Page 9 of Cross-Checked

“Lester’s still out for this game,” I say, referencing the player whose nose Colt broke in Game 1 of the series, “so Colt will be just fine.”

“Like in the last game?”

“Hey, that was Carolina’s players coming afterhimin Game 2.”

“Yeah, and tensions willstillbe high, especially now that we’re in their arena. After two losses and an epic fight, their players will be out for blood. We need to be smart, not reactive.”

“I’ll pass your message along.” My voice is flat, because even though she’s right—even though I actuallydoagree with her—the thought of admitting that turns my stomach sour.

“Youneed to be the one to convince them to settle down out there, McCabe.” She leans against the wall, crossing her arms under her chest. The thin white turtleneck she’s wearing creases right between her breasts, a fact I wish I didn’t notice—but she’s got curves for days and is unfortunately attractive, no matter how much I hate her. “You’re not a fucking parrot passing along my message. If I wanted it to come from me, I’d say it to the team myself. I want you to be the leader they need, and tell them to get their shit together and stop being so reactive.”

Grinding my teeth together, I try not to let her get under my skin. Maybe I need to talk to someone about all this anger? Zach Reid has a sports psychologist he raves about, and Drew started working with her earlier this season, too. Maybe I should get her name from one of them?

Then again, if I’m only with the Rebels until the end of the season, I can put up with AJ for that long.

“Understood.” The word comes out through clenched teeth, sounding more like a growl than any tone that would be appropriate to use with your boss.

Her cheeks grow pink, something I haven’t seen happen in the six years she’s been in Boston. Back in St. Louis, though, I saw that look—embarrassment mixed with anger—quite often.

Somehow, I can’t make myself care that I’m seeing it again. Or rather, I can’tletmyself care. Because the last time I did, she kicked my legs right out from under me.

Turning away from her, I push through the door to the locker room, and almost run smack into Coach. “Hey. Thanks for getting us out of that lunch today.”

Wilcott rolls his eyes and says, “You’re so damn lucky you didn’t have to be there. It was painfully awkward. But you don’t need to thank me. AJ was the one who got you guys out of going. She’s always looking out for you.”

Well, fuck.

Iskate back toward the crease as the ref takes the puck to one of the face-off circles in our defensive zone. “I told you before the game,” I say, narrowing my eyes at Colt, “not to fucking antagonize Carolina.”

I broke down and had the talk with the team that AJ asked me to. But Colt keeps chirping the Carolina players every time they say something to him, and if that shit doesn’t stop, another fight’s going to break out like it did in the first game of the series.

“Not my fault they keep running their mouths. It’s not likeI’mgoing after them.Theykeep coming at me.”

“You’re the one who broke Lester’s nose. Of course they’re pissed. He’s their best player.”

Colt shrugs before turning his body toward the circle where players are getting into position. “Too bad for them.”

“Just fucking knock it off,” I say, my tone stern. “You don’t have to respond to every stupid thing they say. You’re smarter than that.”

I skate forward to line up for the puck drop, and when Drew manages to get possession of it and passes it over to Walsh, I skate around one of Carolina’s players to surge forward. But before the puck even heads my way, I’m checked from the side, right into the glass.

As the ref blows his whistle, I calmly turn toward the guy who hit me. I don’t think he even did it on purpose; I think he thought Walsh had passed the puck back to me.

“Thanks for the power play, asshole.”

As I skate backward, away from him, Zach comes up on my other side. “Nice job there.”

I know exactly what he means. If I’d reacted, I would have been sent to the sin bin too, thus negating the benefits of the power play. “Thanks, I took a page out of your playbook.”

Zach is known as one of the smartest players in the league. The mind games he plays on the ice are brilliant—the way he eggs an opponent on until they lose their fucking mind, but then skates away before a fight can start—and make him a formidable opponent.

We learned earlier in the season, the one and only time I’ve ever seen him fight in his professional career, that he avoids fights because he’s actually a black belt in Aikido. The man is absolutely deadly with his hands. I’m just thankful that we’re on the same team now, because playing against him is torture and, like most players in the league, I’ve fallen victim to his head games before.

“Fine work, grasshopper,” Zach says, dropping his voice low so he sounds like a wise, old martial arts master.

Given that I’ve got almost a decade on him, that has me chuckling as I turn to skate back to the same face-off circle we just left. And as I get in position, my eyes flick over to the bench to see if Coach is setting up a line shift, but the woman standing directly behind him, on the other side of the glass, steals myattention. Her dark blue power suit is cut to her curvy figure, and the off-white turtleneck she wears beneath it frames her face between the jacket and her dark hair.

Even from across the ice, I can see the smug smile on her face. Her lips turn up at the corners with the self-satisfied look of someone who just got their way.

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