Page 3 of Taming the Grumpy Hockey Player

Mark chuckles and nudges my shoulder. “Relax, Logan. This could be good for the team.”

I don’t bother responding. My teammate’s optimism is his default setting, and while it’s mostly harmless, it’s not contagious. Not for me, anyway.

“All right, everyone,” Coach Turner calls, his deep voice cutting through the chatter. He’s not the type to shout, but he doesn’t need to. His presence commands attention. The room quiets almost instantly as everyone turns toward him.

“Thanks for coming,” Coach begins, scanning the group with the same intensity he uses during a pre-game pep talk. “As you know, the Timberwolves are more than just a hockey team. We’re part of this community, and it’s our responsibility to give back.”

There’s a murmur of agreement, and Mayor Collins nods enthusiastically. I stay quiet, letting my focus drift to the window, where the faint glow of the ice rink lights bleeds into the evening sky.

Coach continues. “To that end, I want to introduce an initiative we’ve been exploring: the ‘Adopt-a-Player’ campaign.” He pauses, letting the title sink in. “The idea is simple. Each player would be paired with an adoptable pet from Cozy Paws Animal Shelter. We’ll promote the campaign through social media and local events, encouraging adoptions while fostering stronger community connections. Of course, this is still in the works, and we’ll need to iron out the details with Lucy Hart, the shelter manager, before moving forward.”

I lean slightly against the wall, muttering under my breath, “Why do we even need this? The team’s doing fine without posing with pets.”

Mark snickers beside me, but Coach’s sharp glance cuts through the room, and I force myself to focus.

“This is a win-win opportunity,” Coach says, his tone firm. “The shelter gains visibility, and we strengthen our ties with Pine Harbor. But more than that, it’s a chance for each of you to show another side of yourselves.”

The mayor stands, his smile wide and confident. “I couldn’t agree more. Pine Harbor thrives on these kinds of collaborations. Bringing together two beloved institutions—the Timberwolves and Cozy Paws—is exactly the kind of initiative that makes this town special.”

Mark, ever the extrovert, raises his hand. “So, how does it work? Do we get to pick our pet, or are we assigned one? Because I’ve got my eye on that golden retriever I saw last week.”

The room laughs, and even I can’t suppress a small smirk. Leave it to Mark to inject humor into a discussion.

Coach shakes his head, though a ghost of a smile crosses his face. “The logistics are still being worked out, but we’ll coordinate with Lucy Hart, the shelter manager, to ensure everything runs smoothly.”

Lucy Hart. Her name settles in my mind like a pebble dropped into a still pond, creating ripples of curiosity and frustration that spread through my thoughts, tugging at questions I’m not ready to face. The first time I met her, she was scolding me—politely, but firmly—for accidentally knocking over a display table during a community event. Her green eyes had flashed with determination and a spark of mischief as she hastily rearranged the toppled materials, all while explaining the importance of that fundraiser in a tone so cheerful it bordered on teasing.

"You know," she had said, flashing a smile that made her dimples show, "next time, try not to take the entire table down with you. We’re trying to raise money, not demolish the place."

I’d muttered a half-hearted apology, feeling like a bull in a china shop under her bright, unflinching gaze. As I walked away,still rattled, her voice carried after me: "Just don’t trip over anything else, okay?" It wasn’t mocking—it was sassy, warm, and somehow encouraging all at once. That mix of kindness and unrelenting optimism still sticks with me, no matter how much I try to shake it off.

I’ve only interacted with her a handful of times, and most of those encounters were more sparks than synergy. She’s…different. Passionate. Relentlessly cheerful. Sunshine wrapped in sarcasm, a combination I’m not entirely sure how to handle. And, if I’m being honest, not someone I expected to collaborate with.

“Logan?” Coach’s voice breaks through my thoughts. I blink, realizing the room is looking at me.

“What?”

“What do you think?” Coach repeats, his gaze steady. “You’ve been quiet.”

I straighten, feeling the weight of their eyes. What I really want to say is that this is stupid. That it’s a waste of time. PR is a waste of time. The media spins things however they want, and I’m always the bad guy—especially since my last breakup. My ex was so good at making people believe her charity outlook was all real, and of course, by default, that made me look like the total opposite. But I can’t say any of that. Instead, I keep my voice flat and ask, “How’s this going to work without turning us into a joke? I’m not sure people come to games hoping to see their hockey players walking puppies. What happens if it backfires?”

“That’s exactly why we’re discussing it now,” Coach says. “To iron out potential issues before we move forward. But remember, Logan, this isn’t just about the team. It’s about making a difference.”

His words hang in the air, and I nod reluctantly. The room’s attention shifts as someone else raises a question, but my thoughts linger. Making a difference sounds good in theory, butI can’t shake the nagging doubt that this is more complicated than it seems. Last time I tried to give back, the tabloids twisted it into a spectacle, making it hard to trust that this won’t end the same way. Maybe it’s because I’ve tried to make a difference before, and it’s blown up in my face. The tabloids spun my past mistakes into a narrative that painted me as reckless, and it’s hard to trust that people will see past that. This campaign—tying my name to the shelter and putting myself out there—feels like stepping into the spotlight again, but with no guarantee it won’t burn me all over.

As the meeting progresses, my focus drifts again. I think about the last time I saw Lucy. It was earlier today, during her adoption event. She’d been in her element, surrounded by kids and animals, her energy lighting up the room. She’s…different from me in every way. Where I’m guarded, she’s open. Where I’m focused on avoiding the past, she seems determined to embrace every moment. That contrast should irritate me, and sometimes it does. But there’s also something about her…her ability to make people feel seen, even when she’s rushing from task to task, that lingers in my mind longer than it should.

Mark’s elbow nudges me out of my thoughts, and I blink, refocusing on the chatter of the room. “You okay?” he whispers, his grin faint but knowing.

For a moment, I just nod, letting the sound of shuffling papers and low voices ground me. The faint smell of coffee mingles with the distant hum of the ice machines.

“You were staring off into space,” he adds, his tone light. “Thinking about your new furry friend?”

“More like thinking about how this whole thing could go sideways,” I mutter, but it’s not the whole truth. Part of my distraction is Lucy. Her name, her energy, and what it means to work with someone so opposite to me.

I give him a flat look, and he grins. “Lighten up, Logan. This could be good for you. Dogs don’t care about your reputation. They just want you to throw a ball.”

“And cats?” I ask dryly.

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