Page 156 of Of Pucking Course

“Wait, do you think the equipment manager broke your sticks?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t want to think that, but it’s a really big coincidence.”

“It is.”

Sam tugs a hand through his hair. “He’s always been pretty standoffish to me since I joined the team this spring. I just figured that was his personality. But I realize now that he doesn’t like me at all. I just wish I knew why.”

“You’ve never had a bad interaction with him, right?”

Sam shakes his head. “Never. I mean, we argued when I asked him about how he handled the team equipment, but that was after my sticks broke. Before then, I barely even talked to him. I was always polite to him, though.”

I rack my brain to try and figure out what is going on.

“What did you say his name was?” I swipe my phone from the counter.

“Will Peterson.”

I search his name on Google, but there are a thousand Will Petersons.

“What are you doing?” Sam asks.

“Seeing if I can dig up any dirt on him online.”

“I doubt you’ll be able to find anything. The hiring process for professional hockey team staff is pretty tough. If he did something terrible or has a criminal record, he wouldn’t have been hired in the first place.”

“It’s still worth looking up.”

I try searching “Will Peterson Denver Bashers” and his LinkedIn and Facebook profiles pop up.

I turn my phone screen to Sam. “Is this him?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

Sam moves to stand next to me. We skim through his LinkedIn profile, but nothing seems out of the ordinary. I scroll through his Facebook profile, which is mostly photos of him on trips he’s taken. There’s a photo of him standing next to a young woman with his arm around her. Probably his girlfriend. There are a few pictures of him working at the Bashers arena.

Sam pushes off the edge of the counter and grabs a green juice from the fridge.

“I’m probably being paranoid,” he says after taking a long pull from his drink. “He just doesn’t like me and I’m having bad luck with my sticks.”

I’m skimming through Will’s profile when one of the names on the comments on his photos catches my eye.

I squint at the name. Colin Salinger.

Salinger was the name of Sam’s hockey coach in college. Colin, the guy that Sam fought, was his son.

I read the comment.

Damn, cuz. Epic photo!

My eyes go wide as the realization crashes into me like a ton of bricks. Colin is the cousin of Will, the Bashers’ equipment manager.

“Holy shit.” I look at Sam and show him my phone screen. “Your teammate who you got in a fight with in college, Colin? I think he’s Will’s cousin.”

“What?” Sam’s voice hitches up.

He steps over to me and squints at the screen. A second later, recognition flashes in his eyes.

“No way…” he murmurs.

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