“The ice is not your problem,” I roar.
“It is if I break something,” Eddie snaps.
“Man the fuck up.”
“Who died and made you captain?” the D-man sneers.
I buck up to Eddie. I have thirty pounds and three inches on him.
Hudson’s right—I am not here to play hockey. I’m here to clear my debt. I’m not playing around with Eddie.
Before I can escalate things, Zayne throws up in his trash can.
Cookie makes a face.
Zayne hauls himself upright.
Bramms hands him a bottle of scotch.
“Just a whiff,” Bramms protests when I snarl at him. “Just to take the edge off.”
“Get dressed,” Zayne Murphy rasps. “Coach is waiting.”
“See?”Ellie’s Granny Murray dusts off her hands as we look at the gleaming, freshly cleaned ice. “Told ya! I gotchu, girl.”
The players—already huge men—are even more massive when balanced precariously on the blades of their skates, rolling their shoulders under the pads as they join her out on the ice.
“Changing out of your PJs,” I whisper to her as I pass, “is not gonna be enough to make the guys respect you.” I put my back to her. “Where are the goalies?”
“Traded,” Carlsson says, showing me on his phone. “We’ll have to call up guys from the minors.”
“Does the coach know that’s how it works?” Ziggy smirks.
“I bet we show up on game day and there’s no goalie,” Jovi snickers.
“No phones on the ice,” Ellie orders.
We ignore her. My teammates chirp at each other on the ice, skating around, shoving each other, making raunchy jokes.
“Listen up!” Ellie raises her voice.
The men ignore her.
“If we can all just pay attention and—”
One of the rookies shrieks as his friend shoves him on the ice. They scuffle, wrestling each other, slipping and sliding.
If this was a real NHL team, the captain would never have let that behavior go on. Shoot, one of the alternate captains would have stepped in ten minutes ago.
Zayne Murphy is half passed out, leaning heavily on his stick, his head lolling down.
It’s so early in the season no alternate captains have been named, and well, Ellie’s the only coach in the room.
I wink at her. She looks pissed.
“Man.” Jovi is ADHD-caffeinated on a slushie of energy drinks and Five-hour Energy shots, and buzzing. “You think Ryder O’Connell will sign my puck tonight?”
“You can’t get a player on the opposing team to sign your puck, idiot.” Ziggy gives him a hard shove.
