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“Yeah. Look at the treat Gracie let me have.” She shoved the half-eaten churro at him, a pound of sugar and cinnamon landing at her feet. Almost as much as what coated the corners of her mouth.

“That’s awesome.” He took her hand. “Come on, I think I see Momma Cindy, let’s go so I can ask her out.” Jimenez shot a wink over his shoulder, towing my daughter along.

Worry clawed at my throat. Not at him hitting on my mom. He’d done that for years. It was the look between him and Thatcher.

“Why were you looking for me?” I folded my arms over my chest to hide the way my heart pounded.

Thatcher’s mouth formed a tight line. “Wanted to give you a heads up before the interviews,so you don’t get blindsided⁠—”

“Blindsided by what?”

His eyes flicked to Graciella, then back to me. “Tommy’s getting heat from ownership. Another article dropped.”

The noise of the crowd dulled, even as a cheer broke out somewhere behind me, drowned out by the pulsing in my ears.

“What do you mean, another article?”

Dalton exhaled, digging into his pocket. “This dropped about thirty minutes ago.”

The déjà vu hit full force.

“This is all bullshit.” I shoved the phone back at him like it’d burned me. “None of what it says there about my players is true.” I yanked off my hat, fighting off the urge to toss it on the ground.

Thatcher sighed, pity etched into his face. Same look he’d had when I got injured. “We know the team doesn’t feel this way, and I’m pretty sure I know who leaked this…”

I curled my fist. Vincent Langley.

“But?” I pressed. “I can hear there’s a but in there.”

He tipped his hat, just once. “But Tommy said there are people higher up asking if there’s any validity to the unfit claim.”

“Clearly I’m fit.” Several heads turned our way, and the rumble of the crowd broke through the blood pounding in my ears, reminding me we stood on the edges of a city-wide celebration. I lowered my voice from where it’d gone up a level or two. “We won the damn Stanley Cup. So why are they worried?”

Thatcher winced, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. “They’re more worried about the money. This makes the third article to come out about you, and the board is worried it will affect sales and sponsorships in the coming season. Look…” He clasped my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Don’t worry about it too much. Just make sure your answers are good if you’re asked about it today, and we’ll figure the rest out.”

Sucking in breaths through my nose, trying to lower my heart rate, I leaned in so the people milling about wouldn’t hear. “What are you not telling me, Thatcher?”

His eyes fell closed. “There’s talk of looking for another head coach this offseason.”

It was barely above a whisper, but he might as well have shouted.

Fired.

It was like my career was being yanked out from under me—again. I trusted people outside my circle to have my back, and I was being left hung out to dry.

Just like last time.

“Or…” Graciella cut in, maneuvering herself between Thatcher and me. Shit, I’d completely forgotten she was there, and she was the last person I wanted witnessing my life fall apart. “We could fix it before it gets to that.”

I stared for a beat. “We?”

“Yes, you and me.” She signaled between us with her hand. Smiling at me with glossy lips, like I hadn’t received shit news.

I cocked a brow. “You think I should have you help me with my image?”

Her eyes sparkled, and the hairs on my neck stood on end. Every warning bell sounded.

“Yes, I could help yo⁠—”