Page 2 of Shift Change

Seeing him in person was surreal. He was a legit legend, and not only because of his highlight-reel goals. Not long after the Warriors traded for Harper, they went from ho-hum team to Stanley Cup champs. He’d changed everything, and now, with Jax Wyatt retired, Harper wore the C.

He stopped in front of me and offered a hand. “Hey, Chuck.” His grin was wide and friendly, his baby face completely at odds with his take-no-prisoners playing style. After we shook, he said, “Welcome to the Warriors. I’m Harper. You have any trouble getting to town?”

I stammered, sounding like a brainless fanboy. “Not at all, and I know who you are. You graduated from Mohegan the spring before my first year there.”

He placed a hand on my back and guided me into the room. “That’s right, but I’ve heard about you. You’re friends with Eckie, and he and I are good buddies. We were road roomies when I played for the Barracudas.”

“Love Eckie,” I said. “He was my first friend at Mohegan. A couple of days ago, he called to congratulate me on the call-up.”

“We’re all happy you’re here. With Carson out for the rest of the year, we’re hurting for another good winger.” We stopped in front of a stall with my name and number already on it. “This is you.”

It hit me all at once. The massive oval room was polished to a shine, and the Warriors’ logo glowed overhead like a beacon hung by the hockey gods themselves. The air was thick with the familiar mix of sweat and damp gear, and voices bounced off the walls. Everywhere I looked were faces I’d grown up watching on TV. Logan Grayson finished lacing his skates, then glanced over and gave me an upward nod.Holy fuck. In high school, I had his poster taped to my bedroom wall.

I’d spent my entire life dreaming of this moment, and the emotions surged so fast my eyes stung.Hell no.I blinked hard and clamped my jaw, willing the lump in my throat to go down. The last thing I needed was to be the rookie who cried on his first day.

Harper was watching me, so I swallowed and rasped out, “I’m thrilled to be here.”

His eyes softened. “Take it easy and find time to enjoy yourself. We’ve all had our first days in the league, and it’s something you’ll remember for the rest of your life.”

I took a deep breath, glad he understood. “Thanks, Harper.”

“Call me Harpy,” he said, “and Eckie says you go by Mad Dog.”

“Yup, that’s me.”

He nodded, then looked around and bellowed, “Warriors! Listen up.”

The din of voices quieted, and a guy called out, “Who’s your friend, Harpy?”

I looked over, and it was Gabe Donovan, the Warriors’ starting goalie.Fuck, he signed a program for me once.

Harpy spoke to everyone. “Boys, this is Mad Dog. He’s come from the Soldiers to save our asses, so let’s give him a welcome he won’t forget.”

Everyone clapped once, sharp as a gunshot, then unleashed a blood-curdling scream so loud it practically ripped the air in half. My stomach lurched, and a shiver ran up my spine.

When the echo faded, the silence left in its wake was just as intense. Harpy turned back to me. “That’s our battle cry. You’ll get used to it.”

I wasn’t so sure. My pulse was still drumming in my ears, but damn if it wasn’t the most badass welcome I’d ever had.

“Out of the way, Harpy. Let us get to him.”

It was Logan, and I barely had time to wonder what he would do when he “got to me” before he was shaking my hand and pounding me on the back. One by one, guys came over and said a quick hello.

After my introduction, the men headed for the ice. I hadn’t even put on my practice gear, and a quick glance at my watch confirmed it was already past starting time.

Harpy nodded toward my stall. “You should get changed. Coach had a last-minute meeting, so he pushed practice back half an hour. Get into your gear, and we’ll go warm up.”

He stuck around while I got dressed, making sure I had what I needed and keeping the conversation easy. We talked about Mohegan and then about Eckie. Harpy asked about my time in Syracuse, and I managed to string a few coherent thoughts together. He had a steady, nothing-rattles-me presence, and somehow, he kept me from crawling out of my skin. When we left for the ice, my heart was still racing, but it was more from excitement than nerves. No wonder they made him captain.

Coach Criswell barely spared me a glance before tossing out a gruff, “Welcome, Madison,” and getting down to business. No warm speeches, no unnecessary introductions—just right into the drills. Good. That, I could handle. But then he called for a scrimmage and put me in Carson’s old spot—left wing on the first line, with Harpy at center and Richie Mason on Harpy’s right. I got sweaty before we even lined up.

Way to put me on the spot, Coach.

The first few shifts were messy because Harpy, Richie, and I weren’t reading each other yet. Passes didn’t land clean, and I wasn’t sure whether to push in deep or hold back for coverage. I knew how to play the game, but instincts were different with every line, and my timing was half a second off. Harpy and Richie were the complete opposite. Fast and smart, they talked, adjusted, and filled the gaps without hesitation. They pulled me into their rhythm, making it seem easy. Soon, I was skating like I’d actually been on ice before, and the puck found my blade without me having to reach for it.

Somewhere in the back of my head, I registered what I saw in Harpy’s game: here and there were flashes of Benny Caldwell’s influence. Caldwell was the coach at Mohegan, so Harpy had Caldwell’s precision layered over his own style.

By the time Criswell called for the second period, our line wasn’t merely clicking; we were flying. The game slowed, the way it does when everything’s right. Ten minutes in, we were stringing together plays like we’d been doing it all year, and I was playing the best hockey of my life. I had no illusions about staying on the first line because I was sure Criswell was testing things out. It didn’t matter, though. I belonged out there, and I wanted him to see it.

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