Page 28 of Her Puck Daddies (Game On Daddies #2)

SVEN

A s I roll over to the sound of multiple snores, I blink myself awake, my brain still foggy from last night.

The first thing I see is Ava’s naked body, curled up next to me on the sofa, her soft, full tits shifting slightly with every breath, her right leg draped over mine like she belongs there.

Eric’s on the other side of her, the big spoon to her little spoon.

And Levi is passed the fuck out on the opposite end of the couch, sprawled on his back, legs wide open… and his junk just hanging out for the world to see.

I yawn quietly and let my eyes slide shut again, last night’s memories seeping back in, flooding my mind. The heat of it, the way she felt beneath me, the filthy fucking things we did. Every image makes my morning wood throb harder, aching for more.

And just as I get ready to drift into the kind of daydream that’ll get me into trouble—

BAM. BAM. BAM.

The most unwelcome noise in the goddamn world blasts through the room.

A knock. No. Not a knock.

More like a fucking meaty fist pounding my front door like someone’s about to break it down.

Shit.

I jump to my feet, catching a glimpse of Ava as she blinks up at me, those beautiful eyes wide, a flicker of apprehension creeping into her features.

She seems to shrink in on herself, curling up like she’s trying to disappear.

At the same time, Levi jerks awake, bolting upright, while Eric’s eyes snap open, already alert.

“What?” he mutters, like I’ve interrupted a conversation mid-sentence.

I don’t answer.

Ins tead, I fix my gaze on everyone, raising a single finger to my lips, silently telling them to stay quiet.

If we don’t move, if we pretend we’re not here, maybe whoever’s outside will just fuck off.

I’m not expecting anyone. No deliveries. No visitors. Whoever it is, it can’t be that important.

That’s what I think, until I hear the booming, unmistakable voice from the other side of the door.

“Hinter? Open up! Need to speak to you.”

I freeze.

It's Coach Atticus fucking Henley.

What the hell is going on?

Ignoring him isn’t an option, so I glance at the others, lower my voice, and mouth, “Scram.”

Ava leaps to her feet, but the second she moves, she inhales sharply, wincing. The pain from her bad ankle hits her like a slap, making her stumble as she tries to limp toward the hallway. She grips the walls for support, every step a struggle, panic written all over her face.

Eri c glances over, sees her struggling, and doesn’t even hesitate. In one smooth motion, he scoops her up, cradling her like she weighs nothing, and hurries her into the room. She's so focused on hiding that she forgets to grab her clothes.

Eric comes back to yank on his athletic pants so fast I hear a seam rip, while Levi, ever the agile motherfucker, practically slides into his jeans like he never took them off. Within seconds, he’s got his shirt back on, Ava’s clothes in hand, and he and Eric beat it out of my living room.

I finish yanking on my own sweatpants, my pulse pounding, waiting until every last trace of my company is gone before heading for the door. Barefoot. Shirtless. Playing it cool.

I flick the deadbolt back, pull open the door, and my stomach drops. Coach isn’t alone. Barb Yeager, the team publicist, is standing next to him.

Barb isn’t some timid PR rep. She’s six feet tall, sharp as a blade, and has zero problems steamrolling anyone who gets in her way. I’ve seen her handle the press like a damn assassin, making sure the team is always seen in the best light. She’s tough as nails.

Which is why I have an unsettling feeling when she takes one fleeting look at me and then immediately yanks her gaze away. Barb’s been in the locker room. She has seen me and every other guy on this team in nothing but a towel.

Why the hell is she acting skittish now?

I force a sleepy, confused expression, ruffling my hair like I just rolled out of bed. "What can I do for you two?"

My voice is casual, slow, maybe even a little bleary. But inside? It’s like a five-alarm fire is ripping through my chest. Because out of all the people in the organization, this particular duo showing up unannounced could only mean one thing. And that’s bad news.

“Sorry to get you out of bed on an off day, Hinter, but it’s important.” Coach blusters past me and into the apartment despite me not welcoming him in. Barb pauses on the threshold before scooting in after him.

Okay, then.

I shut the door behind them, praying that no one in the other rooms trips or bumps into a lamp or something.

“What’s going on?”

My gaze drifts to Barb, seated on my couch, the same couch where my three teammates and I had Ava a few hours ago. There’s a visible spot mere inches from where her hand rests, one I’m pretty sure is a mix of our bodily fluids.

I c atch a glimpse of pale pink on the carpet—Ava’s silky panties—sticking out from beside the sofa. Without hesitating, I march over and casually toe them beneath the sofa, praying neither coach nor Barb noticed.

The scent of sex still lingers in the air. Subtle, but there. I stride over to the kitchen, cracking the window open just enough to let fresh air in.

Coach lets out a heavy breath, nodding toward Barb. She retrieves something from her purse, a small, discreet bag that blends in with her sweater. With a clink, she sets something on the end table, positioned between us.

"That arrived in the general mail at team headquarters, addressed to you, Corolla, and Schwartz," coach says, rubbing the bridge of his nose like this whole thing is already giving him a migraine.

Barb finally speaks, her tone measured. "I’m not sure how long it sat unopened in a bubble mailer.

It came in with the usual fan mail that my assistants go through, but they give me anything that isn’t…

normal. So, I open packages with devices in them myself.

Just to check for malware, viruses, that kind of thing. "

We get fan mail all the time. Letters from kids. Handmade crafts. Explicit shit from puck bunnies. But whatever this is? It’s not any of that.

I l ean forward, my pulse spiking as I take in the small object on my glass end table.

It’s a thumb drive.

The hairs on my neck stand on end before I even have the details. Because I’m sure that whatever’s on that drive is bad news.

“Go ahead,” coach gestures, pacing along the length of my couch. “Stick it in your computer.”

"It’s safe," Barb assures. "I ran a malware check."

But my gut tells me otherwise. Still, I do as I’m told. A video file pops up. The footage is grainy at first, then the camera zooms in. I realize my laptop is muted and turn up the volume. And the second I do, I regret it.

Because by the time I recognize what I’m seeing, voices come through loud and clear. Voices I know…

“She feel good, Odds?” That is undeniably Levi’s voice, and Eric who replies to him, his words rough and desperate. “The sweetest fucking sin.”

I observe the monitor closely, showing a woman pinned under him, just as she moans out her pleasure with a declaration made up more of nonsensical noise rather than words.

My finger slams the mouse, pausing the video so fast my knuckle cracks. My eyes lock onto the screen, my breath stalled in my chest. The angle is weird, off, but the quality is too damn good. The faces? Crystal fucking clear.

Muting it again, I let the footage roll just long enough to see myself enter the frame. Then, I slam the laptop shut, my pulse pounding in my ears. I’m not easily shaken. But this caught me off guard.

"Where did this come from?" I ask, my throat burning, heat boiling up from my gut like acid.

I don’t bother asking if they’ve seen it. The answer is obvious. They have. They absolutely have.

Barb is staring hard at her clasped hands, avoiding my gaze like it might burn her. I don’t blame her.

Coach, normally tanned and composed, is ruddy, his expression twisted into something deeply uncomfortable.

It’s like watching a movie with your parents, only to get blindsided by a graphic sex scene.

Only this is worse. Because this isn’t just any sex scene. This is us. Eric, Levi, me… and Ava. From that night in Newark.

"Wh o the hell sent this?" I snap, mortification and fury lacing my tone.

Coach halts mid-pace, his gaze sharp. "We don’t know, Sven," he snaps back.

I don’t remember him ever calling me by my first name.

"Are you telling us this is real footage?" he continues.

My fists clench. "Yes, it’s real footage."

The words roll off my tongue automatically, a knee-jerk reaction, and I realize too late, I should have lied. I could’ve called it a deepfake, a setup, anything but the truth.

Coach huffs, shaking his head, the vein in his temple bulging. "I thought so."

"It was a hookup," I try to explain. "Before you hired her. That’s all it was."

Barb’s head tilts slightly. "So you haven’t been together since?"

Her voice lifts with hope. And that’s when I finally shut the fuck up. I turn to coach, but by the tight set of his mouth, I know he sees right through me. My silence is my answer.

And then—

A c rash from somewhere near my bedroom, or maybe the ensuite bathroom, followed by yelps, both male and female.

Fuck my life.

Even as coach’s eyes narrow as much as Barb’s eyes widen, coach pushes forward instead of addressing the obvious.

"Somewhere in the middle of that video was a typed-out message." His voice is grim. "It lists your names. And demands five million dollars."

I scoff, but my stomach tightens. "Five million? That’s serious money."

"Each. Fifteen million total. If you don’t pay, the video goes public by 5:00 PM this Wednesday."

I gape at him. We’ve had issues before, but nothing like this. Someone is blackmailing us. And if we don’t pay up? Our privacy, our time with the Avs, and our entire hockey careers are done.