Page 5

I swipe my towel across my forehead, sweat still pouring from me. Jon wasn’t kidding when he said the next couple of weeks would be tough. “I was just talking to Archer about it. He already told me I was going.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Getting to know the resident playboy, huh? He’s a good guy. They all are in their own way. Like I told you a few weeks back, the team has been fractured by poor performances and angry fans. There’s a lot of work to be done, not just on the ice, but in the locker room too.”

I nod in understanding. “The trainer paired us up today, but, yeah, the team is cliquey, and right now, I’m talking to anyone who will look my way.”

“Hmm …” Jon looks down and scuffs the floor with his trainer. “Talked to Tyler yet?”

He knows the score between us from the days when he coached us both in college. Being honest, I don’t know how much Jon knew about the reasons why we didn’t see eye to eye, but I’m pretty sure one of them wasn’t the hots I had for Tyler’s girlfriend. I worked pretty hard to keep that part hidden. Even ifTyler could tell I thought he was dating a girl way above him, we never actually came to blows over it. Jon just knew our personalities clashed.

“He welcomed me to New York,” I reply with humor.

“You both need to bury the hatchet. This isn’t the NCAA anymore, Jack.” His tone is serious, and my smile fades when I see the look on his face, one I haven’t noticed before—or at least, it’s never been directed at me. “Go out tonight,” he continues. “Make an effort witheveryone, and for the love of God, stay off the booze. I have sprints lined up for tomorrow, and I’ll be able to tell who made the right choices the night before and who didn’t.” His face softens as he claps a hand on my shoulder. “You did well today. This is all just an adjustment period, but you one hundred percent belong here. This is the beginning of an insane pro career, and your mom and I are proud of you.”

“Stay off the booze and keep doing the same things,” I repeat back at him. Bringing my hand to my forehead, I offer him a salute. “No worries, Jon.” I spin around and head for the locker room.

“Oh, and, Morgan?”

I turn back on my heel. “Yeah?”

“Outside the training center and arena, it’s Jon. But inside these four walls and on the ice, you know the drill. You might’ve been able to get away with it in college, but not here.”

I nod lightly and take another sip of water. “Sure thing, Coach.”

“So, this is Lloyd’s then,”I say, walking in with Sawyer flanking one side of me and Archer on the other.

“Sure is,” Sawyer responds, pulling off his jacket and handing it to the doorman.

The bar is the exact opposite of what I anticipated. I based my expectations for this place on Riley’s—the bar I used to hang out at with some of the Scorpions guys when I lived back in Seattle—but this place is different. Rather than a sports bar—which it kind of is with an NBA game playing on the overhead screens—it has more of a cocktail bar feel to it. The place is all dark greens and blacks with plush seating.

As we make our way to the back, heads turn in our direction.

There are twenty of us here tonight, and as we reach the ropes to the private area, Sawyer heads for the front of the group, leaving me and Archer toward the back.

“What do you drink?” Archer asks me, eyes already on the private bar in front of us.

“Soda,” I reply as we walk toward a couple of booths set out and ready for us.

He stops dead in his tracks, his face turning white, almost like I just admitted to killing his puppy. “Fuck off.”

I shrug. “We’ve got sprints tomorrow. Apparently, I need to stay off the booze.”

He walks toward me, tapping me on the shoulder as he passes by. “Let me guess—orders from Coach Morgan?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, if there was ever a case ofdo as I say, not as I do, then that is it.” He tips his head over his shoulder as he makes for the rest of the guys, and I follow, noting the booth he’s heading for is exactly where Tyler is sitting. “Listen, I might only be twenty-six, but I’ve been in the NHL long enough to remember when Jon was in his prime, and let me tell you, he did not abstain from the booze before preseason sprints.”

We take a seat next to each other in the round booth. I’m opposite of Tyler, who’s too busy scowling at his phone to notice me.

“So, yeah, have adrinkand worry about the consequences tomorrow. The closer we get to the season, the more you need to hold off. Tonight is one of your last chances.” He pauses andturns to me as I watch Tyler angrily hit the keys on his phone. “So, what’ll it be?”

“IPA,” I answer with no hesitation.

Archer nods and gets up from the booth, leaving me, Sawyer, Tyler, and his clique all in silence, the beat of the music the only sound between us.

“How many times have you messaged her?” Connor, one of the second line forwards, asks.

Tyler shrugs, clenching his jaw. “Three. She’s read them all, but she hasn’t responded. I thought she’d want to see me after I couldn’t make it last night.”