I finally look at Josie and she meets my gaze, those sparkling green eyes steady as hell. There's no hint of the wild, desperate woman from Breakers the other night, the one that followed me to the bar and looked to do something reckless.
There's nothingrecklessabout her.
Just a cool, collected woman who won't stop looking at me.
"Can't we just… play better?" My voice comes out flat. "Win some games?"
Coach Pearson, without looking up from scribbling on his notepad, lets out a low grunt.
“You’d think,” he says, his tone dryer than the sand outside the arena. He tosses his pen onto the table. “But if playing better was the whole answer, Declan, we wouldn’t be sitting in this room right now, would we?"
"Well, no. But—"
"We’d be out on the ice. But the puck don’t lie, son. And neither do the empty seats.”
Fuck.
It lands exactly as intended. A direct hit to my already-bruised ego.
“Hear that, Cap?” Beck whispers from beside me. “Coach just said you suck at more than just TikTok.”
I elbow him in the ribs. He lets out a satisfyingoofbut his grin doesn’t falter.
Colin is looking more and more like a man who deeply regrets every life choice that led him to this moment.
Across the table, Josie doesn’t blink. Her once irresistible lips are now pressed into a thin line, yet somehow, I still can't look away.
“What Coach is trying to say, in his own…diplomaticway,” Colin says, shooting Pearson a look, “is that playing better is Step One. Josie’s plan is Step Two throughOne Hundred. They’re not mutually exclusive. We need both.”
Josie nods, taking back the reins smoothly as she swipes at a loose strand of hair. My eyes track the movement like a fucking hawk, and here I am, trying to argue about letting our hockey do the talking while my body’s ready to drag her across this conference table and remind her who's in charge here.
“Exactly. The product on the ice has to be excellent. But we also have to make sure people know it’s excellent.” She leans forward again, her gaze sweeping the table but somehow always circling back to me. “This isn’t about replacing hard work with hashtags. It’s aboutamplifyingthe hard work you’re already doing, Declan.”
I pick up the pen again.Click. Click. Click.
Her voice is calm and reasonable. Infuriatingly so.
Why the hell is she targeting me? Mason's eye is twitching at the thought of this too.
I lean forward with a sigh, scanning the room for an ally.
"Come on. You both know this bull shit won't work. Winning fixes everything. We need to focus on the ice."
Colin sighs, the sound of a man who’s had this argument too many times.
"Declan, we're going around in circles here. If we had time for that strategy, I'd agree with you. But we don't. The league wants results now. Onandoff the ice."
Josie’s calm voice cuts between us. "We're not saying winning won't help. But winning in an empty arena doesn't save a franchise. You need people in seats. You need jerseys sold."
I shake my head and let out a frustrated groan.
I hate this.
I hate cameras. I hate beingonall the time, performing for people who don't actually care about the game, just the spectacle of living vicariously through people like me.
And you know the problem with that? Why they shouldn't idolize men like me?
They don't know what I've been through.
