“I’m old, not made of glass!”
“She’s worried about the Zamboni—it’s finicky,” Harlowe calls.
“You girls are worse than your fathers. You think I don’t know how to ride a finicky machine? I was married to your grandfather for decades.” The Zamboni belches steam.
“Is that the new equipment manager?” I whisper to Ellie, who’s shuffling through papers.
She jumps, and the papers scatter. “My grandmother?” she yelps. “God, no! I mean, I hope not. Dana said I couldn’t hire anyone.” She’s chewing on her lip.
My eyes narrow.
She tugs at the collar of her shirt as I stare at her.
This girl has direct access to Dana Holbrook. Dana Holbrook who hasn’t even gone to a single game and stays locked up in Holbrook Enterprises tower.
It’s not a lead, but it’s a concept of a lead.
“Aren’t you gonna—I mean—” She clears her throat. “Go get changed and get on the ice. Stop creeping around.”
“I was just waiting to see if you were going to come watch. You’re the coach. You’re allowed to be in the locker room whenever you want.” I wink at her.
Her face is tomato red. “That’s your safe space,” she croaks, “so I will be out here. Where everyone is fully clothed.”
“Missing out, Candy Cane.”
Ellie’s obviously not going to make it. She’ll be gone in a couple days, tops. For one, the NHL isn’t going to let some girl coach one of their teams, even if it’s the worst team in the league.
I just have to goad her enough to get Dana Holbrook to come to Maplewood Falls. I’ll steal the billionaire’s laptop or phone or tablet or whatever and then hand over the data to Hudson. Then I’m in the clear.
And the passkey—you need the passkey.
Okay, sure, yeah, but miracles can happen, right?
Yeah, and we could win the Stanley Cup.
It’s a bad plan.
A bad plan is better than no plan.
Well… except if Ellie is the plan to turn the Rhode Islanders into a real NHL team. That’s a terrible plan.
Somehow, the locker room feels even more like a funeral parlor than normal. The captain sets the tone, and Zayne Murphy is slumped over on the bench. Someone has shoved a trash can between his legs.
“He smells bad,” Ziggy complains.
Zayne is not dressed.
“Get your gear on,” I tell him. “We have practice.”
“I thought you were out there making her quit.” Eddie is on his phone.
The only person dressed for practice is the Finnish giant. He makes an angry noise.
I turn on the group. “Practice is already thirty minutes behind schedule. Why the fuck are you fuckers not dressed?”
“But the ice—”
“There’s not—”
