Page 3 of Enemy Games

“Welcome, bobcats,” Karly called to us before opening the door and ushering us in. “I’ll do a quick tour before we meet our coaches.”

She led the way, and Chris and I moved to the front of the pack. She showed us the brand new locker room that was already complete with our names and gear. The smell of fresh paint and carpet glue hung in the air.

“The showers are through that door”—Karly pointed to the far wall—“and our training room is straight through there.” She turned and pointed at the opposite corner.

“Have you met our trainer?” a redhead in the back asked. I tried to remember her name. I knew she was a sophomore, but that was it.

“Only over the phone,” Karly replied while looking around. “Any other questions before we move on?”

No one spoke, so she waved us through the door we came in from and back down the hall. “This is the weight room. We have priority in the mornings, and the men’s team has the evenings. The afternoon is free to use for anyone that wants to get in some extra workouts.”

“That’s right,” Coach Jarry, a smiling middle-aged woman with cropped brown hair and navy-and-gold warmups on, stepped up next to Karly with Coach Harrison, the assistant coach, next to her. “Welcome to West Penn, ladies. I can’t begin to tell you how happy we are to finally be here, together. This program has been in the works for a long time, and it’s so exciting to see all the blood, sweat, and tears that went into making it happen finally pay off.”

Coach Harrison, a trim man with salt and pepper hair, nodded. “We’re grateful that each of you had the faith to take this chance on us. We have the people here needed to win. With hard work and dedication, we can be champions.”

Chris turned to me, and I mirrored her smile.

“Let’s head to the team room now to discuss what to expect in the coming days and weeks.” Coach Jarry led us farther down the hall.

We trailed behind her, taking in the photographs on the walls. Past celebrations and shots of the men’s team. Their past had been marred with controversy, and West Penn had gained a reputation that the team was still trying to overcome, which was the hardest part about deciding to transfer here. There was a risk we all accepted when we agreed to join this team, but it came with too many opportunities to pass up.

Sure, the rules were strict, and the men’s team was still paying for the sins of past players, but their determination had paid off in the past few years. They sent more players to professional leagues around the world than any other school. That was the main reason why I accepted the offer that resulted in me turning my back on my hometown and my old teammates.

I had one dream. One goal that had driven me since I first stepped onto the ice as a child.

I wanted a gold medal. The gold medal.

The opportunities for women to play professional hockey were very limited, and I knew that the odds weren’t in my favor to play as a career. I accepted that long ago.

No, the only thing I ever wanted was to make it onto the US women’s hockey team and win gold. When I stood on the platform to accept my metal, all the sacrifices and injuries and hurt feelings of the people I left behind would be worth it.

“Welcome!” A boom of voices made me jump. The men’s team and their coaches were standing at the front of the team room with balloons and a long poster that read “Welcome Bobcats!” in blocky letters.

I laughed and smiled as I moved farther into the room, taking in the guys while Chris pulled me along to find seats in the front row. Coach Jarry stood at the front with Coach Harrison facing the room.

“Do you know where they came from?” Chris leaned over and asked.

I followed her line of sight to our coaches and shrugged. “I think Jarry mentioned a school in Michigan in her intro bio, but I could be wrong. I don’t remember if Harrison’s said anything.”

“He was an assistant coach for the men’s team at Boston College,” a freshman leaned forward and whispered over our shoulders.

I turned and offered her a smile. “Thanks.”

She nodded, not meeting my eyes. So she was comfortable listening in on our conversation, and even contributing, but not looking at me? Huh. This dynamic had to change fast, or there was little chance of our team working together on the ice.

The men’s coach moved to the middle and faced us. “Hello, everyone. I’m Coach Weston, and I speak on behalf of everyone on the men’s team when I say welcome to West Penn and the Den! We’re excited to expand the hockey program and share our love of the greatest sport on earth with more people than ever!”

Everyone cheered, and I scanned the faces of each of his players, wondering if they actually agreed with him.

Most of them seemed genuinely happy and excited, but I noticed one grump in the back half-heartedly clapping. He was all tan skin, bronze hair, and golden eyes like some sort of living embodiment of a Greek god. Too bad he looked like he fit the profile of the typical hockey bro perfectly.

Something about him tugged at my memory, but I couldn’t place him. I must have remembered him from watching the West Penn games while I was researching the school.

His eyes suddenly connected with mine, and his slight frown deepened before he looked away.

So not everyone was pleased with our arrival. I expected some push back, but seeing the evidence right in front of me—well, the whole team—made my stomach knot. This transition was bound to be uncomfortable at times, but I refused to let any of the guys intimidate me or my teammates. We belonged here just as much as them, and I’d make sure they knew that.

Chapter 2