Page 384 of Power Play

My hands stopped against the tie because nothing about the last three days had worked. I lost Charm, nearly beat the shit out of Briggs, got drunk the night before the most important game of my career, weaponized a kiss, and woke up hating myself almost as much as I hated the woman who taught me what it felt like to need someone.

Then I played the best hockey of my life.

“Yeah,” I said as I resumed tying the knot. “Something like that.”

Coach Waters stepped into the doorway and killed half the room with one look. The music lowered immediately, though Gray remained standing on top of the bench.

“Decker.”

I tightened my tie. “Yeah?”

“Finish dressing. Gloria wants you in the conference room.”

The room erupted before he finished the sentence. Gray jumped from the bench, forgot about the single skate, and nearly pitched forward before Hollis caught him.

“Scouts!” Gray yelled. “El Cuchillo is abandoning us!”

“I haven’t gone anywhere.”

“You’re already too important to return my texts.”

“You send me videos of raccoons stealing food.”

“They’re culturally significant.”

Waters pointed toward the floor. “Gray, put both feet down before I trade you to Minnesota out of spite.”

Gray lowered himself carefully. “That would violate my civil rights.”

“Put on pants and file a complaint.”

I finished my tie, pulled on my jacket, and ignored the hands striking my shoulders as I headed toward the door.

Hollis caught my wrist before I passed. “Whatever happens in there, you earned it.”

I clasped the back of his neck and bumped my forehead against his. “Save the emotional shit for the bar.”

“No promises.”

The conference room overlooked the lake from the upper level. Most of the crowd had begun filtering out, but arena staff continued moving through the stands while workers scraped snow from the exposed walkways. Frost Lake gleamed beneath the lights, scarred by skates and stained in places where the game had drawn blood.

Chris stood near the windows with his phone in one hand. Coach Waters took a seat beside Gloria Mercado, Flint’s general manager, who had three folders spread across the table.

“Shut the door,” Gloria said.

I did and looked at Chris. “How bad?”

His smile widened. “Your life is terrible. Three teams want you.”

I took the empty chair across from them. “Offers?”

“Preliminary contract packages. All three have the authority to move tonight if you accept.”

Waters leaned back. “They watched more than the goals. Your defensive work was clean, your shifts stayed disciplined, and you didn’t take the bait when Minnesota spent three periods trying to make you lose your head.”

“I wanted to.”

“That isn’t a statistic.”