Page 40 of Hearts on Ice
Carter grinned, still breathing hard from the game. “No secret. We just play fast and trust each other. T-Train drives the lane, I pull the trigger.”
“Hence the nickname?” she said, amusement flickering in her eyes.
“Guess it’s sticking,” he admitted with a shrug.
More laughter rolled through the locker room.
Eva smiled, then turned to me. “Rodriguez, another shutout for the record books. What clicked for you tonight?”
I tried to sound composed. “We just kept it simple. Smart defense, clear communication. The guys in front of me made my job easy.”
“Modest, as always.” Her gaze flicked past me to Drew. “Coach, it seems like the Grizzlies are settling in early this season. Why is that?”
“Belief,” Drew said. Calm, controlled. “They believe in themselves—and each other.”
There was pride in his voice.
It shouldn’t have meant so much, but it did.
Eva thanked us and moved on. The microphones lowered, the cameras clicked off, and the chaos faded into small talk and the hiss of showers turning on.
I sank onto the bench, untying my pads. My body screamed, but it was a good hurt. Trembley dropped beside me, towel around his neck.
“Winnipeg’s probably crying in their Gatorade,” he said. “Feels good.”
“You earned it,” I told him. “Captain stuff.”
He glanced over, half-smiling. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
His grin deepened. “We’ll see what Coach thinks.”
Maybe I imagined it, but I thought I saw Drew watching us then—expression unreadable, eyes catching mine before he looked away.
JB clapped his hands. “Alright, boys, hydrate, rest up. Back at practice tomorrow.”
The team broke into small clusters. Trembley headed off for press follow-ups, a couple of reporters already flagging him down for extra quotes. Tank started his victory playlist, and I leaned back against my locker, letting the noise wash over me.
Drew stood a little apart, clipboard tucked under one arm, his other hand pushing through his hair the way he did when he was already thinking three steps ahead. The overhead lights caught on the edge of his profile—jaw tight, eyes shadowed, that calm focus that never seemed to slip.
He didn’t look my way again, but I couldn’t stop watching him. The broad line of his shoulders under his dress shirt. The trim waist. The solid power in his legs—the kind of strength that came from years of discipline, not vanity.
My pulse kicked.
Damn leftover adrenaline. The game was still humming in my veins. Maybe it was relief—the shutout, the crowd, the win, knowing I’d get to see my family soon.
But when he turned slightly, head angled toward JB, the muscles in his back flexed through the thin fabric and a breath caught in my throat before I could stop it.
I dropped my gaze fast, shaking it off.
Jesus. Get it together.
It’s just adrenaline.
That’s all.
Chapter 18
