Page 3 of Heartless As Puck

We all followed the movement. A tall, broad-shouldered guy with a bit of a gut and a stubbled chin straightened from where he’d been leaning against the wall beside the door. He unhooked his thumbs from his pockets and removed his ball cap.

“Hi, all.” He spoke in a slow drawl, but his gaze was sharp. “You can call me Coach or Coach Dunn. I’m looking forward to getting to know you all and figuring out how we can work together to turn this team around. Before we get to it, I want you to know that I won’t tolerate the kind of antics your last coach did. There will be no bullying and no dirty plays. Anyone who causes problems will be dealt with.”

Judging by his expression, he expected protests, but I, for one, was relieved. Our last coach had let the bully of a captain, Taggert, get away with whatever he wanted. A stricter approach was just what we needed. But how could I impress him?

“We want to make this team one that knows how to win and one that has no reason to be called the loose cannons of the league. We expect your whole-hearted commitment to our goal.”

Reading between the lines, he was warning us to work hard and be on our best behavior. What would happen if anyone refused to play nice? Would they be traded too?

“There’s no proper training today,” he went on. “Instead, there will be a casual skate in half an hour, so I can get an initial impression of where you’re all at. Training camp will begin properly tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

My stomach dropped. So I wouldn’t have the opportunity to show him my full range of skills today. Oh well. At least I’d have time to prepare for tomorrow.

Dunn and Willets left the room, leaving us to talk between ourselves.

Nick leaned toward me. “How many people are missing? Do you think they’ve been traded?”

“At least two.” I looked around, taking a mental inventory of who’d been on the team last season but wasn’t here today. A couple of players had retired, but it was still clear that several others were absent.

“Four.”

We both turned to Jane, who’d dragged her chair closer and was studying her tablet, a cute little furrow between her eyebrows.

She raised her head and met our eyes. “Taggert, Halonen, Tremblay, and Olson. There are four players present who’ve transferred in from other teams—Gauthier, Fox, Elliot, and Schmidt—potentially replacements because they play the same positions.”

I barely resisted the urge to pump my fist. If Taggert had been kicked off the team, that was the best news I’d heard in years.

Nick looked impressed with Jane. “Are you sure you’re happy staying with Heartless Harris? I could use an assistant.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t call him that. And yes, I’m happy where I am.”

A flicker of warmth lit inside me. It was hardly surprising that some smart-ass had come up with that moniker, considering how hard I concentrated on hockey to the exclusion of all else—including my social life. But I only kept to myself because I’d learned early on that the people closest to me could inflict the most damage—thanks, Dad—so it felt nice to be defended.

“Are you going to call your agent?” Jane asked me.

“I suppose I’d better.” He didn’t like being kept in the dark. He expected to know things within seconds of them happening. Especially potentially career-altering changes such as this. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

I strode out into the corridor to make the call, arranging to meet with him tomorrow.

When I reentered the meeting room, Nick was chatting with Jesse, one of the younger players on the team, and Jane was still on her tablet. Sometimes I wondered if it was glued to her hand.

My agent had asked for her to compile any information she had about the changes and trades, so I passed along the message, and she said she’d do it right away. I’d known she would. I’d had assistants before her, but none as well-rounded and competent as her.

“You’d better get your gear from the car and get changed,” she said, looking up briefly. “You don’t want the new guys to show you up after all the hours you’ve put in.”

She passed me the keys, and I hurried down the stairs and out the side door to the parking lot to grab my duffel bag from the back seat. As I carried it inside, Jane came down the stairs, and I returned the keys to her.

“Good luck,” she said with a hint of a smile.

“Thanks.” I hoped I didn’t need it. I’d been working my ass off, not just the past few weeks—to get up to standard before the season began—but for my whole damn life.

She brushed past me and disappeared through the door. Behind me, someone sighed. I looked over at Matt, one of the defensemen, who’d been watching our exchange.

“I have no idea why the hell someone like Jane is working for you,” he said, stuffing his free hand into his pocket.

I frowned. If that was some sort of slight against Jane, we were going to have a problem.

“Matthews. Harris. Enough chitchat. Get changed,” Willets barked.