Page 33 of Puck My Life

“Get your ass down here, Vae; this is what she hired you to do.”

I pocket my phone and turn to the cleaning crew. “Hey, Sonya? I’ll be back. I have to sort this out. It’s time-sensitive.”

Sonya, the woman in charge, gives me a half smile. “Ah, gone to rescue those boys of yours?” She flips me a knowing grin and pauses in her sweeping. “You should take that new house and never come back.”

I lift a hand and wave to her as I laugh anxiously at what she says. How did she know I was leaving? She’s not wrong, though. I call them in to clear up this pigsty, and they see better than anyone what the boys can be like. If I wasn’t so in love, I think I might expire of humiliation.

This job was an insane idea to start with; why did I agree to do it? Deacon is going to kill me.

The drive feels like it takes forever, but, far too soon, I’m finally walking into the arena. The assistant coach, Ares Wilde, pulls me off to the side where I can see the ice, but it would be hard to see me.

His expression is grim, and, I swear, he’s aged about ten years. He gestures to a seat, and I sit while he leans over me, a clipboard in hand. He smells nice; his deodorant is something with a calming quality and masks his natural scent.

“Right, I’ve been told to give you a rundown. So far today, Deacon has arrived late. He did not follow his diet, started a fight with the equipment manager, and misplaced his cup. He then spent twenty minutes with the janitor before he could even be bothered showing up for practice.”

I’m going to kill him.

I blink at Ares. He’s known for being no nonsense and completely black and white when it comes to the game. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile. He’s smart, though, and fiercely loyal to this club.

“Right,” I murmur, looking down at the ice. “Deacon’s a pain, but I think I can get through to him-”

“Deacon isn’t why we called you,” Ares snaps.

I snap my mouth shut and sit back down on the plastic seats.

“It would appear that Malcolm is taking…whatever this is hard. He’s been surly at work, and his temper has now got a hair trigger, but today has been that much worse. He started a fight with two other players, and then he and Deacon got into it. Blows were exchanged. There was some yelling, and your name came up a lot.”

I put my face in my hands. “Shit.”

“Did something happen?”

I whip my head towards the assistant coach and find his probing eyes boring into me like he’s trying to discern all my secrets.

“Uh, no. Well, I mean, kind of. I had to have a talk with them about the fact that I am not returning. And I moved out.”

I feel about an inch tall under his heavy gaze. It’s not accusing, not yet, but it’s not friendly either.

“You need to sort this shit out now. I don’t approve of what’s going on. If this were my team, I would have dumped their asses; it doesn’t matter how wonderfully gifted they are on the ice.”

“This is my fault,” I say in protest. “I did this to them; give me a few weeks to fix it.”

“How is their behaviour on the ice your fault?” he snaps. “They are adult alphas who choose their own behaviour, and you do them no favours, blaming yourself and taking their responsibilities. Coach has given you the time. It’s not my call, but just know I am heavily campaigning for their removal from the team.”

My heart that was in my mouth plummets to my gut. I want to be angry with him and defend them, but I know we’re past all that. They need to stopsabotaging their career, and I need to stop blaming myself. It’s a damn disgusting habit I can’t break.

I sit there as he walks off, his back rigid. The cold of the rink sinks into me, and I wish I’d remembered to grab my jacket.

They are skating, doing drills where they skate in a half circle on one leg, then switch to the other. A whistle blows, and everyone drops and does pushups. After a minute, another whistle blows, and they start jumping on the ice. It doesn’t look hard, but I know how much effort goes into the incredible control and strength each and every player has.

Every now and then, I spot the aggressive movements of Mal and Deacon. There are no more clashes on the ice, but they aren’t happy. I can tell they aren’t happy.

I chew my thumbnail as I try to come up with a plan. I need to have some kind of carrot to go with the stick. The problem is the what. It’s going to be different for all three of them. But Deacon is smart, and he won’t be interested in anything I have to offer if he thinks I’m trying to trick him.

I stand up and head out as they all head down to the locker rooms. I need some fresh air and warmth. The pressure lifts a little when I find the sunshine. It doesn’t seem so impossible out here. I find my car and sit on the bonnet.

“What are you doing here, Vae?”

I close my eyes as Raynor’s soft drawl crawls up my spine. The memories of last night’s dreams return with a vengeance, and I have to fight them off. It’s become a thing lately, where I’m lying in Raynor’s bed, staring at him, and then he slides down, his hands on my hips, rolling me onto my back as Mal leans in and licks my neck. Deacon crawls onto the bed, and just when he’s about to touch me, I wake up. It’s maddening.