Page 2 of Hooked On Them

“Remember, power starts in the core, transfers through the hips, and then to the edges. You’ve got no core drive and hardly any leg engagement. You're relying on your upper body, and that’s what’s holding you back.”

For a moment, that familiar stubborn glint flashed in his eyes, and I braced for another round of testosterone-fueled resistance. But then, surprisingly, he gave a curt nod, his jaw set with determination. “If I don’t feel or see a difference, we go back to my way.”

“Fair enough.” I couldn’t quite suppress my smirk. I knew exactly what he’d discover once he stopped fighting me long enough to practice. The fact that it hadn’t been corrected until now was almost unbelievable. Sometimes the hardest part of coaching wasn’t the technical instruction but managing the egos that came attached to all that talent.

Dominic positioned himself at the far blue line, wearing an expression that screamed malicious compliance. The other players had subtly created distance, forming a loose semicircle as if preparing to witness a car crash in slow motion.

What followed was nothing short of hockey sacrilege.

Dominic pushed off, exaggerating every movement to cartoonish proportions. His arms flailed like he was fighting invisible bees, and his core twisted so dramatically I half-expected to hear his spine crack.

I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood.

Several players snickered. Coach Mendez, one of the assistant coaches, suddenly found his clipboard fascinating. As for the head coach? Thankfully, he was in a meeting with the owners.

Still, it made me uneasy dealing with this bullshit even though before the start of training camp, we’d had a big sit-down to discuss the potential pushback I might get. We’d all agreed that if I wanted to make it with this team, I’d have to be the one to deal with any ridiculous behavior. I’d coached long enough to know that the second I let others get involved, my battle would be lost.

“Wilson, if you’re not going to take this seriously!”

“I’m doing exactly what you said!” He cut another exaggerated crossover, wobbling dramatically before recovering with a flourish. “Power from the core to the hip to the edge!”

My pulse hammered in my ears. Every move I made was scrutinized under a microscope, and the slightest hint of emotion would be twisted into proof that I couldn’t handle the pressure—or worse, that I was too emotional for the job. What would be passionate coaching from a male counterpart would become hysteria from me.

So instead of screaming at him, I put on my best poker face. “Take five and come back when you’re ready to work.”

Wilson skated up to the boards where I was. “What’s wrong, Coach? Not the demonstration you wanted?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Maybe figure skating drills don’t translate to real hockey after all.”

My fingers tightened around my whistle, which his eyes dropped to. Victory was all over his face, and I resisted the urge to shove the whistle where the sun doesn’t shine.

I was acutely aware of all the eyes on us, gauging my reaction, waiting to see if the female coach would crack under pressure. I wouldn’t give them that pleasure.

“What I want is for the highest-paid center to stop skating like a child when he gets tired in the third period. But if you’d rather keep losing races to nineteen-year-old rookies, by all means, continue with your current technique.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’ve been skating this way my entire career.”

“And you’ve been leaving points on the table the entire time.”

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. I’d struck a nerve. Good. Maybe beneath all that arrogance was an actual competitor who cared about improvement.

“Coach Lovell said?—”

“Coach Lovell isn’t here,” I cut him off, my patience wearing dangerously thin. “I am. And right now, I’m telling you that your skating is holding you back from being elite.”

His jaw tightened. “Elite? I’m already?—”

“Already what? Coasting on raw talent and your last name?” I lowered my voice, making sure only he could hear me. “You could be so much more, Wilson, if you’d get out of your own way.”

His nostrils flared, a vein in his forehead throbbing visibly enough that I half-expected it to burst. For a split second, I swore something vulnerable flashed across his eyes as if I’d peeled back the cocky veneer and found the insecure little boy desperate for his daddy’s approval.

But then his lips curled into that infuriating smirk. “You know what your problem is, Hastings?”

“Please, enlighten me.” I matched his volume. “I’m positively dying to hear the psychological assessment from a man who still thinks Axe body spray is cologne.”

“Your problem is?—”

“Hey, Coach!” Miles skated past where Dominic and I were having our spat and stopped at the boards where Coach Lovell and one of the team owners stood. Their eyes were locked on me and Dominic.

Dominic’s face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning who’d just unwrapped a flamethrower. The smirk morphed into a full-blown grin that screamedcheckmate.

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