Page 8 of My Lucky Charm

You think there’s friction now?

“We just want to make this transition as smooth as possible,” Dallas says. “For everyone.”

“I’m here to play hockey. That’s it,” I say. “I don’t need some stupid tour guide or nanny or whatever.”

“Not sure that’s true,” Dallas says, wincing a bit.

“Yeah, it’s not,” Turnrose adds. “This isn’t up for debate. And it’s not all our idea, even Rosen agrees.”

They looped the owner of the team in on this? Great.

“Rosen thinks I need a chaperone?” I snarl.

“Not a chaperone,” Dallas says. “Think of her as . . .” He seems to be searching for the least offensive word . . . “an assistant.”

I sigh. Big. And then shrug like there’s nothing else I can say or do here. “Can I go? I need to get in the weight room before the game tonight.”

“You can go after you agree to be nice,” Coach says. “And to listen to what she says.”

I groan. “Whatever, man. If this is what it takes to play hockey, then fine. The rest of it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Look.” Turnrose says. “She’ll make your life easier if you let her. She’ll handle the day to day tasks—errands, shopping, fan mail—stuff you definitely don’t need to be wasting time on. And she’ll be your liaison with the stuff you have to do—charity events, community parties, press conferences.”

My skin crawls at charity events and parties.

“Great.”

“Sending you to these things on your own doesn’t seem like the best idea,” Turnrose says. “We know you’re not happy about this trade.”

Everyone knows I’m not happy about this trade. It’s been all over the news.

Same I don’t care look, same shrug. It’s pointless to protest because nothing is going to change. “What do you want me to say?”

“Say you’re going to play nice.” The voice comes from behind, and it makes me sit up a bit straighter.

I don’t have to turn to know that Mark Rosen has made an appearance. “Because this is how it is.” He strolls in, shakes hands with Dallas and Coach, then faces me. “Look, Hawke. You’re talented. One of the most talented players I’ve seen in a while. But your attitude sucks.”

I bristle. I hate what he’s saying, but I like people who don’t mince words.

“Burke thinks you’re something special. Heck, you’ve been something special since you were thirteen.”

“Is that supposed to motivate me?” I sneer up at Rosen.

His eyebrow raises so subtly I almost miss it. I get the hint.

“Burke came in with a whole case about how you are exactly what the team needs. Fearless. Strong. Proven track record. And you work harder than anyone out there.”

“Yeah, no kidding, and—”

“But you’re a jerk.” He cuts me off. “And a hard teammate. Everyone knows it.” He leans in slightly toward me. “You know it.”

I shift in my seat. He’s not wrong.

“I don’t want there to be any mistake about who’s calling the shots here. That understood?”

My molars could crack under the pressure of my jaw. “Understood.”

“On the ice,” he points, “Burke calls the shots. Period. Off the ice,” he points again, “Turnrose is in charge. I know you’re used to having people cater to you, but that’s not going to happen here. Here, community comes first. So, you attend the charity functions. You come to the social events. And you do the press conferences.” He pauses. “And you’re not a jerk about it.”

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