Page 16 of Power Play Daddies (Miami Icemen #1)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Beau

The rink smells like sweat and ice, a weird mix that’s become part of being in my second home.

Coach Ace is barking orders, his voice cutting through the clatter of skates and pucks hitting the boards.

Leo, his assistant, is pacing the bench, saying something about zone coverage. They’re in their element, orchestrating the chaos of practice like generals preparing for war.

We’re running drills hard today. Quick passes, tight turns, shots fired like missiles at Deke, who’s in the net and already swearing like a sailor.

“Fuck’s sake, Asher, you gonna aim or just try to kill me?” Deke yells, swiping sweat off his face.

“Maybe both!” Asher shoots back, smirking as he sends another puck flying, this one rattling off the post.

The guys laugh, the usual shit-talk filling the air. It’s practice, but everyone knows we’re prepping for the Mississippi Outlaws in three days.

They’re fast, physical, and cocky as hell. We hate them. They hate us. It’s hockey.

I’m circling mid-ice, watching plays unfold, when the doors to the rink slam open.

And there she is.

Daisy strides in, wearing these snug black leggings that cling to her curves and a white cropped hoodie that shows just enough of her waist to mess me up. Her hair’s loose, cascading over her shoulders like some kind of goddamn spotlight, and those boots she’s wearing click against the concrete.

She’s fucking breathtaking, and it’s like all the air in the rink shifts toward her.

I’m not the only one who notices, either.

“Holy shit!” Ryder mutters under his breath, earning himself a glare from Leo.

“Settle the fuck down, boys,” Leo growls, not bothering to hide his irritation.

She walks straight toward Coach, confidence oozing from every step. He spots her, his face breaking into a rare smile.

They start talking, and she’s animated, her hands moving as she explains something I can’t hear. She glances over her shoulder at me—just for a second—and it’s like I’ve been hit by a puck.

“Blaze, your lane!” Deke shouts, yanking me back to reality.

“Yeah, yeah.” I refocus just in time to miss a pass. Perfect.

Daisy grabs a stick from the rack and takes a few shots at the empty net, the sharp crack of the puck echoing in the rink.

Her form is solid. Controlled. Sexy as hell.

“Damn, she’s got hands,” Kieran says beside me, low enough not to get another verbal smack from Leo.

“Shut up,” I snap, sharper than I mean to. He raises his hands, smirking.

She hands the stick back to Coach, says something that makes him laugh, and then she’s gone, just like that. Like a hurricane blowing in and out of my already wrecked world.

Practice is a mess after that. Passes get sloppy, tempers flare, and Coach is red in the face by the time we wrap up.

In the locker room, it’s chaos. Guys stripping out of gear, bitching about drills, making plans for after practice.

I head to my stall, pulling off my pads, and grab a towel to head for the showers. But my mind is back on Daisy and the way she looked in my bed, hair a mess, lips swollen, eyes full of something I can’t even name.

And now I know she’s been with Mason. It’s obvious. Those hickeys weren’t subtle. It should piss me off.

“You coming to the bar later?” Kieran’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “Some of us will be going to Finnegan’s at six.”

“Nah, I’ve got shit to do.”

He shrugs, tossing his towel over his shoulder. “Suit yourself, man. Don’t brood too hard.”

Brood. Right. Like I’ve got any fucking control over that with her in my head.

The showers are hot, steam filling the small space as I stand under the spray, letting it wash away the sweat and frustration.

But it doesn’t wash her away. Nothing does.

Back at my stall, I pull on a hoodie and jeans, glancing at the clock. There’s a meeting with Ace in twenty, and I need to pretend I’m not completely distracted by a woman who’s barely been in my hemisphere for five minutes.

She’s his fucking niece.

This shit just keeps getting more and more convoluted.

But as I sling my bag over my shoulder, all I can think about is her walking away from the rink, her scent still lingering in the air.

I’m so fucking gone for her, it’s ridiculous. And somehow, I know it’s only gonna get worse.

The door to Coach Ace’s office creaks open and he glances up from a stack of papers, giving me a nod. Leo leans against the wall, clipboard in hand, eyes sharp as always.

“Callahan,” Coach says, setting his pen down.

“Yeah.” I step in and shut the door behind me. “You said you wanted to talk to me.”

Leo arches a brow, looking at Coach. “As the center, I wanted to hear his opinion on some of the plays we have. This game needs to go spectacularly,” Coach Ace explains to his assistant.

“Makes sense,” Leo says.

Coach leans back in his chair, fingers steepled. “All right, let’s hear it.”

I shift my weight, crossing my arms. “Cam’s been talking about their defensive setup. They’re good at clogging the lanes, especially their second line. We need to spread them out more, pull them wider. Maybe get T and Grayson to pinch a little deeper.”

Cam is our team analyst. I haven’t seen him since the last season. Last I heard, he was in New York. Seems he’s back.

Coach hums, nodding slowly. “You’re thinking faster transitions, then? Less time playing it safe in neutral?”

“Exactly,” I say. “Their goalie’s good, but he’s not invincible. We can outmaneuver him if we force more cross-crease passes.”

Leo scribbles something on his clipboard. “Makes sense. Cam’s been running numbers on that, too. I’ll loop him in for tweaks during tomorrow’s practice.”

Coach looks at me, his gaze steady. “You’re stepping up, Blaze. I like that. Anything else?”

I hesitate, but only for a second. “I’ve got an interview with Daisy after this.”

Coach’s expression changes, subtle but there. A shift in his jaw, his shoulders tightening. “For the article?”

“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound casual. “She said she had a few questions for me.”

Coach leans forward, elbows on his desk. “Listen, Beau. You’re one of the most mature players we’ve got. She’s new around here, and I expect you to keep an eye on her.”

“Of course,” I say quickly, though my stomach twists. If only he knew. If only he had any clue about what already went down between me and his niece.

Coach nods, satisfied. “Good. Don’t give her too hard of a time.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I mutter, heading out of the office. My face burns, and my chest feels tight, but I shake it off. I’ve got this.

The makeshift interview room is tucked away near the locker rooms. Daisy’s already there when I arrive, sitting cross-legged on a chair, her laptop balanced on her knees.

She’s wearing a simple black dress, her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. She must have changed for the interview, too.

When she sees me, her face lights up.

“Hey,” she says, closing her laptop. “Nice play on the ice earlier.”

“Thanks,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets. “You surprised me with your skills.”

“My dad taught me a little growing up,” she says, standing and walking over to me. “Now, sit. Let’s get started.”

I drop into the chair she points to, feeling weirdly out of place. “How many interviews you doing today?” I ask.

“Just you,” she says with a small smile.

Damn. That shouldn’t make me feel anything, but it does. I lean back, trying to play it cool as she grabs a mic and steps closer.

“Hold still,” she says, brushing her hair behind her ear as she clips the mic to my hoodie. Her fingers are soft as they skim my chest, and the scent of her—something warm, like vanilla and honey—wraps around me.

Her eyes meet mine, and I swear, for a second, I forget how to breathe. The gold flecks in her eyes catch the light, and it’s like falling off a cliff, no parachute in sight.

“There,” she says softly. “You’re all set up.”

“Okay,” I manage, my voice rough.

She steps back, tilting her head at me. “Start by saying your name and position for the camera.”

“Beau Callahan, but some of the fans call me Blaze,” I say, clearing my throat. “Forward, center.”

She nods, looking at me with that curious glint in her eyes. “No one knows much about your life. Think you could share a bit?”

I hesitate. Vulnerability isn’t exactly my strong suit, but I said I’d do this. “Okay,” I say finally. “My parents moved to the city from Alabama when I was nine. They wanted better opportunities for us all. They came here to build a life for themselves.”

“Well, how did that go?”

“My dad… he ended up being a billionaire. He owns Cal Call Technology Systems, which is the best telecommunications company in the states. He was so proud of his work, but not as proud as he was of me.”

She smiles at me. “Tell us a little bit about that.”

“I started playing hockey when I was ten. He never missed a game, always showed up for the important stuff all throughout. My mom never understood the game, but she was always in the stands with him. They were my biggest supporters.”

She watches me closely. “You say ‘were,’” she says gently. “Do they still come to your games?”

I look away, my throat tightening. It’s a part of my life I don’t like talking about, but there’s no dodging it now. “No,” I say quietly. “They died when I was eighteen.”

Her eyes widen, and she whispers, “Oh, God.”

I nod, running a hand over the back of my neck. “Car accident. They were on their way home from some event. I… I found out from a news article. Some journalist posted pictures of the wreck before I even got the call.”

“That’s horrible,” she says, her voice soft.

“Yeah,” I say, my tone clipped. “So, as you can imagine, I’m not the biggest fan of journalists.”

She winces, but she doesn’t look away. “I’m sorry, Beau. That’s awful.”

“It is what it is,” I say, forcing a shrug. “You don’t have to apologize.”

There’s a moment of silence, the kind that stretches and fills the room with unspoken things. Then she steps back, giving me a little nod. “Ready to continue?”

“Yeah,” I say, though my voice is rougher than I’d like.

She doesn’t push me. Instead, she adjusts the camera and gives me a small, encouraging smile. And for the first time, I think maybe this interview won’t be so bad after all.