Because I’m attracted to him. Not just physically, although there’s definitely that, but to the person underneath the reckless exterior. To the person who cares so much about protecting people that he’ll tank his own career to do it.
To the person who asked why I took this job like he actually wanted to know the answer.
I pack up and head back to my office, trying not to think about how close we were sitting.
Trying not to think about what might have happened if we’d stayed in that room any longer.
This is fine.I’m fine.
I just need to maintain professional boundaries and remember why getting involved with a player, especiallythisplayer, is a terrible idea.
Even if part of me is starting to wonder what it would be like if I didn’t.
CHAPTER 7
DANNY
Two gamesin the press box feels like a fucking lifetime.
Watching from upstairs while the team played without me was torture. Not just because I couldn’t play, but because sitting still has never been my thing. I’m built to move, to hit, to be in the middle of the action. Benching me is like caging something that’s supposed to run wild.
But I’m back now, and Colorado’s going to remember it.
Now I’m back on the ice for our game against Colorado, and everything feels right again. The cold air, the sound of skates slashing ice, the weight of the pads. This is where I belong. It’s my sanctuary.
“Welcome back, asshole,” Carter says during warmups.
“Missed you, too.”
“Try not to punch anyone tonight. PR guy probably got an ulcer just from you being back.”
“He’ll survive.”
“How is he?” Carter asks. “Seems a little like an uptight prick.”
I shrug. “Noah’s a good guy. He’s just…a little wound. Guess it’s the job.”
“Noah, huh?” Carter grins. “We’re on a first name basis now?”
“Fuck off.”
The anthem plays we line up, and the puck drops. I’m on the ice for the first shift, and it’s like I never left. Muscle memory kicks in… where to be, when to move, how to read the play. Colorado’s fast, but we’re faster.
The first period is clean, both teams feeling each other out, testing boundaries. I throw a few hits that are legal but hard enough to make a point.
I’m back. Don’t forget it.
Between periods, Coach goes over adjustments to the line. Power play needs work, defensive zone coverage could be tighter. Standard shit. He doesn’t look at me differently than anyone else, which I appreciate. No special treatment, no extra scrutiny, no warning words. It’s just hockey.
Things get interesting in the second period.
Colorado’s frustrated. We’re up 2-1, and they’re playing more aggressive.
One of their defensemen, Henderson, takes off toward our net. He’s a big guy, maybe six-three, and he’s a real dick player. He takes a run at Tate after a whistle. It’s not a dirty enough hit for a penalty, but it’s definitely pushing the line. Then he “accidentally” bumps into Tate while skating back to position.
I’m there before he can do it again.
“Back off.”
