Page 29 of Pucking Daddy

Morrison nods once.

On the far side of the ice, Connor Hayes shifts his weight impatiently, bouncing on his skates like he wants the puck back already. Young. Fast. Talented as hell. Also too cocky by half when he’s feeling himself.

Which means he needs to be managed.

I blow the whistle again and the drill restarts.

The next ten minutes are relentless. Quick transition work. Retrievals under pressure. Reset. Go again. The sound of skates carving into the ice turns into its own rhythm, punctuated by my whistle and the occasional thud of bodies hitting the boards.

When I finally blow it dead and send them for water, the guys cluster near the bench, shoulders heaving, steam rising off them in the cold.

“Media wants ten minutes with you after,” my assistant coach, Nate, says as he steps up beside me. “They’re doing the whole new era, fresh leadership thing.”

My mouth flattens. “Of course they are.”

The media side of this job is my least favorite part. I despise it. It’s all presentation and optics instead of results.

Come to think of it, everything is optics lately.

Nate tips his head. “You heading home after?”

“Yes. Today I actually get to spend some quality time with Lily again.”

He smiles. “Give that girl a big hug from her uncle Nate, okay?”

“Will do.”

Then Nate adds, almost too casually, “Lily settling in okay with the new nanny?”

There it is.

I keep my expression neutral. “She likes her.”

“Good.”

Not good. Or maybe too good. That’s the problem.

Two weeks. Zara’s only been living with us for two weeks, and already—

If Lily were indifferent, this would be simpler. If Zara had walked in and been bland, forgettable, purely competent, I could’ve slotted her into the role and moved on.

Instead, she walked into my house looking like trouble in civilian clothes and then had the nerve to stand in my kitchen and tell me exactly where I was being unfair.

And since that argument, we’ve barely spoken.

She probably thinks I’m the grumpiest man on earth. I keep things short. Professional. Distant. It’s easier that way. I don’t want her in my space more than necessary. Don’t want the way she looks at me, like she sees right through everything I’m trying to keep locked down.

Because the truth is, she makes me feel… off. Like I’m getting things wrong. Like I’m not as in control as I should be. And I don’t like that.

Doesn’t help that the last two weeks with the Raptors have been insane. Back-to-back games, media, pressure from management. I’ve barely been home long enough to notice anything beyond whether Lily’s asleep and the lights are off.

Maybe that’s for the best.

Maybe once things settle down, this will too.

“She’s been here barely two weeks and already pushing back,” I mutter.

Nate glances sideways. “That a complaint?”