Page 2 of Puck my Prey
I waited until she was the last of the line filing away from the bench, and spoke to her poker straight back.
The ones in control are always the ones with the most scars on the inside.
Hell, I couldn't wait to discover hers. We were playing a game, even if she didn’t know we’d started yet.
“Enjoy your podium, Miss Brooks,” I murmured to the emptying stadium.
Ward Bishop, the Chimera’s coach, muttered curses to the ice as he took up position behind me, no doubt ready to rip me a new one the moment her perfectly curved tush vacated the ice. The one person who shouldn’t be there who I aimed my comments directly at offered me no reaction whatsoever.
Yep, Cora Brooks reined in that control so tight I was surprised she didn’t snap on the spot. Maybe that was why she had a hissy fit the moment she stepped up earlier. Or maybe her little tantrum had nothing to do with my team’s apparent shenanigans whatsoever.
Damn, we were gonna have so much fun together.
I wondered which one of us would break first, and if she’d enjoy kneeling for me…
Or if I would be the one on my knees for her.
“Wake up, Valentine,” Coach snapped as he skated circles around Cap and me a dozen breaths later once we were sure that we were alone on the ice once more. “If the two of you don’t pull your heads out of your asses, it will be your jobs that Cora Brooks calls for first. You, because it’s your responsibility to talk sense into the assholes who just followed her with their tails tucked—” Coach glared at Hux like the star of our team was Cap’s personal fault. “And you—” His slate gray glare landed on me, “—You, since Hux was home in bed with his woman,you, Valentine, are going to tell me what in the hell happened with that woman last night that has the media with their panties in a twist. Because, what, you all wanted to dabble in a little group sex? Indulged in a party night before four a.m. training? Those rags are all full of shit and we both know it. I don’t need to read the cheap tabloid she brought in to know that. And Iknowthat, because you wouldn't let them do anything half as stupid on your watch, would you? Right?" His voice cracked around the empty rink, tinged with the faintest edge of desperation.
Coach got right up in my face, which was saying something for a man at least fifteen years older than me and nearly a foot shorter, though Ward Bishop was no slouch. I was just a big, Black giant, which was why, while Solace Hunter was off with an injury from two games back, Coach put me in as stand in goalie.
Apparently, that position came with a side service for team protectors. The trust he threw at them was made for damn broad shoulders. Solace wore that mantle just fine, but those were some big skates to fill.
I stared at Coach down, and refused to flinch.
“No, I won’t let them flounder on my watch,” I said quietly, my arms folded across my chest.
“Good. I didn’t fucking think so,” the man before me huffed, though he deflated somewhat when I didn’t arc up at him as he obviously expected.
“Then what the hellhappened?” Hux glided across the ice to pick up the collection of papers Cora left behind. “This doesn’t say much apart from the fact that half the team was drunk last night." He shot me a pointed look.
“Yeah, they got drunk,” I acknowledged. “It was meant to be Solace’s buck’s party, remember? He was getting married, and then the knee injury took him out.” I shrugged, because let’s face it—without that injury I’d probably still be warming myself a place on the Reserve squad bench with the rest of the hopefuls.
“And what, they couldn’t wait for a few more nights, or his actual event?” Coach looked disgusted.
Even though I agreed with the sentiment, I kept my face carefully blank. Hux watched me thoughtfully from a distance, tapping the tabloids against his thigh.
“Maybe not,” I finally conceded.
The coach blew out a breath through whitened lips. “Is that all I’m going to get from the pair of you?”
Silence met his question.
Closing ranks on the man who handpicked me from utter obscurity and thenobody who’s nobodylist of the year might not be my smartest choice. Last night we made a decision as a team. I refused to be the one to not meet that mark two weeks into playing for my dream squad.
The coach exhaled a long breath slowly. “Fine, Valentine. You heard the lady. Don’t give her a reason to name you on her shit list. And you’d better have answers for her when she pulls you into my damn office later today. Because she will.”
“For answers or because she’s taken up residence in your office?” I kept my voice low, but we all heard the question that I didn't bother to hide.
Coach skated away from me, the tension in his shoulders telling its own story.
I mentally added his weight to my protector’s list. What was the point in shouldering the team weight if I couldn't return the favor for the man who lifted me out of development squad hell? The man gave up authority over the team, albeit grudgingly, for the next few days, as well as his office.
Maybe it was time that I went and saw Miss Cora Brooks ahead of schedule. Just to see if I could help out the woman I fully intended to torment a little before I broke her.
I hoped Coach wasn’t too attached to his desk.
CHAPTER TWO
