Page 48 of The Pucking Wrong Rookie

CHAPTER11

LOGAN

Warm-ups were supposed to be routine—stretch, skate, shoot, get loose.

Miller…was making them look incredibly difficult. He was barely moving, his face gray and sweaty under his helmet. Every stride looked like it was taking everything he had, and he leaned over and gagged at one point.

It was delightful.

I skated past him, grinning behind my mouthguard. Seeing him like this—sick, weak, floundering—it was better than I’d imagined. The bartender had done good work. It was too bad she couldn’t see him like this, it would be poetic justice for her.

Tampa’s head coach, a barrel-chested guy with a voice like a foghorn, was already on the bench, barking orders. “Miller! You gonna fucking skate, or are you just here to take up space?”

Tyler barely lifted his head, his stick dragging behind him as he shuffled to the boards. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though it was obvious to everyone in the arena with eyes that he wasn’t.

“Bullshit,” the coach snapped. “You look like you’re about to keel over. What the fuck did you do?”

I chuckled under my breath, circling back to grab a puck. Miller shot me a glare, his eyes bloodshot and watery, like he was barely holding it together. He opened his mouth to say something, but his coach cut him off.

“Move your ass, Miller! We don’t have time for this shit!”

Miller turned, his shoulders hunched like a scolded schoolboy, and skated off toward the far end of the rink. If he was trying to prove he was ready to play, he wasn’t doing a great job.

Satisfied, I glanced toward the stands, where the real reason for my focus—or distraction—was sitting. Sloane. She stood out like a diamond in a gravel pit, her sleek outfit and perfect posture screaming sophistication in the sea of jerseys and hats. She wasn’t paying attention to Tyler’s pathetic performance or even the ice. Instead, she was on a call, her pretty face looking distressed.

And then I saw it.

The moment she figured it out.

Her face went pale, her lips parting slightly. She looked up, her eyes scanning the ice like she was searching for something—or someone.

When her gaze locked on me, I knew. She wasn’t guessing anymore. She knew.

She knew I’d hired her.

My heart pounded, but I didn’t look away. Instead, I tilted my head just slightly, giving her a look that I hoped conveyed exactly what I was thinking.Yeah, I hired you. And yeah, I’m not sorry, baby. It’s all going to work out.

Her face froze, and I could see the storm brewing behind her eyes, even from a distance. She turned back to her phone, gripping it tightly as though it might offer her some kind of escape.

Good luck with that, sweetheart.

The sound of Tampa’s coach screaming snapped me out of my trance. Tyler was wobbling again, missing an easy pass and almost taking out one of his teammates in the process.

“For fuck’s sake, Miller! Get off the damn ice!” the coach bellowed.

Tyler skated off, his helmet tilted awkwardly as he slumped onto the bench. The guys around him didn’t even try to hide their disgust, scooting away like he was contagious.

I skated past the boards, my smirk firmly back in place. Warm-ups hadn’t even finished, and I was already winning. And if the drug test results came back the way I expected? This was the last time I’d be playing Tyler this season.

The best part? Sloane was free now—or at least, she was free for me.

And she’d figure that out soon enough.

* * *

The second Miller’s stick came down on my kneecap, I knew I was in trouble. Pain shot through my leg, hot and immediate, and I crumpled to the ice, clutching my knee. The roar of the crowd faded into the background as I gritted my teeth, trying to push through it, trying to get up. But the stabbing pain wasn’t going anywhere.

He had sucked up enough energy to come after me the entire game. But a slash to the knee? That was low, even for him.

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