Page 24 of Bar Down

"Eyes up, Adeyemi!" Coach Vicky barked as a pass from Kane nearly sailed past him.

Marcus snapped back to attention, adjusting his position just in time to catch the puck and fire a hard outlet pass to Dmitri streaking up the wing. The Russian winger transitioned smoothly into the offensive zone, completing the breakout drill with a slick finish.

"Better," Coach nodded. "Again."

They ran the sequence again, Marcus forcing his attention on the ice rather than wondering why Stephanie had blown him off in their texts this morning. She'd canceled their strategy session with some bullshit about "ownership meetings" that Coach Vicky knew nothing about when he'd casually asked.

Something was off, and the uncertainty gnawed at him.

"Spreadsheets, pair up with Thompson for D-zone coverage," Coach called, pointing toward the end of the ice where Jax was already setting up.

Marcus pushed off, skating toward his defensive partner with powerful strides. Six-foot-four and built like a concrete wall, Jax was the physical hammer to Marcus's tactical chisel—a pairing Coach Vicky had doubted initially but that had become the team's shutdown duo.

"Your head's somewhere else today," Jax commented as they took position.

"Focused on the drill," Marcus countered, dropping into his stance.

Jax snorted. "Yeah, and I'm secretly a figure skater. Your eyes keep drifting to the stands. Specifically to a certain PR director with killer legs."

Marcus didn't bother denying it. Jax read people as well as he read opposing forwards—a skill that made him both an excellent defenseman and an annoying teammate.

"Professional concerns," Marcus said flatly.

"Professional. Right." Jax adjusted his helmet. "Look, I don't give a shit about locker room gossip, but whatever's happening between you two is messing with your game. Fix it."

Before Marcus could respond, Coach blew her whistle, sending Kane, Dmitri, and Chenny charging into their defensive zone. Marcus cleared his head, dropping into the familiar rhythm of shutdown defense. Read the rush. Identify the threat. Position. Anticipate.

Kane, always crafty, feinted left then cut right, looking for a seam. Marcus shadowed him, stick in the passing lane, body angled to cut off the space. Kane tried a drop pass to Chenny, but Marcus had seen the play developing before Kane even thought of it. He intercepted cleanly and rifled the puck up the boards to clear the zone.

"That's what I'm talking about!" Coach shouted approvingly.

The drill continued, five more rushes that Marcus handled with increasing confidence. The game reclaimed him, pushing aside thoughts of amber eyes and ignored messages.

Until the sixth rush, when he glanced toward the stands again and Dmitri caught him flat-footed, blowing past for a clean shot on goal.

"Goddammit, Adeyemi," Coach growled as Liam fished the puck from the net. "Whatever's in your head, check it at the fucking boards. We leave for Toronto tomorrow and I need you locked in."

Toronto. His hometown. Usually his favorite road trip, a chance to see his sister and grab dinner at his mother's place. But with the ownership mess and why Stephanie hadn’t returned his texts...

"Yes, Coach," he acknowledged, tapping his stick on the ice in the universal hockey gesture of "my bad."

As practice ended, Marcus headed for the tunnel, yanking off his helmet and gloves. Stephanie had vanished from the stands—probably hiding in her office to avoid the conversation he was damn well going to make happen.

In the locker room, he showered quickly and threw on the dark gray suit he'd picked out that morning. He didn't usually give a shit about clothes, but he'd noticed Stephanie's eyes lingered longer when he wore dark colors. Not that he was trying to manipulate her—just playing the odds.

He found her exactly where he expected—in her office, door closed, phone pressed to her ear as she paced by the window. Her expression was tight, controlled in the way he recognized from post-game media disasters.

Marcus waited in the corridor, making his presence obvious without barging in. When she finally ended the call and opened the door, surprise flashed across her face before her professional mask slammed back into place.

"Marcus. I was just about to text you."

"I thought you were avoiding me." He'd never seen the point in circling around the net when a straight shot would do.

Her eyes narrowed. "I told you, I have ownership meetings."

"No, you don't. I checked with Coach Vicky." He held her gaze steadily. "Whatever's happening, lying to me isn't going to fix it."

Stephanie glanced past him to the corridor, then reluctantly waved him into her office. As she closed the door, Marcus noticed the tension in her shoulders, the slight imperfections in her usually flawless appearance—a strand of hair falling loose, a coffee stain on a discarded napkin suggesting she'd already downed multiple cups.

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