Page 9 of Play Dirty

“Yeah,” Mercer grunted.

His voice was like gravel, dragged over steel. The affirmation still felt good.

I kept on tapping, switching windows, taking notes. Lining up the data over multiple spreadsheets, so I could compile it later on. Patterns would emerge. Patterns always emerged.

The team stayed out longer than they should’ve. They ran drills that blurred into a scrimmage, which turned into sort of an actual game. Mercer let it happen, taking his own mental notes. The team was fast. Physical. Messy.

But it was also very, very talented.

That much was immediately obvious.

I shook my head, more in awe than in disappointment. The Reavers were a complete shitshow, cooperation-wise. But if they could ever learn to work together…

“OFF!”

Coach Mercer’s bark echoed across the ice, in lieu of an actual whistle. One by one the players peeled off, their skates kicking up snow as their blades dug in. Helmets and gloves came off. Some ditched their sticks before skating over to gather around. Grayson took his place up front, a towel slung over his shoulder. His body still heaved with the exertion of playing hard. His way-too-handsome face was covered in sweat.

“That,” Mercer said, jerking his chin out over the ice, “is exactly why you’re a .500 team.”

There was little reaction among them. A few of the guys looked down, briefly.

“You’ve got the skill,” he went on. “I’ve seen enough mediocre players to tell you that. You’ve got the size, too. Some of you sons of bitches look like you’ve been snacking on butter. You also have the speed.”

He paused for a moment, his stubbled face adopting more of a scowl.

“What you don’t have, is anything resembling a system that holds up under pressure.”

Ares shifted a little. Grayson didn’t.

“That’s where she comes in,” Mercer grunted, nodding my way.

The shift in attitude was immediate, the team’s body language speaking volumes. A few pairs of eyes shifted toward me, but only in curiosity. The rest outright refused to look.

“She’s going to take what you’ve got,” Mercer went on, “and turn it into something that actually wins games.”

There was a beat of silence. Then—

“Really?”

Grayson’s expression went beyond skepticism. His pretty boy mouth twisted into a smirk.

“And how’s she going to do that? By fucking magic?”

A few of the guys laughed, but only briefly. Mercer scowled them into silence.

“She’s a complete stranger,” Grayson added, like he was stating something obvious. “She doesn’t even know us.”

More agreement followed. More nods, and shifting of weight.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Mercer open his mouth to say something else. This time I stopped him.

“You’re right,” I said simply.

I let the statement land. As the seconds ticked awkwardly by, more eyes shifted my way.

“I don’t know any of you,” I went on. “Not personally.”

I tapped the edge of my tablet a few times, with an extended finger.