Griff steadied himself with a deep breath before opening the door to the training room. His frayed nerves and rolling stomach agitated his inner bear. But it was his damned animal side that had gotten him into trouble in the first place. Without knocking, he let himself into the room to check on the status of the newest teammate.

“What the hell do you want, Berenger?” Coach Risener blocked him from making it more than a few steps into the room.

The assistant coach had been up his ass about his performance since returning for the new season. Add that to today’s incident, and Griff knew better than to push back.

“Just wanted to see how Rob was doing. Square things with him.” Griff shoved his bear down so that his voice sounded more grated than growling.

“You slammed him into the boards hard enough, we’re in here instead of on the ice. Your ass should know better.” Risener refused to back down.

“Let him through, Rod. I’ve got to check him out after I’m through with Markinson here.” Doc Harris’s voice rose above the pained grunts of his patient.

“You mean, before Rob gets taken to the hospital, right?” the coach called out, never taking his eyes of Griff. Risener crossed his arms and stepped in front to block, invading Griff’s personal space. “You may be popular with the fans, but I’ll be damned if that comes at the expense of a player, rookie or not.”

Griff gritted his teeth and bit his tongue to distract his natural instinct to stand up to the challenge the coach unknowingly committed. He stuffed his hands in his pockets to hide any dark fur prickling over his skin. His nails elongated into claws, tearing through the thin fabric of his pockets and puncturing the skin of his thighs. It was getting harder and harder these days to keep his animal under control and hidden.

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Good.” Risener moved out of the way, and Griff saw Rob sitting on the edge of one of the exam tables with his shirt off while Doc manipulated his arm.

He walked over to the rookie, who masked his grimace of pain with a forced look of cocky indifference. “S’up, Grizz. Guess you lived up to your nickname today.”

Heat rose in Griff’s cheeks. The stupid crowd-pleasing endearment had never affected him before. Then again, he’d never lost control the way he had at today’s practice. Nobody called him Grizz or Grizzly except the fans. And, apparently, this inexperienced douche who didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.

“Yeah, Rob. Sorry about checking you like that. Won’t happen again.”

The younger player’s arrogant attitude slipped as he winced. “Damn, Doc.”

The team’s trainer wrote down some notes and continued palpating the injured area. “Hold on for a few more so I know what x-rays to recommend.”

“What I want to know is, what the hell did I do for you to come after me like that? The damn puck wasn’t even in play.”

The kid asked a good question, one that only Griff’s bear had an answer for. One that disturbed him down to his core. The pain in the ass had made a nasty side comment—about her.

“What? Was it some sort of hazing for the new guy?”

No, you noticed her, and then ran your mouth. “No, man. That was all on me.”

“Or have I screwed up and messed with one of your puck bunnies? ‘Cause I gotta say, I’ve had my pick since moving up from triple-A.” His face broke out into an indecent grin until pain wiped it away. “Ow, Doc. Damn.”

The head trainer exchanged a quick look of understanding with Griff. “Sorry. Almost done.”

Griff cleared his throat and considered his options to respond. One, tell the kid to watch out with the fangirls, especially the crazy, stalker ones. Two, tell him to make sure to always suit up for every intimate occasion. Three, establish dominance by smacking the asshole across the face with a massive paw.

He shook his head. “No, I don’t sleep around. Like I said, everything was my fault, and I’m sorry.” There, apology made. Time to move on before his bear jumped into the conversation.

Doc helped Rob struggle to put a clean practice jersey on over the sling that held his arm in place. Coach Risener joined him to the side, discussing the initial diagnosis in hushed voices.

Rob continued, too stupid to take advantage of the easy out Griff had offered. “Maybe you should. Sleep with someone, I mean. Take the edge off of whatever’s bugging you, man. Trust me, a little pleasure can make a big difference. But make sure they look a hell of a lot better than that beast of a woman who was watching us. Although, who wouldn’t want to watch a head full of brown curls bounce around? And her face wasn’t all that bad. But an ass of that size coming for you?” He whistled.

A snarl built in the back of Griff’s throat. It rumbled loud enough to interrupt the young prick uttering the same insult that had gotten him banged against the boards in the first place.

A flurry of action saved the kid’s ass and Griff’s reputation. An assistant trainer pushed a wheelchair into the room to take Rob out to the team SUV and off to the hospital. A lot of directions and orders flew around from coach to trainer to player. Griff stood out of the way, his eyes trained on Rob, who had yet to do anything to earn the respect Griff now showed him in not allowing his bear to destroy the overconfident human.

Relieved not to have to share the same air as Rob any more, Griff blew out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Coach Risener walked back in the training room, still on the warpath.

“You.” He poked a finger into Griff’s chest. “You’re not off the hook. Whether you like him or not, Markinson is a part of our team, and you and your friends have made his pre-season training a damn misery.”

“I told him, and I’m telling you, that was all on me. No hazing involved. I lost my shit today, and I apologized to him. And…I guess I’m making one to you, too.”

The assistant coach broke his glare and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want or need your apology, Griff. Dammit, I know that Rob isn’t entirely innocent in all this. He runs his mouth too damn much. But you? You’re a veteran and a leader on the ice. You should know better than to let him get to you, or at least to teach him a lesson without making it so obvious. Because now I have to hand down consequences.”

Shit. Griff hadn’t thought far enough ahead to see that coming.

“Roddy, I’m sorry, man. I swear it won’t happen again.” As long as the little shithead learns to keep his mouth shut.

“Well, it won’t happen for the next week or so. You’re on unofficial suspension.”

A fly could have flown into Griff’s open mouth. Too many protests caught in his throat at once to utter a single one.

The coach blew out a long breath. When he spoke, the rawness in his voice dissipated. “You’ve got your mother’s birthday celebration coming up, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Good. Go home to Shay Island. Celebrate with your brothers and family. Try to get your shit together. Then come back renewed and ready.” He placed a hand on the stunned player’s shoulder. “You hear me?”

Griff blinked a few times and nodded his head. “Yeah. Right. Shay Island,” he repeated in a daze until his head finally got in the game. He frowned. “Wait. For how long?”

“Bud wanted two weeks officially on the books. I convinced him for one week without a record of it to tarnish your unblemished reputation. For now. But pull a stunt like that again, and the gloves come off.” He backed out into the hallway, the door closing behind him.

A week of suspension. Official or unofficial, Griff had to abandon the ice for an entire week. In all his years playing hockey, not once had he ever been blocked from the one thing he loved more than anything else in the world. What the hell was wrong with him?

The door cracked open, and Samson peeked his head inside the room. “Is the coast clear? We come in peace.”

A low growl built in the back of Griff’s throat. “What do you mean we, jackass? Who’s with you?”

The large team enforcer pushed the door open, his hulking frame filling the entryway. Flicking his hair back from his face, he placed his hands in the air in submissive surrender. “What’s up with Markinson? He gonna live? Or did you finish the job?”

Before Griff could answer, a meaty hand shoved Samson out of the doorway. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, losing control like that? You trying to out us, determined to make us lose this season, or both?”

“Calm down, Sarge.” Samson shot a wary look at the team captain and around the room.

Doc looked amongst the three players and shook his head. He turned to the rest of the staff and directed them to leave for the moment. Only the four of them remaining, he locked the door.

Aaron “Sarge” Sergeants stormed towards Griff and huffed in his face, jabbing a finger into his teammate’s chest. His rumbling voice shook the air around them. “I told you weeks ago you needed to get your shit together. That you were to leave whatever’s going on with you off the damned ice. You’re jeopardizing everything, man.”

He grabbed Griff by the shoulders. Dark brown fur rippled over his giant hands, and his nails elongated, pressing against Griff’s skin. A low snarl rolled in the back of Sarge’s throat.

Doc intervened. “Step back, Sergeants. You don’t have the full picture yet.” He placed a hand between the two volatile teammates. “And Markinson is headed to the hospital to get some X-rays taken as a precaution. He should be fine and ready to skate in a couple of weeks.”

Samson hurried to flank the two men, ready to help Doc. “Guys. This is not the time or place to, you know, let your freak flags fly, if you know what I mean.”

“Maybe you’re right. Or maybe,” Sarge squeezed his hand until his claws punctured Griff’s skin, “a good beating is what this asshole deserves.” He retracted and let go, turning away and pacing. “Dammit, Griff. How could you lose control like that? You want everyone to know what you are? What we are?” He gestured at all of the men left in the room.

Griff wiped a hand over his shoulder and stared at the blood on his fingers. “There are lots of us on different teams,” he grumbled.

Sarge charged at him and stopped mere inches away from his face. “Are you shitting me? Are we back to the basic lessons we learned as cubs? Yes, there are shifters everywhere in the world—in schools, in the police force, in the military, in businesses. Hell, in Hollywood and some very big seats of the government in D.C., too. And yes, there are shifters on pro sports teams.”

Griff rolled the blood between his fingers, concentrating on its stickiness rather than looking into the eyes of his friend and at the truth. “Nice speech.”

“I’m not finished.” Sarge took another step closer until his hot breath blasted Griff’s skin. “The one rule we all have to abide by is that we live in symbiosis with humanity. That we do not ever reveal ourselves to the world at large. And what you did today—”

“I know,” interrupted Griff, eager to end the tirade.

“What was that?” Sarge pressed, holding his hand up to his ear in dramatic fashion. “I’m not sure I heard you.”

“I know, okay. I get it.”

Doc placed a hand on both of their chests. “That’s enough.”

“Yeah, Sarge. He says he gets it.” Samson’s cautious gaze bounced between his teammates. “It’s like that movie. The first rule of Shifter Club is, we do not talk about Shifter Club. The second rule of Shifter Club is, we do not talk about Shifter Club.” His imitation of Brad Pitt sucked.

Sarge chuffed a surprised chuckle, and the hostile atmosphere around him evaporated. He ran his hand over the stubble on his jaw. “Shit, man. If you wanted to get the guy, we could have planned something a hell of a lot more covert. His hazing period isn’t nearly over. And if he keeps running his mouth, it’ll last well into the season.”

Griff lifted his shirt off at the quiet insistence of Doc and sat down in the same spot Rob had occupied before. “I don’t know. Lost my head.” No way was he going to admit to them the real reason.

Doc palpated his ribs on the side that had plowed Markinson, and muttered low enough for only Griff to hear, “Is that all? Nothing to do with a particular girl with brown curls?”

Griff grunted as Doc hit a sensitive spot, but didn’t dare answer the question in front of his two best friends on the team.

“What was that?” asked Sarge.

Doc frowned. “I said I was concerned that he’s not healing as fast as he should,” the trainer covered. “Maybe that week suspension will do you good in more ways than one.”

“What?” both his teammates roared at the same time.

Griff shrugged and played off his concern. “It’s unofficial. I’ve got to go home for Mom’s birthday anyway.”

Going home to Shay Island would do him good. Check on his brothers. Hug his mom. Ask her advice. And forget about the girl who made him lose control.

Samson perked up. “Oh yeah. I’ve got a card for you to take to her. And maybe you can bring me back some of her lasagna?”

Sarge smacked him upside the head. “It’s her birthday, dumbass. You’re supposed to give her something, not the other way around.”

Doc handed Griff his shirt to put back on. “Keep a close eye on your bruising. If it doesn’t heal by morning, you give me a call. Otherwise, I’ll find a way to check on you during the week.”

“Thanks.” Griff followed Sarge and Samson as they left. He stopped in the doorway. “Hey, Doc?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you know about curly brown hair?”

The trainer huffed out a laugh. “Save it, for now, Berenger. We’ll see if you’ve earned more information when you get back.”