I have no idea what my dad has told his team about me, and since I’ve been actively avoiding him all day, I’m walking in blind. Add that to the absolute stench of unwashed hockey gear I’ll be dealing with later, and this might just be my very own personal hell. Girls always think hockey players are so hot and sexy until they have to smell their gear.
I am sitting in the hallway, waiting for the guys to get here. It’s quiet, two hours before the start of thegame, but that will change as people start piling into the rink. I probably have fifteen more minutes of peace before it gets chaotic. I spent the afternoon rewriting my notes from this morning more neatly and adding dates to my calendar. School was never my strong suit, but I also never applied myself all that much either. I’m hoping, if I actually try, that 3.0 GPA I need won’t be completely out of reach.
My job tonight is to collect laundry, straighten up the locker room when the guys are out skating, make sure they all have towels and water, and generally stay out of everyone’s way. Here’s hoping I can remain relatively invisible.
I hear the team before I see them. Loud whoops echo through the hallway, then they’re in my line of sight.
I used to love hockey. As a teenager I’d go to games all the time with my dad, and even drool over the hockey players. Don’t tell any of the Wolverines, but I still love it as an adult. That said, once I was old enough to start catching the attention of the guys on the ice, I realized just how disastrous a combination of good looks, talent, and unlimited access to puck bunnies can be. It took me all of one failed relationship—looking at you, Jacob Pearlman—to pretty much swear off NHL players for life.
A tall blond with shaggy hair spots me first. I know this guy. The Wolverines’ resident golden boy, Beck Larsson—gorgeousandridiculously nice. There isn’t a single media outlet that has ever said a bad word against him.
“Monroe!” Beck’s grin lights up his entire face. “I heard you were working at the rink. Elsie’s got you coming here, too?”
I force a tight smile at the right winger. Beck cocks his head at me, and I nod.
Rhodes walks up behind Beck and slaps his shoulder. “Abrams,” he locks eyes with me and nods before pushing open the locker room double doors. Beck’s eyes flit back and forth between us, a smirk ghosting the corners of his mouth.
He narrows his eyes at me and I roll mine back. He huffs a laugh. “See ya, Monroe.”
The rest of the team filters in, most of them ignoring me completely. Some faces I recognize from past seasons’ rosters. Others are new. It’s always a weird transition period after major trades—everyone still figuring out how to play nice. It gives my dad a major headache when this much upset happens at one time.
Jax Callahan brings up the rear of the team, sauntering in behind everyone else. He’s scrolling on his phone with one hand, the other hauling his hockey bag. You can tell by his behavior both on and off the ice that he thinks he’s hot shit.
Rhodes used to be that way too, but he seems to have mellowed out a ton this year. Well, his behavior off ice, anyway. The fights on the ice obviously aren’t ideal. I push down the part of me that wonders why Rhodes is struggling with that now.
Jax looks up as he passes me. His gaze flicks down my body, slow, assessing. I suppress a shiver. I take it back—Rhodes wasn’t quite this bad, actually. Jax just gives me the creeps.
“And who are you, gorgeous?” He grins, leaning against the doorframe.The girl you shouted at at the rink a few days ago,I want to reply, but I don’t blame him for not recognizing me.
Aside from the fact that I actually showered today—did my hair, put on some makeup—I hadn’t been around the Wolverines in over a year, and Jax wasn’t local. There wasn’t really a reason for him to recognize me. Unless he was really scouring Dad’s desk and happened to see a photo of me, I’d be just another girl at the rink to him.
“Jax.” My dad’s voice cuts through the air from behind him. “Leave my daughter alone, please.”
Jax’s eyes widen at me, and he mouths,“Coach’s daughter?”with a shit-eating grin.
My lip curls in disgust as he pushes off the wall and drags his bag into the locker room.
I make eye contact with my dad before he follows Jax in to start their pre-game meeting. He nods once, then beckons me inside so I can get back to my job.
* * * *
I am watching the game from the TV in the locker room. I don’t feel like sitting in a crowd of people, and I had a ton of stuff to do while the guys were on the ice. Plus, I can’t stop my hands from shaking thanks to the no-alcohol situation these days and I’m not in the mood to try to cover it up right now.
Rhodes is sitting in the press box because of his suspension, and he looks absolutely furious. The cameras keep panning up to him. His fists haven’t unclenched the entire game.
On the ice, it’s an absolute disaster. Jax refuses to pass the puck. Beck, typically one of the stronger players, is struggling with the lack of support from his linemates. Weston Matthews, the new goalie, has let in every soft shot so far. It’s four-zero and near the end of the third period.Pull it together, Wolverines.
A buzzer sounds to end the game, and I get up. The guys will be back in here any minute for their post-game meeting, then jump into interviews, and I don’t feel like being in here to witness the tantrum that’s guaranteed to ensue from probably everyone. Rhodes, my dad, anyone who was wide open when Jax didn’t pass the puck.
There are still a few towels on the ground, so I scoop those up, toss them into my laundry basket, and move into the shower area to sort what I have. I hear the players come in, shouting loudly.
“What the fuck was that?” Rhodes explodes with all the fury he’s been holding in the entire game. His voice shakes dangerously. “None of you are playing like you’ve ever picked up a fucking stick in your entire lives.”
Team members shout over him, calling out his suspension as part of the reason they sucked tonight. I wince because they’re not entirely wrong, and I know that’s got to hurt to hear.
Beck interjects between the yelling to say, “It was a rough night, guys. It’s not Rhodes’ fault we weren’t playing as a team.” There are mixed grumblings, but eventually everyone quiets down.
I’m not even pretending to listen to anything in my headphones. I’m fully eavesdropping now. “Jax,” Rhodes starts in on the rookie, “you lost your fucking mind in the second and third. Quit hogging the puck and use the other players. They’re yourteamfor a reason.”