Page 34 of The Pucking Date
Marcus doesn’t flinch. “Then put the gloves on.”
I speak up, calm but clear. “I’m not signing a bridge deal. I’ve done the patchwork contracts. Played through the noise. I’m done with that.” I turn to Rothschild. “You want me on the second line? Fine. But stop treating me like a bonus piece. I’m not a placeholder. I’m your anchor.”
Rothschild exhales, fingers steepled. “This is about long-term positioning. Legacy stories like yours need the right sponsor to carry the weight, and that’s still in play.”
Jessica cuts in, unshaken. “We’ve got alignment building in Park City. There will be high-net exposure, clean messaging. We’ll show Finn as more than just a forward. We will show him as the face of New York.”
Marcus casts her a glance, somewhere between skeptical and impressed. “Finally, someone’s talking strategy.”
Coach nods once. “It’s your play, Jess. You’ve got the contacts.”
“I know,” she says, still not looking at me.
But I’m looking at her. And I can feel the shift, how her voice flattens when she’s in work mode. How she slides into that ironclad Novak posture, hiding every signal that isn’t strictly professional.
But I know what she’s doing. I know because I saw it on Fire Island—her wearing my shirt, number seventeen stretched across her back like a brand. She’d sat there sipping coffee, calm as you please, while my number claimed her for everyone to see. The boldest damn move she could make.
A dare.
Keep chasing, O’Reilly. Let’s see if you’ve got the nerve to catch me.
She wanted a reaction. Wanted to see if I’d step up.
And I didn’t. I let her win the silence. Because the timing mattered. Because she ghosted me in Montreal, and that was the first time we’d seen each other after that night.
But now the leash is burning in my hand, and I’m taking everything.
Her eyes flick to mine for a breath. Enough to tell me she doesn’t want to be done either.
Coach sees it. His mouth tightens. Arms cross.
Rothschild rises, clearly done. “Get us traction in Park City. You’ll have my answer when you return.” And then he walks out.
Joy blinks. “Wow. He’s...intense.”
“You’ve got six days,” Coach tells me, not budging. “Make the right impression, get the right sponsor, and we can lock you in.”
Then he nods once, signaling the meeting’s over, but his gaze lingers on me for a beat too long. A warning. Something that saysI saw that. And I’ll be watching.
As the others start gathering their things, Marcus nudges me. “You better bring a suit.”
I smirk. “I look great in a suit.”
Jessica rises, expression neutral.
“All that’s left now,” she says without looking at me, “is to bring it in.”
She walks out, heels sharp against the tile. Back straight. Face unreadable.
Coach stands at the far end of the table, arms folded. Like he’s waiting for something. I collect my folder, ready to leave.
“Stay a minute,” he says firmly. I turn back and meet his eyes. “You’ve been a leader in this locker room,” he says after a beat. “I don’t hand out the A like party favors.”
“I know.”
“You’ve earned that letter. With grit, discipline. You show up when it counts.”
I nod once. “That’s what I’m here to do.”
