Page 58 of Slap Shot
Travis scrambled to collect his phone while Phoebe continued her enthusiastic but clumsy attempts to gather the scattered promotional materials. She bumped into him when he was bending down, and he crashed to the floor.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so clumsy. Let me help you up.” Phoebe blocked his line of sight to the hallway.
"It's fine," Travis said, frustration clear in his voice. "Really, I can handle—"
"No, no, I insist! Team spirit, right?”
She owed Phoebe huge. Heather slipped out of Travis's office on unsteady legs, adrenaline making her movements jerky and uncontrolled. She'd just committed corporate espionage based on a hunch. If she was wrong about Travis, her career would be over. If she was right, it might be over anyway.
Chapter Eighteen
Oliver
The locker room felt normal for the first time in days. No sideways glances, no whispered conversations that died when someone walked by, no undercurrent of resentment about salary disparities. Players moved through their routines with the easy confidence that had been missing since the leaks started.
Oliver laced his skates while listening to Dmitri argue with Mateo about whether Swedish fish or gummy bears were the superior pre-practice fuel.
"Swedish fish have better texture," Dmitri insisted. "More substantial. Gummy bears are for children."
"Gummy bears have variety," Mateo countered. "Different flavors, different experiences. Swedish fish are just... fish."
"Exactly. Consistency. Reliability. Like Swedish defense in World Juniors."
"That makes no sense."
Oliver found himself grinning at the ridiculous debate. This was what he'd missed, teammates being teammates instead of walking on eggshells around each other.
"Chenny's looking happy today," Kane observed from across the room. "Like, suspiciously happy."
"Maybe he finally got laid," Mateo suggested, never one to let a topic drop. "About fucking time."
Heat crept up Oliver's neck as he thought about last night, Heather admitting she loved him, the way she'd felt in his arms,waking up with her hair spread across his chest. But that warmth was immediately followed by anxiety about keeping it hidden.
"I'm just glad those cyber attacks are over," Oliver said carefully. His teammates knew there had been security breaches affecting the team, but they didn't know about his personal connection to any of it.
"We all are," Dmitri added. "Team feels different now. Like we can breathe again."
"Speaking of breathing," Jax called from across the room, "Sven, did you change your deodorant? Something smells like a flower shop exploded."
"It’s my new cologne," Sven replied defensively. "Swedish women like men who smell sophisticated."
"Swedish women aren't here, genius," Liam pointed out. "We are. And we don't appreciate smelling like we're trapped in a Bath & Body Works."
"You are all uncultured swine," Dmitri declared. "No appreciation for fine grooming."
"Fine grooming doesn't require chemical warfare," Marcus added, waving his hand in front of his nose dramatically.
Oliver listened to the familiar banter while his mind churned through complicated thoughts. Should he tell them about his connection to the attacks? They deserved to know that their teammate's past had put them all at risk. But explaining would mean revealing his criminal history, and he wasn't sure he was ready for that conversation.
On the ice, Coach Vicky had them running line rushes—three-on-two drills designed to build chemistry and timing. Oliver lined up with Kane and Dmitri, their usual combination finally clicking again after weeks of dysfunction.
"Chenny, you're the trailer," Vicky called. "Kane, drive the net. Dmitri, find the soft ice and be ready for the pass."
The first rush was poetry in motion. Kane carried the puck up the middle, drawing both defensemen toward him while Oliver stayed back to create a triangle. When Kane fed the puck back to Oliver, he had time and space to survey his options. Dmitri had found a lane on the far side, calling for the puck in that thick Russian accent.
Oliver threaded the pass through traffic, hitting Dmitri perfectly in stride. The winger didn't hesitate, ripping a shot that caught the top corner with authority.
"Fuck yeah!" Dmitri hollered, pumping his fist as he skated past the bench. "Is like riding bicycle made of pure skill!"
