Page 46 of Shots Fired

Thigh Boy: See you tomorrow night. Stay pretty, A, x.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ARCHER

I’m on for my first shutout of the season when the Philly center—and my former captain—picks up a loose puck, reaching it just before Sawyer.

Shit. Their rookie winger is one of the fastest in the league as he comes barreling toward me, catching up to his captain and leaving me in a two-to-one situation and our slender one-goal lead at risk.

It’s only the preseason, but as I’ve learned over the years, good habits start early, and with only an away series in Boston left to play before the regular season starts, I need this final play to go my way.

Typically, their center likes to deke—faking to pass off to his wingman before taking the move on himself. I’m not falling for that shit though. I’ve played with and against him enough seasons to know where he’s going with this. Top right with a snapshot.

And that assumption is my first mistake. My second is ignoring the rookie and first-round draft pick when their captainfires a pass to him at the final second, immediately followed by a onetime slapshot, heading for the bottom left.

I keep the puck out, dropping into the splits, the very edge of my pad making contact with the puck, but not in the way I wanted it. It spills out with zero control or direction, only to find their captain’s stick and, consequently, the top right, just as I originally anticipated.

The lamp lights, and I flop onto the ice, frustrated. The only saving grace is the empty arena since tonight is a simple friendly away from the media rather than an exhibition game.

I look across at Coach as he scrubs a hand over his jaw before holding it out to shake with the Philly coach. The game ending one to one.

“I should’ve been on the puck. That goal’s on me, man.” Sawyer glides across, pulling up just in front of me as I climb back to my feet.

I shake my head. “Nah. They exposed my weakness. Coach has been talking to me about rebound control, and my low angle game has been off for a while.”

“That reach was wild! Unlucky on the rebound.” Jack slides up to me, chewing on the corner of his mouth guard.

“Yeah, Archer isn’t seeing it that way,” Sawyer replies for me, skating off to head for the locker room.

I should do the same, but right now, the only thing holding up my mood is the thought of finally seeing Darcy tonight.

I pull off my helmet, smiling at Jack. “I’m getting in my head over the shutout record I set in my rookie season. I should be way ahead of that by now.”

Jack looks confused. “You are way ahead of it.” He thumbs behind him toward the emptying ice, and it’s then that I notice Coach as he makes his way over. “When I arrived at training camp at the start of my first preseason, all I could think was how fucking relieved I was, playing for you and not against you.”

I clamp a gloved hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. In the brief seconds we make eye contact, the urge to tell him exactly what’s happening with Darcy overwhelms me. The wordsI’ve got feelings for your sisterare right there—teasing, taunting, telling me owning up and being honest is the right thing to do.

“All right, Morgan, nice play out there.”

On Coach’s approach, Jack spins around, a moment of pride passing between him and his stepdad before he skates off toward the tunnel, leaving me feeling anything but proud over my performance on the ice and lack of balls off it.

“Before you say anything, I know.” I speak first, eager to get to the point. “I fucked up and should’ve anticipated the pass. I also need to work on my rebound distribution.”

Coach runs a hand through his dark hair, zero signs of frustration. “Yeah, it wasn’t the best, but the initial reach was excellent.” He releases a long breath as I turn and grab my water bottle from the goal. “I want to try a new approach with your training and was going to speak with you about it after conditioning tomorrow. However, now seems like the best time.”

Taking a pull from my bottle, I snap the lid shut and eye him for signs of being dropped to the farm team. “Should I be worried?”

Coach shakes his head with a dismissive laugh, and I heave a sigh of relief.

“Jensen Jones.”

“What about him?”

He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “He’s a good friend of mine and former Scorpions teammate. Recently retired from the game.”

“Go on,” I reply, already knowing all this.

“His rebound game is generally acknowledged to be one of the best ever seen, and I’m calling in a favor with him. He’s agreed to temporarily join the coaching staff and work specifically with you. I think if we can get this element of your game nailed down, then you’ll be unstoppable.” He chuckles. “Maybe not the best analogy for a goalie, but you catch my drift.”

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