Page 33 of Bar Down

What followed was hockey perfection. Dmitri carried over the blue line at full speed, drawing the defender before dropping a no-look pass to Kane cutting through the middle. Kane faked a shot, freezing the goaltender, then slid the puck to Chenny on the back door.

Tap-in. 2-2.

The Chill bench erupted. Marcus allowed himself a rare fist pump as he skated past. Coach Vicky's tight smile flashed as he returned for a line change.

"Fucking beautiful read," she acknowledged, thumping his shoulder pads. "Textbook execution."

The momentum swung hard in their favor. Toronto called timeout, but the Chill had found their groove. Marcus felt it—that collective rhythm when a team suddenly clicks. With five minutes left, they earned a power play when Toronto's defenseman got his stick between Dmitri's legs on a zone entry.

Marcus took his position at the point, surveying the offensive zone like a general. This was his element—seeing the patterns, identifying weaknesses, exploiting opportunities. Kane controlled the puck along the half-boards, Toronto's penalty kill collapsing toward him. Marcus recognized the formation—the same defensive overcommitment Boston had shown last week. He shifted to the center point, signaling with a subtle stick tap.

Kane saw it—the captain always did—firing a pass to Marcus at the blue line. Instead of the expected shot, Marcus immediately redirected to Dmitri on the opposite side. Toronto's defense scrambled, leaving a seam that Dmitri exploited with a rocket to the top corner.

3-2 Chill.

As the team celebrated, Marcus glanced toward the press area. Stephanie was on her feet, professional composure abandoned in the excitement. Their eyes locked across the distance, her smile brilliant and unreserved. Something kicked in his chest—a feeling that had nothing to do with hockey strategy and everything to do with that kiss in her office.

The final minutes passed in lockdown defensive play. Toronto pulled their goalie for an extra attacker with ninety seconds left. Marcus and Jax dug pucks out of corners, cleared rebounds, and denied zone entries with punishing efficiency. When a Toronto forward tried cutting through the slot, Marcus stepped into him with a clean, crushing hit that sent him sprawling.

"That's how we fucking do it!" Jax roared as they cleared the zone again.

When the final horn sounded, satisfaction surged through Marcus—a road win against his hometown team, sweeter because Stephanie had witnessed it.

In the locker room, media crowded around Kane and Dmitri. Marcus sat quietly in his stall, starting his recovery routine. He unwrapped the tape from his shin pads, revealing an angry welt already darkening from the blocked shot. He'd ice it later. Standard procedure.

His phone buzzed with a text.

Impressive defensive read on that game-tying play. Your analytical mind is even sharper on the ice than in meetings.

Heat spread through his chest at Stephanie's recognition of his contribution. Not that he needed validation, but hers mattered in a way most praise didn't.

He typed back:Statistical probability of you understanding hockey systems that well: 94%.

Her response came quickly:Busted. I've been studying game tape to keep up with you. Amara mentioned your mother's maple cookies today. Any chance those will be at dinner tomorrow?

Marcus stared at the message. He hadn't told Stephanie about his mother's cookies. And he definitely hadn't told her he'd ditched lunch with Amara to dig into Reed's history.

"Your sister is delightful," Stephanie said from the doorway, amusement dancing in her eyes. "We had a most illuminating lunch while you were busy running your unauthorized investigation into Preston Reed and my time in Boston."

Marcus looked up, genuinely surprised. "You went to lunch with her? I thought you had calls."

"After you canceled on her to do your research," Stephanie entered the locker room, ignoring curious glances from teammates. "she called me directly when you bailed. Said something about not wasting the reservation because you’re obsessed with taking down some Boston bigwig.”

"I wanted to know my enemy.”

“Then you should have gone to lunch and hung around the arena. He was here today.”

“Reed?” Marcus thought about the suit next to her and for a moment he saw red. “That’s who that guy was who was talking to you.”

"Yup.”

Around them, players finished interviews and headed to the showers. Kane caught Marcus's eye from across the room, giving a thumbs up before herding remaining media toward the door.

When they had relative privacy, Stephanie spoke again, her voice lower. "Reed approached me before the game. He's targeting your position now, because of our alliance."

"Makes sense after what I found about his Boston tactics. His pattern is isolating and discrediting anyone who challenges him."

"That's why we need to reconsider our strategy and stop working together, stop seeing each other," she insisted.

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