetic and?—”

“They signed the man who’s gonna sink the next puck,” Boucher shot back. He didn’t lunge, didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he stood there, radiating control as he picked up his gloves, obviously trying to be better, readying himself to play.“My kids are watching, my family, and I’m gonna show them how to be the better man.”

Dustin watched, something tight pulling in his chest. He knew how much Boucher wanted to clean up his reputation. The man had been clawing his way back from the bottom, trying to finish his career on his own terms, with dignity and pride. And now, Perry was throwing everything he could to drag him down.

“How?” Perry scoffed. “By using Liam Savage as an example? It sure isn’t you!”

The air shifted. The crowd went silent for half a beat, and then—like a wave hitting the shore—the reaction crashed over the rink. A sharp inhale, murmurs rippling through the stands. It was one thing to trash-talk, to rile up an opponent. But this? This was different. This was humiliation, a knife twisted right where it hurt the most.

Dustin’s fingers curled around his stick. He could feel the tension in Boucher’s stance, the way his muscles coiled beneath his gear. He was holding back—barely.

And then?—

“Knock his block off, Daddy!”

The high-pitched voice split through the tension like a slapshot.

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