Ares

Team meeting today.

All of us have to be there.

Not really surprised.

Not happy either.

See the writing on the wall.

We’re all ordered into the dressing room for a sit-down. Murphy’s sober, looks to want to take my head off.

Lavoie and Frey back him into a corner.

I clomp on my crutches to sit next to Jaeger across the room.

Don’t hold it against Murphy that he’s pissed.

Not going to change to make him happy though.

I’m not a dick. Won’t pull dick moves on his sister.

Can’t fix his problem though.

Has to do that himself.

“Bet you couldn’t have pulled off a hat trick last night, old man,” Jaeger says.

I don’t answer.

No good answer to give that can’t be taken the wrong way.

He glances at Murphy.

Back at me.

I’m staring straight ahead now.

“Fuck, man,” he mutters.

Coach walks in with the big guns.

General management. Team president. Director of operations.

“Gentlemen,” Coach says, “a few things need to change. Today.”

Forty minutes later, I’m texting my agent.

And not any of the gifs I send everyone else in my life. This is a flat-out SOS.

They say I have to talk to the press.

The whole team’s getting image coaching. Can’t be champs if we don’t act like champs. Don’t deserve the cup if we don’t earn the cup, on and off the ice, and we could win the cup this year.

Manners lessons. Wardrobe consultations. Anger management counseling.

Interviews.

Appearances.

Charity work.

Fuck.

I give back.

My way.

And I don’t do fucking interviews.

Except when my agent calls, he has other news.

Trade shit. Contract shit. Shit shit.

Knew this could be a problem, but he said he was working on it.

I don’t earn him the big bucks. Don’t take sponsorship deals just to pad my bank account, so all he gets is a percentage of my salary.

So he doesn’t fight hard for me.

And I don’t ask him to fight for me. Haven’t been pushing.

I’m fucking pushing now.

“Keep holding tight,” he tells me. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Murphy’s slinking out of the tunnel one way. I head the other. Need to pick up Loki. Left him hanging with Gracie.

“Mr. Berger.”

I flinch.

Wouldn’t normally, but I’m off-kilter, and Jenna Tucker has snuck up on me.

Video productions manager.

In charge of making us look like fucking saints off the ice.

Wouldn’t matter if I hadn’t been there in the tunnel during the fight last night. They want me doing videos.

Talking about something more than my socks.

“Give you a ride home?” she says.

I keep moving.

Because she has twin boys at home, she keeps up.

Never underestimate the mother of twin boys.

“This doesn’t have to be painful,” she says.

I spare her a glance.

She smiles.

I hate it when people smile like that. It’s a lie. This won’t hurt. It’s for your own good. They’re laughing WITH you, not AT you, sweetheart.

I know what I’m good at.

Hockey. Good.

Singing. Good.

Cooking. Good.

Fuck right, I’m good at cooking. Can’t get this big without food.

Sex. Good.

In case that wasn’t clear.

Listening. Good.

Talking to microphones. Bad.

“We’re on the same team, Ares.”

No.

She’s on the corporate team.

I’m on the Play Hockey Till I Die team.

Manning appears on my other side. “Offer you a lift somewhere?” he offers.

I grunt and nod.

He smiles his charming princely smile at Jenna. “Looking forward to charm school, Ms. Tucker. Should warn you. I flunked out the first time.”

“And the second and third times,” Viktor confirms behind us.

I like Viktor. One of the prince’s bodyguards.

Doesn’t talk a lot. Gets shit done. Offered me a job.

Don’t want to guard Manning’s royal ass, but I was still honored.

Minutes later, I’m in the back of a black SUV.

Frey’s next to me.

“This too shall pass,” he tells me in his fancy accent. “Keep your head down. Heal. Get back on the ice. Nothing else matters.”

Wrong.

Something else matters.

Something named Felicity.

She matters a lot.