Page 4 of Bagging the Blueliner
What Dad hadn’t counted on was that I would take his “don’t date my daughters” policy and twist it into a personal challenge. Nothing rankled me more than someone telling me whatnotto do.
I was raised around the game, constantly surrounded by players. I lived and breathed hockey. It only made sense that when I got older, I would want to choose a partner who played the sport I loved.
It was the only world I’d ever known. I wouldn’t know what to do with a regular guy.
Trust me, I’d tried.
I would make afantastichockey wife. I wasn’t one of those fawning idiots who knew nothing about the game—only after a good fuck and their money. Not that I would turn my nose up at the hot sex those bitches always bragged about. I understood the hockey world and would make a supportive partner, an equal.
Only, stupid Dad and his rule were standing in my way.
I was confident someone would break rank eventually, giving me my chance, but it would seem they were more scared of my dad than I expected.
They all treated me like their little sister, even those younger than me. I hated it.
That brought me to my task today. Finding new players in free agency was my only chance. None of the current players were willing to go against their coach. I needed fresh blood—someone I could get to before Dad made his annual speech.
Coaches’ daughters married players all the time, so why couldn’t I? What was so wrong about living the life my parents lived?
I was bound and determined that, this year, I would find one willing to throw caution to the wind and take a chance with me.
At thirty-one, I wasn’t getting any younger. Every year, the age of the players shifted—more of them were younger than me, and fewer were older.
I had no interest in training a puppy.
Seated in the basement theater of my parents’ house, I scoured over hours of film, analyzing potential players for the Comets to pick up for next season. It wasn’t an easy task—there were many factors at play.
Each team was limited on how much they could spend on their players each season—the salary cap—so I needed to find players who met our specific needs while staying within our budget. Most of our cap was already earmarked for returning players, so I was bargain-hunting, in a sense. I needed to find players with unrealized potential who were overlooked by other teams.
The film I watched had been compiled by one of the scouting teams, and a few players caught my eye, so I kept meticulous notes, placing names into columns—hard pass, maybe, and strong possibility.
A clip of a goalie flashed on the screen. That was not at all what I was looking for in my quest for a hockey life partner. Goalies were complete psychopaths. Sure, they were limber as hell, but who willingly agreed to place their body in front of a one-hundred-mile-per-hour slap shot?
Next!
The next player caught my eye—Jenner Knight of the Indianapolis Speed. He was entering his eighth year playing professional hockey, and this would be his first time being an unrestricted free agent. He played a hard game with strength and grit.
Grit. Now,thatdidn’t sound so bad. I could work with that.
Jenner was twenty-eight—a touch younger than me—but was divorced, proving he was commitment-minded. He seemed like the perfect fit, both on and off the ice.
“I heard he’s planning to re-sign with Indy.” A familiar voice filtered through the open door to the theater.
Keeping my eyes on the screen—watching Jenner’s effortless movements and wondering how they would translate to the bedroom—I sighed. “That’s a damn shame. We could use a guy like that.”
I could use a guy like that.
“You’re not wrong. He’s a talented player. Any team would be lucky to have him.” Dad fully entered the room, taking the heavily padded home theater chair to my right.
He might be my dad, but Ace Moreau was a hockey legend to most. It was easy to see why. In his prime, he’d won three championships with the Houston Heroes. He knew what it took to win, and as a coach, he worked hard to bring out the best in his players.
The Comets were inching ever closer to winning that elusive championship trophy, and the pieces we added this off-season could make all the difference.
Patting my knee, he chuckled. “You always were my hockey buddy. How long have you been down here watching film?”
Checking my smartwatch, I noted the time. “Four hours. This film’s not going to watch itself. We need to be ready when free agency opens tomorrow.”
“You know we pay people to do this, right?”
