Page 20 of Slap Shot (Charm City Chill #3)

O liver

The locker room reeked of rage. Oliver could feel it crawling under his skin as he laced his skates, every player radiating the kind of fury that came from having your private business splashed across every sports blog in America.

Liam was slamming gear around like he wanted to break something.

Sven sat three stalls down, methodically taping his stick with the focus of a man preparing for war.

Oliver's hands trembled as he pulled on his gloves. Charlie whined softly beside him, picking up on the violence that filled the air.

"All right, you fuckers," Coach Vicky's voice cut through the tension. "I know what you're thinking. You want blood. Good. That's what we're doing today."

Oliver looked up. Her face was stone.

"Full contact scrimmage. No whistles unless someone's dying. Liam, you're in net for whites. Sven, you've got reds. Everyone else, pick a side and settle this."

The room stirred with grim anticipation. Finally.

Oliver ended up on whites with Kane, Dmitri, and Marcus—the guys whose contracts had made them look like management's golden boys. Across the ice, Jax, Mateo, and Ethan wore red jerseys, their faces twisted with the fury of men who'd been lied to.

Coach Vicky held the puck at center ice. "Play hockey. Real hockey."

The puck dropped and Jax immediately tried to decapitate Marcus with a check that sent him flying into the boards. The impact echoed through the arena. Marcus bounced up, eyes blazing.

"That all you got, you jealous fuck?"

Oliver carried the puck through center ice, feeling every eye on him. His performance bonuses had been the worst revelation, proof that management valued him more than guys who'd been grinding for years. The resentment burned.

Ethan came at him low and dirty, clearly aiming to take his head off. Oliver slipped the hit but caught a crosscheck to the ribs that would have been a major penalty anywhere else.

"Fucking bonus baby," Ethan spat. "Must be nice being teacher's pet."

Oliver dropped his gloves.

His fist crashed into Ethan's jaw before the kid could react. Ethan staggered but came back swinging, catching Oliver in the temple with a punch that made stars explode across his vision.

They went down swinging, throwing punches with months of pent-up frustration behind them. Oliver's knuckles split against Ethan's cheekbone. The rookie's fist drove into his ribs, sending electricity through his nervous system.

Blood hit the ice. Oliver didn't know whose and didn't care. All that mattered was hitting and being hit, working through his rage with violence instead of words.

Coach Vicky let them go for a full minute before skating over.

"Better?" she asked as they separated, both bleeding.

Oliver spat blood onto the ice. "Getting there."

"Good. Keep playing."

The scrimmage turned savage. Every shift brought bigger hits, nastier battles along the boards. Dmitri caught Mateo with a hip check that dropped him flat. Kane body-slammed Jax into the glass hard enough to rattle the arena.

But the real war was in the nets.

Liam was playing like his career depended on every save. When Mateo unleashed a shot that should have beaten him clean, Liam somehow got in front of it, making a save that drew grudging respect even from players who wanted to see him fail.

"Fuck yeah!" Kane roared. "That's why you make starter money!"

Sven answered three shifts later. Oliver broke free on a breakaway that should have been automatic. But Sven read it perfectly, coming out to challenge and making a kick save that defied logic.

As the puck deflected away, Sven pumped his fist and screamed at the ceiling, months of frustration pouring out in one roar.

"Earn those fucking bonuses now, superstar!"

Oliver grinned through his bloody lip. This was what they'd needed, honest hatred and honest respect, earned through skill instead of contract negotiations.

The climax came when Marcus set up behind Sven's net in the final period. The play developed with precision, both teams reading the attack. When Marcus threaded a perfect pass to Kane in the slot, it should have been over.

Instead, Sven exploded across the crease, his pad somehow finding the puck at the last second. The save was so spectacular that the arena fell silent.

Then chaos erupted.

"HOLY SHIT!" Jax crashed into Sven hard enough to knock them both down. "Where the fuck has that been?"

Even Liam skated the length of the ice to slam his glove against Sven's mask. "That was fucking sick, you Swedish bastard."

Something shifted in the team's chemistry. Contract numbers suddenly meant nothing compared to the player making impossible saves. They remembered why they'd fallen in love with hockey—not for money, but for moments of pure skill and violence.

By the time Coach Vicky ended it, it was like he'd been through a meat grinder. His jersey was shredded, his body screamed with pain, and his mind was finally quiet.

The locker room had transformed. Players were bleeding and bruised, chirping each other with vicious affection. Liam and Sven sat together, comparing wounds.

"Not bad for a backup," Liam said, spitting blood into a towel.

"Not bad for someone who's overpaid," Sven shot back, grinning.

Oliver pulled off his skates with shaking hands. Charlie appeared beside him, tail wagging cautiously.

"Feel better?" Kane asked, his face already swelling.

"Fuck yes," Oliver said. "Much better."

The salary leaks still hung over them, the media would keep attacking, and his relationship with Heather was destroyed. But for the first time all day, those problems seemed manageable.

Sometimes you didn't need therapy or conversation. Sometimes you just needed to bleed together.

The team was still breathing. Wounded, but alive.

OLIVER'S APARTMENT was too quiet after the adrenaline rush of the scrimmage.

The physical catharsis had cleared his head enough to realize what a complete asshole he'd been to Heather.

The woman who'd risked her career to help him, who'd believed in him when the evidence pointed toward his guilt, who'd opened herself up to him in every possible way—and he'd lashed out at her like a cornered animal.

Charlie settled beside his desk as Oliver powered up his personal setup, the dog's brown eyes reflecting concern. Even his service animal knew he'd fucked up.

"Yeah, buddy," Oliver muttered, pulling up secure browsers and network analysis tools. "I know I screwed the pooch on this one."

While his programs ran background searches, Oliver's mind kept drifting to the look on Heather's face when he'd compared her to Kai.

The hurt in her green eyes. She'd been trying to help, trying to find a strategic solution to their impossible situation, and he'd responded by attacking her judgment and personal history.

Flowers, he thought, watching code scroll across his screen. She'd probably think flowers were cliché, but maybe something unexpected. Not roses—too obvious. Something that showed he'd been paying attention.

His network scan pinged with results. Multiple intrusion points across the Chill's infrastructure, all bearing Kai's signature fingerprints.

But there was something else, active countermeasures being deployed in real time.

Heather was fighting back, building firewalls and deploying defensive protocols even as Kai hammered against their systems.

She was brilliant, adapting to Kai's attacks faster than most cybersecurity experts could even recognize them. But she was fighting defensively, trying to protect what they had instead of going on the offensive.

That's where Oliver could help.

He pulled up traffic analysis tools, mapping the data flows coming into and out of their network.

Kai was routing his attacks through a complex web of proxy servers and compromised systems, but every connection had to originate somewhere physical.

Every digital fingerprint led back to a real-world location.

Maybe dinner, Oliver thought as he cross-referenced IP addresses with municipal infrastructure databases. Somewhere special, not just Antonio's again. That place in Federal Hill she mentioned liking. What was it called?

His tracking algorithms began narrowing down possibilities.

Kai was definitely operating from downtown, using the shared fiber infrastructure that connected multiple commercial buildings.

The latency patterns suggested he was no more than twelve blocks from the waterfront, probably in one of the newer co-working spaces that offered anonymous access.

Oliver's secure messaging system chimed with an alert.

Another attack wave incoming, this one targeting Coach Vicky's personal files.

He watched Heather's countermeasures deploy, elegant defensive code that bought them precious seconds.

But Kai was persistent, hammering against her firewalls with the single-minded determination of someone who'd had years to plan this revenge.

The signed Reed Larson jersey, Oliver realized with a grin.

Heather had mentioned growing up watching Minnesota hockey, and Reed Larson was a legend—a tough defenseman who'd played over nine hundred NHL games, most of them with Detroit but he'd started his career at the University of Minnesota.

She'd probably watched him play as a kid, maybe even dreamed of following in his footsteps before her knee injury ended those plans.

He knew a guy who knew a guy who could probably get authentic memorabilia.

The team sweater would be something personal, something that showed he'd been listening and that he cared about her.

Hell, he might even love her.

The thought stopped him dead in his tracks, and he almost missed the location tracking.

Three possible buildings in the downtown core, all with the right infrastructure configuration. The bank building had too much security. Kai would never risk it. The tech incubator had the wrong bandwidth allocation patterns. But the Meridian Building...

Oliver pulled up building schematics and network topology maps.

Shared co-working space, anonymous daily access, exactly the kind of setup Kai would use for an operation like this.

And the network fingerprint was unmistakable.

Oliver recognized it because he and Kai had used that exact configuration for a federal contract three years ago.

His chest tightened as memories surfaced.

Long nights in that same building, working side by side with someone he'd trusted completely.

Planning operations, sharing techniques, building the partnership that had eventually led to Oliver's torture and trauma.

Kai knew Oliver would recognize the signature.

This was a deliberate message wrapped in a tactical choice.

Another alert chimed. Heather's defenses were holding, but barely.

Kai was wearing her down through sheer persistence, forcing her to react instead of anticipate.

Oliver could see the pattern. His former partner was setting up for a massive data extraction, probably targeting the team's complete personnel files this time.

She deserves better than flowers and dinner, Oliver thought, watching Heather's elegant code adapt to each new attack vector. She deserves an apology that actually means something. She deserves the truth about why I was so scared to trust her judgment.

The realization hit him harder than any check he'd taken during the scrimmage.

Heather hadn't been asking him to destroy his career for the greater good.

She'd been asking him to trust that the people who cared about him would still care about him after learning the truth.

And instead of having that conversation, instead of being vulnerable about his deepest fears, he'd attacked her for pushing him toward honesty.

Oliver's location analysis completed with a soft chime. The Meridian Building, suite 847, network access point matching Kai's exact traffic patterns. Ninety-seven percent probability that his former partner was operating from that location right now.

He stood up, grabbing his jacket and keys. Charlie immediately moved to follow, but Oliver knelt down and took the dog's head in his hands.

"Not this time, buddy," he said. "Where I'm going, you can't help. But I need you to stay here and be safe, okay?"

Charlie whined softly, clearly understanding that something dangerous was happening. Service dogs were trained to stay with their handlers during crises, and leaving Oliver behind went against every instinct the animal had.

"I know, I know. But this is something I have to do alone." Oliver scratched behind Charlie's ears, feeling guilty about abandoning his partner but knowing he couldn't risk the dog's safety in whatever confrontation was coming. "Guard the house. I'll be back soon."

He paused at the door, looking back at his setup still running tracking protocols on Kai's activities.

Somewhere downtown, Heather was fighting a digital war against someone who'd spent years planning her destruction.

Someone who'd hurt Oliver and was now using that history to hurt everyone he cared about.

He could call her, bring backup, coordinate with police.

But Kai had already threatened Heather once.

The safest thing, for everyone, was to handle this himself.

After this is over, Oliver promised himself, I'm going to tell her everything. About the warehouse, about why I was so terrified of being vulnerable again, about how she makes me want to be braver than I actually am.

But first, he had to face the ghost of his past. Had to confront the man who'd taught him that trust was a weapon that could be turned against you. Had to prove to himself that he wasn't the same scared kid who'd been too naive to see betrayal coming.

Oliver locked the apartment behind him and headed for his car, leaving Charlie pacing anxiously behind the door.

The drive to downtown would take twenty minutes in current traffic.

Twenty minutes to figure out what he was going to say to someone who'd once been his best friend and was now his worst enemy.

Twenty minutes to prepare for a confrontation that had been three years in the making.