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Chapter twenty-nine

Sneak Peek

I f you liked My Pucked Neighbor, then you’ll LOVE My Pucked Up Enemy !

It’s fun and flirty like your favorite locker room rom-com, but with a depth that sneaks up on you and hits you right in the heart.

This story is perfect for readers who want their romance smart, sexy, and impossible to put down.

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Sneak Peek

She was hired to get in my head. I’m a goalie. I don’t let anything in. But she’s the one I can’t shut out, and I’m breaking every rule to make her mine.

Dr. Nina Erwin is the Acers’ new sports psychologist. All curves and attitude, she’s too good at reading what I don’t say.

I give her nothing. She doesn’t flinch.

She calls me out. I shut her down. And still…she gets under my skin.

One brutal game loss. One hungry kiss… zero apologies. And suddenly, the lines between us aren’t so clear.

She says it can’t happen. I say it already did. Now we’re hiding something that could jeopardize her job, the team, and my game.

She’s the calm I never asked for. The chaos I didn’t see coming.

But just when it starts to feel real, she gets offered everything she’s worked for. Everything that doesn’t include me.

If she walks, I’ll let her go. But I’ll make damn sure she wants to stay.

Because I don’t just protect the net…I protect what’s mine.

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Chapter 1

I’m already in the room when the chirping starts.

They see me. They just don’t think I’m listening. Or maybe they don’t care.

From my seat near the back, I hear them, voices low but not low enough.

“Did we seriously just hire a shrink?”

“Sports shrink, James. Supposed to ‘fix our heads.’”

“Good luck with that circus.”

“Wait till she makes us talk about our feelings.”

“I’ll retire before I say ‘I’m sad’ in a group circle.”

“Bet she’s got one of those soothing voices. Like one of those sleep apps.”

“You mean the kind where they whisper at you for an hour?”

“I mean, I wouldn't mind if she whispered at me.”

And then, the kicker—just loud enough:

“Didn’t know we were hiring a Barbie for the bench.”

I clear my throat and smile.

“If Barbie has three degrees, several years of experience with combat veterans, and a black belt in judo, sure. Let’s go with that.” I interrupt because it’s time to get started.

“Oooooooh!” The entire room reacts in unison.

Then silence, sharp and sudden, like a puck slamming against the glass.

Coach Stephens steps in beside me, not missing a beat. “This is Dr. Nina Erwin. She’s here to help get your heads straight and your game back. I expect full participation and zero bull.”

“Are we getting graded on this?” James Henderson interrupts. “Because I left my No. 2 pencil at home.”

“If I misbehave,” Ethan Lovelace adds, “do I get detention or just a spanking?”

Several groans. A few laughs.

Connor Jessup, team captain, shrugs. “Can she fix a fear of commitment? Asking for a friend.”

“Gentlemen,” I say with a bright smile. “If you’re all finished proving why your emotional maturity levels hover somewhere around kindergarten…”

Silence.

Coach smirks. “She’s not wrong.”

I continue, stepping forward like I own the damn place.

“Let’s get one thing clear. I’m not here to sing Kumbaya or pass out participation trophies.

I’m here because this team is in a slump, and slumps don’t start in your legs, they start in your heads.

You don’t have to like me. You just have to show up and put in the work. Sound familiar?”

That gets a few nods. Parker lifts his Gatorade bottle like he’s toasting me.

James mutters, “She’s spicy. I like it.”

Coach gives me a look that says, you sure you still want this?

And I shoot one right back that answers: more than ever.

From the back of the room, a low voice cuts through the chatter. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

My eyes lock on him immediately. Alex Chadwick. I recognize him from the team photo Derek gave me last week. Arms crossed, leaning against the wall like he’s seen this circus before and isn’t impressed. He is annoyed at best with his wall up, drawbridge pulled, and a moat full of sharks in between.

“Not quite,” I say, matching his calm tone. “But I’m a quick study.”

“Is that so?” His mouth twitches. It could almost be a smirk. Almost.

“Well,” I say, clasping my hands lightly in front of me, “I already know which one of you is going to be my favorite challenge.”

A few guys chuckle. James lets out a soft, drawn-out, “Ah, we’ve got our teacher’s pet.”

Alex laughs and turns to me. “Good luck.”

I smile. “I never rely on luck.”

He doesn’t respond. Just pushes off the wall, snags a water bottle from the table, and strolls out like I didn’t say a word.

I keep the smile on my face as I turn back to the rest of the team.

But inside a wave of nerves hits my stomach.

That one’s going to be a fun project.

By the time the guys shuffle out, leaving behind the scent of liniment, protein powder, and testosterone, I’m mentally cataloging my priorities like it’s a tactical op.

Priority one: Earn trust without demanding it. Priority two: Get Alex Chadwick to talk. Priority three: Try not to punch the next guy who calls me Barbie.

I follow Coach Stephens into a small office tucked beside the video review room. It’s been cleared out for me. Neutral walls. One modest desk, two chairs, and a dry-erase board that still has a scribbled diagram of a failed power play on it.

A blank slate. Perfect.

I drop my tote on the desk and start unloading. Laptop. Notepad. A stack of laminated mental conditioning checklists. And a photo of my younger brother in army fatigues, grinning with a black eye and a missing front tooth.

He’d always said pain meant progress. Not a clinical statement, but still.

Coach watches me, arms folded. “You sure about this?”

“You have doubts already?” I glance up at him.

“Not about you.” He chuckles. “About them. They’re not the easiest crew to break in.”

“They don’t need to be broken. They need to be understood. And maybe smacked upside the ego once or twice.”

He huffs a laugh. “You’ll get along with Chadwick very well, then.”

“Goalie, right?”

“Yep. One of our ice philosophers. Parker being the other."

I pause. “That’s a title.”

“Alex has been a little off lately. Came back strong after the knee injury a couple of years ago, but something’s not clicking. He’s locked in physically, but mentally, something’s shifting. He won’t talk about it.”

“Of course not,” I murmur. “Because talking is weakness, and goalies are gods.”

Coach nods slowly, like he’s not sure if I’m mocking or agreeing. I’m not sure either.

“How’s his leadership?”

“Quiet. Calculated. He doesn’t waste words, but when he speaks, they listen."

“And when I speak?”

Coach’s mouth slowing tries to grin. “We’ll find out.”

He leans a hip against the desk and folds his arms again.

"Connor’s the captain. He’s the heartbeat of the room—steady, focused, knows when to rally and when to rip someone a new one.

Parker’s right behind him. He’s a rule-follower, but he’s got some bend when it counts.

James, Ethan, and Alex? They’re the ball busters, classic single guys who live to give each other crap.

And you’ll meet a few of the younger guys like Mikey Tran and Dillon Foster…

good kids, still figuring out their place. "

He pauses, and the edge in his voice softens. "But here’s the thing. They’re all solid human beings. They’ve got each other’s backs. They’ve got mine too. This group is a family. And just like any family, sometimes the dynamics get messy."

He gives me a knowing look. "That’s where you come in."

***

The next morning, I settle into the glass-walled observation suite above the rink. It’s a bird’s-eye view without being in their faces.

Lukewarm black coffee in hand, I watch the team drag themselves through post-practice cooldowns and stretches. The vibe is... off. No real banter. The rhythm feels forced.

At the far end of the ice, Chadwick moves like he’s on autopilot. Every motion is clean. Exact. Mechanical.

There’s no joy in it.

His shoulders are hunched just a hair too much. His jaw doesn’t move. Not even a word to the trainer. Hyper-focused or hiding? Probably both.

I jot in my notebook:

Chadwick – goalie – high-functioning pressure cooker.

Watch for signs of burnout. Perfectionist tendencies. Control fixation. Isolation masking stress? Possibly sleep disruption or repressed trauma from injury recovery.

I glance back down. Parker is joking with Ethan, tossing a puck at his feet mid-stretch. Ethan dodges it like he’s done this routine a hundred times.

James is doing a hamstring stretch all wrong and knows it, but keeps talking through it, unbothered.

They’re not broken. Just out of sync. Probably mentally exhausted from playing tight. You can’t win if you’re gripping the stick so hard your knuckles go white.

I keep writing:

Connor – captain, steady leader, team anchor

Parker – social regulator

Ethan – internalizer, perfectionist

James – deflector, high sarcasm, possible stress clow n

I sip my coffee again, making a face. Still tastes gross, but it’s still necessary.

I jot a few more names down, mapping the room the way a field commander maps a combat zone—who leads, who follows, who hides.

A tap on the door pulls me back.

Derek’s head pokes in. “Hey, Doc. You’ve got your first one-on-one in an hour.”

I look up. “Already breaking them in?”

“Softball to start,” he grins. “Ethan. Thought you might like a warm-up round.”

I nod, even as my eyes drift back down toward the ice.

Chadwick’s stepping off the rink, helmet under one arm. Sweat dripping down his temples. He looks like he just won a war. Or lost one.

He doesn’t look up.

Doesn’t need to.

That energy is coiled, cold, unreadable. It rolls off him like fog. He disappears into the tunnel without a glance in my direction.

But I feel it. The challenge. The wall. The unspoken dare.

Yeah.

He’s going to be the hard one.

Well, I’ve never liked easy, so bring it on.