Page 126 of Daddies on Ice

Carl nods once, a gesture of acknowledgment between men who understand each other.

Jake grins and raises his coffee cup in a mock toast, the bastard looking entirely too pleased with himself.

But I don’t care. The knot in my chest is finally starting to loosen, and for the first time in days I can breathe properly.

The bus starts to slow, and I look out the window to see the arena coming into view.

Game time.

Time to focus on hockey and put this personal shit aside for a few hours.

We pull into the parking area behind the rink, and everyone starts gathering their things.

I grab my gear bag and follow the team off the bus, my mood lighter than it’s been in days.

Maybe after the game, Tish and I can talk. Maybe we can figure out how to make this work.

But when we get to the equipment bus, everything changes.

“What the fuck?” Jake’s voice cuts through the chatter as he yanks open the back doors of the second bus.

It’s empty. Completely, utterly empty.

“Where’s our gear?” someone shouts from behind me.

I push forward, staring into the hollow space where our equipment should be. Sticks, pads, helmets, skates, everything we need to play tonight. Gone.

“Did someone forget to pack it?” one of the rookies asks, his voice high with panic.

But I know better. We all do. This isn’t forgetfulness or an honest mistake.

This is sabotage.

45

CARL

The locker room still reeks of defeat and frustration from last night’s game.

I can’t shake the image of my players struggling with rental equipment that didn’t fit right, skates that were too loose or too tight, and sticks that felt foreign in their hands.

We played like shit, but hell, who could blame them?

I run my hand through my silver hair, feeling every one of my forty-eight years weighing on my shoulders.

The guys in charge of loading our gear swore up and down they’d secured everything properly and locked the bus compartment tight as a drum.

But when Ash and I inspected it this morning, the evidence was clear as day.

Someone had tampered with that lock.

The scratches around the mechanism, the way it hung slightly askew. This wasn’t some random theft or accident.

I’m sick to death of whoever’s doing this crap to us.

“Coach, you coming out with us tonight?” Jake appears in the doorway, his green eyes bright with anticipation despite yesterday’s loss. He’s already dressed to kill in dark jeans and a button-down that probably costs more than most people make in a week. “New Year’s Eve, man. Time to forget about all this bullshit and have some fun.”

Behind him, I can see Ash adjusting his collar, looking uncomfortable in anything fancier than his usual jeans and t-shirt.