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She laughed dryly. “I mean, maybe? But that’s not until March. That’s a long time to be hissing and spitting with someone on your team.”

Closing my eyes, I groaned. “I know. I know. And I… God, I guess I should just be thankful she’s a forward. If we had to be D partners…”

“I don’t think any defensive coach worth her salt would put you two on the same pair.”

“No,” I muttered. “They’d put her on the top pair and drop me down to the second.” I rolled my eyes. “That’s what happened on my last team, remember?”

“Oh, I remember.”

I kind of felt bad for the amount of time I’d spent texting Faith to vent about the situation in Omaha. It hadn’t been the same as with Sabrina, but it was similar enough to make my teeth grind. I was awaybetter defender than Amy Voorhees, but much like Sabrina, she came from hockey royalty. No one dared put her on the second or third pair, not even when her stats barely warranted a place above the minors. And since she and I both played left-handed, we couldn’t be paired together, so I wasbumped down to the number two spot despiteearningthat top billing.

Not that I was even a little bit bitter. Especially since it hadalsohappened in major juniors. And in U16. All through my hockey years, there had always been either someone’s princess or a coach’s “rising star” son taking a slot that should’ve gone to a player with better stats, not the one with the impressive pedigree.

Faith glanced at me again. “Look, I know you’re frustrated. After all the crap with Amy, and getting passed over on your other teams, anyone would be. But Sabrina didn’t do any of that to you, and sheisa good player. She’s incredible. And she’s not knocking you down on the roster.”

“I know.” I dragged my fingers through my hair and sighed again. “It’s not her fault. And I won’t pretend she’s not a great player.” I paused. “Sometimes I think that makes it worse.”

“How so?”

“Because how much better would so manyotherplayers be if they’d had access to everything she did?” I threw up my hand. “You know, if they didn’t have to play in secondhand gear that didn’t fit and spend their youth days hearing that they shouldn’t be playing on the boys’ team?”

“You’re not wrong,” Faith said. “I always envied the kids—the boysandthe girls—who could get the good gear and didn’t have people trying to chase them out.” She glanced at me again. “But the ones who did have the good gear and the great coaches—it’s not their fault, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” I whispered. “It just sucks seeing them take all the top spots when there are so many players out there with raw talent and drive who just didn’t have the support they needed.”

“I get that. I do. But you did get to this level. You did overcome everything and earn your spot.” She shot me a look.“Don’t let someone else ruin it just by being here. She’s on your team, but so are you, you know?”

I nodded. She didn’t keep pushing; she knew me well enough to know when she’d made her point. She was right, too, but man, it was going to be a struggle. It was hard not to resent someone who took the easy road to the top of the game, especially while the rest of us were hidden away in her shadow.

Still, I had to get it together. As much as I hated the idea, I would have to figure out how to get along with Sabrina. Or at the very least, coexist with her. That honestly didn’t sound too hard. For as much as her very presence irritated me, I’d had teammates in the past who I didn’t get along with, and the nature of the sport meant all our animosity stayed off the ice. We had to concentrate on too many things happening at once—too many bodies and sticks moving too fast in too many directions—to devote more than one or two brain cells to rivalries.

Even rivalries between opposing players faded somewhat while the clock was running. We might grab an opportunity to check someone harder than necessary, and there’d be some aggressive chirping, but hockey moved too fast for more than fleeting bumps and snark.

Unless of course someone took a cheap shot at a teammate. Then all bets were off, and that was usually when fights broke out.

If someone took a cheap shot at Sabrina—a trip, a dirty check, an uncalled high stick—I’d probably answer the bell. I’d either check the offending player hard enough to make her rethink her life choices or, if things got really heated, drop gloves with her. As much as Sabrina pissed me off, she was still my teammate, and nobody played dirty against someone wearing my team’s sweater. Not even if that someone was Sabrina.

And hey, the WHPL allowed both checking and fighting, unlike our youth and major junior leagues. No more of this“checking is a penalty” and “no fighting ever for any reason” garbage that the men’s league never had to worry about. We could throw gloves just like they could. Fighting was still a penalty, same as it was for the guys, but it wasn’t an automatic ejection or suspension anymore.

As frustrated as I’d been before training camp had even ended, I could see myself taking out some aggression once the season started. I was a defender, after all.

Maybe this would be the season I got into my first professional fight.

I just hoped it wasn’t because I was coming to Sabrina McAvoy’s defense.

Chapter 8

Sabrina

I was right that the interview came back to bite me. Sooo shocking. Everyone in this sport was determined to kiss my dad’s ass, and they hated that I didn’t partake.

Daughter of Hockey Legend Balks at Questions About Nepotism.

McAvoy Dynasty Hockey Talent may be Generational, but Humility is Not

Is McAvoy’s Daughter Good Enough to be this Arrogant?

The words “ungrateful” and “spoiled brat” had made it into a few articles, and I’d had plenty of DMs and social media comments putting me in my place. Everyone was committed to the narrative that I was nothing more than an extension of my dad’s legacy, and they were determined to make me acknowledge that. Whenever I pushed back or refused to fawn all over good old Dad, it rubbed a lot of people the wrong way.