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“Besides the part where she refuses to own where she came from?” I asked dryly. “I don’t know. It’s just—whenever they talk about her, it’s all about her dad, her brother, and her ex, and she just avoids it or glares at them. Then they gush about everything she does on the ice, but no one says shit about her mistakes, and she doesn’t exactly argue with them.”

“Theydotalk about her mistakes, though.”

I eyed her. “Where?”

She shrugged. “Anyone who doesn’t like Doran McAvoy, his team, or the existence of professional women’s hockey.”

Exhaling hard, I leaned back against the couch cushions. “Okay, but even then, they’re just hating on her because they hate someone else. Women’s hockey commentators and reporters love the sport, but they’ll criticize any of us. Like,howmany times did they show the replay of me crashing into Anaheim’s net last season?” I flailed a hand at my phone. “But when she fucks up and costs her team a critical game—crickets.”

Faith seemed to consider that. “I mean, maybe they’re just afraid to cross Doran McAvoy.”

“I guess? Heiskind of a dick.”

“Understatement,” she muttered.

God, wasn’t that the truth. There were generational talents in this sport who were startlingly humble and kind people. It barely even seemed to register with them that they were superstars. They were the players who happily and patiently signed things and took photos with fans, even when it was pouring down rain after practice or when they were feeling like shit after a bad game.

One megastar had been asked to grant a wish for a Make-A-Wish kid. All the kid wanted was a chance to skate with him. The star had pulled out all the stops, getting the entire team to stay after practice for a scrimmage where she was his linemate. Whenever the star was in the kid’s hometown after that, he’d take the family out to dinner or to an amusement park, and he’d made two trips out to visit her in the hospital.

That was just how a lot of players were—they loved hockey, they loved fans, and they were genuinely kind, down-to-earth people. Even the guys who were absolute thugs on the ice could turn around and be near saints in their daily lives.

Doran McAvoy was a spectacularly talented hockey player, but he was also a notorious bag of dicks both on and off the ice. He was one of those talents whoknewhe was gifted andknewhe was a star, and he didn’t let anyone forget it.

A former teammate of his had once made a comment to a reporter that their embarrassing loss that night had been as much a team effort as their wins. “We all fell apart,” I remembered him saying. “All of us. It just wasn’t a good game for anyone in a Buffalo jersey.”

Somehow, Doran had taken that personally, interpreting it as a cowardly, underhanded swipe. As if the player had been specifically calling him out for singlehandedly losing the game. To this day, people whispered that Doran was the reason that player had been traded to Los Angeles a month later. Depending on who you asked, that was either because the front office hadwanted to separate them, or because Doran had stomped into his GM’s office and demanded it.

So, hell. Maybe Faith was on to something when it came to the press treading lightly about his daughter’s play.

“Hmm. You could be right.” I played with the edge of one of the icepacks on my knee. “Maybe all the reporters are afraid to say anything negative about Doran McAvoy’s daughter.”

“Wouldn’tyoube?” Faith asked. “I’d be terrified to let a hot mic catch me even suggesting she was having a bad hair day.”

“Yeah. I get that. I still don’t like it. Nobody in this league or any other should be immune to criticism because they or their famous daddy might throw a fit.” I shook my head and looked at Faith. “The commentators and reporters should be able to talk about her as much as they talk about the rest of us. Goodandbad.”

“No argument there.” She inclined her head. “But is it her fault if they won’t?”

I bristled. “No. But she benefits from it, and she doesn’t push back against it at all. She’s just like him—he refused to credit his teammates for anything, and she refuses to credithim. ”

“Shedoespush back, though.” Faith gestured with her own phone. “Because that interview didn’t sound like—”

“Of course she pushes back against the nepotism rumors,” I grumbled. “But does she lift a single finger about them talking about her like she’s God’s gift to hockey?” I snorted derisively. “She doesn’t seem to mind that part.”

Faith studied me silently.

I fidgeted. “What?”

“Still just trying to figure out why you’re so bound and determined to hate her. I mean, even if nepotism got her in the door, you can’t argue with her ability on the ice.”

“I can resent the shit out of her for having access to every imaginable advantage togettingthat good.” I huffed a bitterlaugh. “Bet she never had to work at a rink’s concession stand just to earn enough to buy thirdhand gear.”

Faith quirked her lips, then shrugged. “Okay, sure, I guess. But however she got here, she plays her ass off and she’s earned the right tostayhere.”

I couldn’t argue with that. I really couldn’t. But I also couldn’t deny how much it still irked me that Sabrina McAvoy was here at all.

Apparently sensing that I was still annoyed, Faith reached over and patted my arm. “I know you’re not her biggest fan. But you twoareteammates.”

“Is it wrong to hope the trade deadline resolves that?”