Page 2 of Slap Shot (Blades Hockey #5)

Weston

I fucking love hockey.

The swish of skates. The crisp scent of the ice. Making grown men cry when I steal the puck from their clutches and leave them stamping their feet like ornery toddlers.

¨You are supposed to be old ,〃 Bjorn Anders grunts as he hustles after me. ¨Donˇt you have a bad leg?〃

¨Werenˇt you a second-round draft pick?〃 I chirp back at my rookie teammate just to fuck with him. ¨How do you say overrated in Swedish?〃

¨Kyss mig i arslet.〃

¨Nah, donˇt think thatˇs it.〃 I flash him a wide grin. Then I dangle the puck right in front of the poor bastard before passing it to his stepbrother, whoˇs waiting near center ice. ¨Hey, Alarik! Bjorn said youˇre overrated.〃

Our other rookie smiles broadly. ¨He is still mad the Blades picked me first.〃

Bjorn drops his shoulders and actually growls. Suddenly, any display of the kidˇs earlier hangover disappears in favor of trouncing his brother.

Yup. My job here is done.

¨Youˇre a sadist,〃 Andre Beaumont says as he skates up beside me. The C on his practice jersey still gives me a little jolt of surprise every time I see it. Not because he doesnˇt deserve to be captain but because for as long as Iˇve been with the Blades, itˇs been Jackson Carter at the helm of this team. Now Carter spends most of his time behind the Plexiglas as one of our assistant coaches. Rumor has it that he might be a lot more than that soon enough.

¨A little reverse psychology never hurt anyone,〃 I tell Beaumont.

¨Says the guy with more pre-game rituals than the rest of the team combined.〃

¨Hey, now. You can pry my rituals out of my cold, dead hands.〃

Beaumontˇs dark eyes crinkle warmly. ¨Donˇt worry, Iˇm not about to mess with greatness.〃 After clapping me on the shoulder, he skates backward. ¨Speaking of, try not to give Bjorn a complex, eh? We need him focused for tomorrow night.〃

¨Kidˇs a little too focused on going out, if you ask me.〃

¨Heˇll learn all about priorities when heˇs puking up his guts after bag skates later.〃

I hiss through my teeth. ¨And you said that Iˇm a sadist.〃

Beaumont taps his nose with his glove. ¨Just here to do Coachˇs bidding.〃 ¨Yeah,〃 I say, rolling my eyes. ¨Youˇre a real lackey, Andre.〃

Captaincy or not, Andre Beaumont is far from being an obedient lap dog. For years, the guy had a reputation for being an antisocial prick. Then he fell in love with his publicist, married her, and recently knocked her upthey just announced theyˇre having a little girl last week. Those of us who have been with the Blades long enough know that heˇs a total teddy bear these days, but he keeps up with the bad boy persona to scare the rookies into falling in line. Seems to work well enough because when he barks out Bjornˇs name, the kid comes running. Literally.

I turn away before either Anders brother can hear me laugh.

The rest of practice goes by in a flash.

Weˇre nearing the end of preseason, which means that weˇre taking a wrench to our lines and fine-tuning last minute details. Last year, we won the Stanley Cup. This year, weˇre dealing with the fall out of losing a lot of our top line to retirement. Guys like Jackson Carter and Duke Harrison, our goalie, who were fundamental to the team. Suddenly, rookies are looking my way for guidanceBjorn notwithstandingand Iˇm starting to feel every day of my twenty-eight years.

Iˇve just shoved my right leg into a fresh pair of sweatpants when our star forward, Marshall Hunt, drops his duffel bag beside mine on the bench. He straddles the narrow plank of wood and takes a seat, resting his hands on his jean-clad thighs.

¨A little birdie told me that shit is about to hit the fan.〃

I finish pulling on my sweats. ¨Is that code for my wife told me something she shouldnˇt have ?〃 His wife, Gwen, works for Golden Lights Media, the PR agency that represents most of the guys on the team, myself included.

Hunt shakes his head. ¨Itˇs code for there are rumblings on the inter-webs 〃

¨Please tell me that youˇre not stalking Reddit again.〃

¨Listen, Iˇve said this before, and Iˇll say it again: nothing tops Reddit. I want to grab dinner with my girl in a new city? Some subreddit out there will have the answer. Maybe Iˇm feeling feisty one day, in the mood to read about horrific first dates, you know?〃

¨Canˇt say that I do, bud.〃

¨Whatever. My point is: thereˇs a subreddit for everything.〃

¨And?〃

Instead of humoring me with some totally bonkers story that he found on the internet, Huntˇs pretty-boy face twists in a grimace as he fishes his phone out of his jeans. After letting Face ID do its thing, he hands over his cell with all the enthusiasm of a man being told to walk the plank.

I stare at the damn thing like itˇs radioactive.

¨Maybe you should sit down,〃 he says, which is the wrong thing to say to a guy who routinely comes up with more pre-game rituals to stem off a constant flow of anxiety. Most days, Iˇve got it covered. Other days, a teammate tells you to sit down like heˇs about to break news of the apocalypse.

In the end, I donˇt sit, mainly because our bags, and Hunt himself, are in the way. Though when I get a look at the headline at the top of the screen, I start thinking that maybe Hunt had the right of it.

Confessions of a Puck Bunny

Outed as Daughter of Boston Bladesˇ Head Coach

¨Maybe itˇs a spoof piece.〃 Huntˇs expression creases with sympathy. ¨Youˇve known Daisy for how long now?〃

Almost ten years.

There was some time after I got drafted and she was still at UConn where we drifted apart. Daily phone calls turned into weekly check-ins turned into sporadic texts that left me feeling strangely off-balance. Iˇve never felt so relieved as I did the day that she sent me a U-Haul receipt for a one-way drop off in Boston. Since then, Daisy Hall has been by my side. The girl couldnˇt hide a dead body from me, even if she tried.

Or maybe she could.

The longer I skim the article, the warier I grow.

¨Gwen said I should stay out of it. That you might know already.〃 But I didnˇt know. When Hunt grimaces again, I curse my lack of poker face. ¨Yeah,〃 he sighs, running a hand through his messy black hair, ¨I didnˇt think so.〃

He doesnˇt say anything else while I finish reading.

Confessions of a Puck Bunny is legendary in the world of hockey. And by legendary, I mean that most people regard the anonymously run social media account as being a perpetual thorn in the leagueˇs side.

Bunnyˇs branding is bubble-gum pink with charming white font.

The subject matter might as well be stained blood-red.

Itˇs safe to say that Bunnyˇs got a real mean slap shot. Itˇs been a long-running jokethe morbid kind, anywaythat if you find yourself on Bunnyˇs radar, you might as well kiss whatˇs left of your reputation goodbye. Infidelity. Gambling debts. Drug scandals. Itˇs the sort of quality investigative journalism that has no business being relegated to a social media post. Players are lucky if they only lose endorsement deals or get benched. One guy ended up facing jail time after a slew of women came forward with sexual harassment charges.

With a casual sign off name like Puck Bunny , I always figured the mastermind behind the account had to be some sort of genius. I just never thought that genius might be my best friend .

¨Fuck.〃 This honestly has me feeling all kinds of twisted up inside. Pride because if itˇs true, itˇs just like Daisy-fucking-Hall to grab life by the throat and make it her bitch. Disappointment, and the slightest bit of unease, because Iˇve always been an open book with her and sheˇs . . . Shit, I donˇt even know what to think right now.

¨What are you guys talking about?〃

I pass Huntˇs phone back over to him before Joshua Kammer can get his pesky hands on it. Kid has one season under his belt, and heˇs been strutting around the locker room like heˇs Godˇs gift to hockey since training camp. ¨Itˇs nothing.〃

¨Doesnˇt look like nothing.〃

Hunt shoves his phone into the deepest, darkest recesses of his duffel bag. ¨Youˇre wicked nosey for a rookie.〃

Kammer straightens his spine, the look on his young face screaming try me . ¨Excuse you. Not a rookie anymore.〃

¨You canˇt even grow a beard yet.〃

¨Fuck you, West. No one in my family can. Itˇs a curse.〃

Hunt shoulders his bag. Since heˇs so beloved that he could probably get away with murder, he flicks Kammer in the forehead before smiling the same smile thatˇs stopped hearts all over North America. ¨Go away, kid. The adults are talking.〃

¨So, you are talking about something!〃

¨We arenˇt,〃 I say at the same time that Hunt replies, ¨Itˇs above your pay grade.〃

Jesus.

¨Youˇre not helping,〃 I tell Marshall.

Then Kammer looks me dead in the eye and says, ¨Does this have anything to do with Daisy crying in the parking lot before practice?〃 and I decide right then and there that Joshua Kammer isnˇt so bad after all. Heˇs just a cocky little shit who thinks he owns the world. Weˇve all been there.

I kiss the top of his head and then playfully push him out of my way. ¨Gotta go, boys.〃

My girl needs me.