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“Y’all are acting like a bunch of babies,” I called out, my voice competing with all the labored breathing. There was a slight possibility I’d gone a little too hard on the guys. But at least one of them didn’t seem fazed. I was far too aware of how distracting it was to see Dalton dripping with sweat, hands on his hips as he paced the turf, catching his breath.

He’d come in first. Every. Single. Time.

Jimenez, as I’d come to learn his name was, had been right on his tail for the first few sprints but eventually fell away. Not Dalton, though. He was like a machine.

“Coach,” Roberts groaned, struggling to get onto his elbows like sitting up was the hardest thing he’d ever done. “We’re on skates all game. We’re not cut out for this sprinting and dragging a sled shit.”

I had to fight my smile at the whine in his voice. He sounded like my little cousins when we didn’t allow them into the living room with the adults.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I replied deadpan. “I didn’t realize you don’t use your legs in hockey.” Just then, the door opened behind me.

Josh walked in then stopped, blinking a few times. “Why are all my players lying on the floor?”

A flicker of worry snaked up my spine. Josh was hard to read. He’d seemed confident in his decision to hire me, but that was before he walked into all his players looking like broken toy soldiers.

I cleared my throat, keeping my tone steady. “Some of them had doubts about my qualifications, so I thought I’d introduce them to my methods firsthand.”

Dalton’s voice cut in. “Turns out we suck at weighted sled sprints and not being judgmental dicks.” He glared at Stephens, who was busy studying his feet. At least the guy had the decency to look embarrassed.

Josh’s gaze cut toward Dalton, the two exchanging some silent communication I couldn’t quite read, ending in the corner of Josh’s mouth pulling up slightly. “Well, assholes, it looks like y’all earned yourselves lines on the ice to finish up. Get your skates on. You have five minutes. I add a line for every minute you’re late. Stephens, you have an extra five for being an ass.”

Ignoring the groans, Josh turned toward me, holding a fist I tentatively bumped. “Knew I picked the right person. Now you’re needed over in HR. I’m guessing they’re wanting you to sign this shit,” he said, handing me the new hire packet.

“Thanks for having my back.”

A heavy hand landed on my shoulder. “Trust yourself, Ariella. You’ve got the résumé to back it up.”

“Not at the NHL level,” I said, unsure why I was arguing about this.

He held my gaze. “Yeah, well, I didn’t either before getting this gig. But I believed in myself enough to know I could do it.” Monroe paused, arching a brow in what felt like a challenge. “And I thought you would too.”

His words were the kick in the ass I needed. Monroe was right, I’d earned this. I could do this. Straightening my shoulders, I gave him a curt nod. “You’re right. I’m the right choice for this job.” The statement was as much for me as it was for him.

“Of course she is,” Dalton cut in, startling me. I hadn’t realized he was still standing there. His expression was unreadable, but I appreciated the respectable distance he kept between us.

I’d pushed our situation out of my mind the entire practice, but we’d have to address this at some point.

Josh looked at him with surprise. “Dalt, what the hell are you still doing in here? You’re never late to the ice.”

He shrugged, holding my gaze with a gleam of mischief. “Just wanted to talk to the new coach. Introduce myself properly since we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” He winked before heading out the gym door behind Josh.

The hidden message in those words left me sweating. It was coded, sure, but I knew exactly what he meant by it.

TWELVE

DALTON

I FEEL LIKE A SHOWER HANDY WOULD MAKE FOR EASY CLEAN-UP…

The second we were in the locker room, Jimenez pounced. Fucker didn’t even leave me alone when I got into the shower, loitering outside the curtain like a freak.

“Clearly she’s here because she’s the new coach, Christian,” I said, answering what felt like the hundredth question in the span of fifteen minutes.

“No shit, Dalton. You know I mean did you know she was coming today? That she was going to be on staff?” There was a rustling outside the stall like he was contemplating opening the white liner so he could see my facial expressions.

“Don’t you open that curtain,” I called out, the final word cut off a bit by the stream of water turning on, giving me a few minutes to collect myself.

“Fine. But I want some fucking details here, Cap.”