Page 6 of Taming the Grumpy Hockey Player

Logan

The sharp scrape of skates cutting across the ice echoes through the arena, a rhythm etched into me since childhood. I move with the Timberwolves, every glide and turn precise, every movement timed to perfection. The ice arena at Pine Harbor Community Center hums with focused energy, our drills running like clockwork. The sounds of puck slaps against sticks and the occasional shout from Coach Turner echo in the cavernous space. It feels good—natural—to be here, to let my body take over while my mind clears.

Or, at least, tries to.

Even as I move through the motions, the "Adopt-a-Player" campaign looms in the back of my mind. Between the practice and logistics, I’m constantly thinking about what this partnership means—not just for the team and the shelter, but for me. It’s more than just handing out some flyers or posing for a few pictures. This campaign could shift how people see me. It could change the story that’s been told about me for years. But it’s also a responsibility, one I’m not sure I’m ready to shoulder.

"Logan, your timing’s off," Coach calls from the sidelines. His sharp tone yanks me from my thoughts.

I tighten my grip on the stick, skating back into position. "Got it."

"Hey," Ryan says as we line up for another drill, nudging my shoulder. "Everything okay? You’re skating like your mind’s somewhere else."

"Just thinking," I mutter, not looking at him.

Ryan grins. "Dangerous territory for you, Mitchell. Let me guess… is it the campaign? Or are you finally admitting you’re intimidated by the new rookie?"

I shoot him a flat look, and he laughs, skating ahead. Mark joins in on the ribbing as we complete another round of passing drills, his humor lightening the mood.

It’s moments like these that remind me why I stick around, even when things get tough. These guys—Ryan, Mark, and the rest of the team—are more than just coworkers. They’re the closest thing to family I’ve got outside of Emma. And maybe that’s why this campaign feels like more than just another PR move. It’s not just my image on the line. It’s theirs too.

After practice, I’m barely out of the locker room when Coach corners me in the hallway.

“You have somewhere to be,” he says, his tone making it clear this isn’t a suggestion.

I raise an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“The shelter arranged for you to meet Lewis today. He’s the dog they’ve paired you with for the campaign.”

I glance at my watch, debating whether I can come up with an excuse. But Coach’s expression tells me I’d better not try.

“Fine,” I mutter, hating how easily I cave. “Where am I going?”

Because why not? Sure, let’s add ‘dog bonding’ to the growing list of things I never asked for. I shove my gear into my bag with more force than necessary, irritation bubbling under my skin. Of course, I have to be the one to sell this PR fluff tothe town. Why not pick one of the guys who actually likes dogs? Or better yet, someone who likes talking to people in general? I sling the bag over my shoulder and follow Coach’s directions begrudgingly, already dreading whatever awkward interaction awaits me. I didn’t sign up to be Pine Harbor’s poster boy for pets. But no, Coach insists I have to play nice for the sake of ‘community ties.’

My steps are heavy as I head to the car, the weight of the day—of the campaign—pressing down harder than my equipment bag. If this backfires, it’s going to be my name in the headlines again, not anyone else’s.

The park is quieter than I expect, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow over the playground and picnic tables. Pine Harbor Park has a cozy charm—its winding paths are bordered by lush greenery, and the small pond at its center sparkles under the light. There’s a gazebo off to the side, decked out with twinkling fairy lights left over from the last community event. A group of kids chases each other near the swings while an older couple sits on a bench feeding ducks.

I spot Lucy standing near a fenced dog run, clipboard in hand, her attention focused on a scrappy black-and-white dog bouncing at the end of its leash. Lewis is medium-sized, with a sleek coat that gleams in the sunlight, black patches scattered over a white base like an abstract painting. His floppy ears perk up at every sound, and his dark eyes, filled with curiosity and energy, seem to miss nothing. There’s an eager bounce in his step, as if the world is his playground and every moment is an adventure waiting to be had.

As I approach, Lewis—full of energy—notices me immediately. His floppy ears perk up, and his dark eyes, bright with curiosity, lock onto me before he lets out an excited bark, his tail wagging like a propeller. Lucy glances up, her expressionshifting from neutral to…something else. Not quite annoyance, but close.

“Mitchell,” she says, her voice clipped but polite. “You’re late.”

“Didn’t know this was a timed event,” I reply, stuffing my hands into my jacket pockets. Lewis strains against his leash, clearly eager to close the distance between us.

Lucy sighs, kneeling to scratch behind his ears. “Well, he’s been waiting for you. Haven’t you, Lewis?”

The dog’s enthusiastic response makes me chuckle despite myself. I crouch down, holding out a hand, and Lewis immediately bounds over, sniffing me with unabashed curiosity before licking my fingers. His energy is infectious, and for a moment, I forget to keep my guard up.

“Looks like he likes you,” Lucy says, watching the interaction closely. There’s a hint of surprise in her voice, as if she expected this to go poorly.

“What’s not to like?” I shoot back, scratching under Lewis’s chin. The dog’s tail wags harder, and I feel the faintest tug at something inside me. It’s been a long time since anyone—or anything—looked at me with such unfiltered trust.

Lucy doesn’t respond immediately, and when I glance up, I catch her watching me with an expression I can’t quite read. It’s gone in an instant, replaced by her usual brisk professionalism.

“He’s got a lot of energy,” she says. “But he’s smart. Quick to pick up on commands. I think he’ll be a good match for you.”

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