Puck Prince (Houston Scythes Hockey #1)

20. Owen

20

OWEN

Coach pushes a piece of paper across the desk at me.

At us , I guess. Since Callie is sitting to my right, the heat from her thigh burning through my pants.

I look at the paper.

At Callie.

The paper.

Callie.

She speaks up first and takes the words right out of my mouth. “Wait, what?”

“I don’t think I need to explain to you what’s going on in the news right now,” Coach says. “Your little fling is all anyone is talking about. In fact—” He zeroes in on me, and I can feel the heat of his focus like a laser on my forehead. “—your Jumbotron stunt got more airtime on ESPN than the goal you scored. And that was a damn good shot, Sharpe.”

“Thank you, Coach.”

He drops his chin. “That wasn’t a compliment, son.”

“Sorry, Coach.”

Meanwhile, Callie is leaning over the document, fine-tooth combing it with skeptical eyes. “So then this contract is to…?”

“Make it official.”

“Make what official?” I ask.

“You. This.” He waves a hand back and forth between us to indicate what he’s talking about since he doesn’t seem capable of finding the words for what “this” might be.

I raise a hand of my own. “Hold up. You just said that this was bad publicity. But now, you want us to… agree to keep seeing each other?”

“Glad to see your reading skills are up to snuff, Sharpe.”

“Contractually-obligated boyfriend and girlfriend,” Callie mumbles flatly. “That’s what this is. That’s what you want.”

Coach’s face screws up in a scowl. “For the record, I don’t love it, either. Any of it. The fact that you two are even involved makes me want to smack you over the head with your own damn stick. But at this point, it’s a snowball I can’t stop. Might as well commit.”

I know I should probably just agree. I’m in a very hot seat right now. But I still don’t understand the motive. If I’m signing a paper that feels more like blackmail than business, I think I have a right to know why.

“No disrespect, Coach, but what are you getting out of this?”

“Preservation of what is left of my reputation as the head coach for the Houston Scythes,” He answers. “We have a fundraiser coming up, and I don’t want it to be some reality TV shitshow with the press buzzing around trying to dig up the latest dirt on the drama that is my star player dating my niece. You two as committed sweethearts is more palatable than you being fuck buddies.”

“Good Lord,” Callie groans, dropping hot cheeks into her hands.

Coach continues. “You parade her down the red carpet at the fundraiser and donate a hefty sum to the charity, all with a smile on your face and hearts in your eyes, and the crowd will swoon before getting their heads back in the game where they belong.”

Callie sits back, processing what he’s just said.

I’m hung up on one part.

“I’m taking Callie to the fundraiser as my date?”

“I’ll be damned: your listening skills are as good as your reading.” He scowls again, handing me a pen. “You got a problem with that?”

“No. It’s just… I’ve never taken a date to one of those before.” I offer a weak smile. No one else is amused.

Least of all Callie. She’s stiff and silent at my side.

“That sounds like a you problem, Sharpe. You decided to hook up with my niece. You decided to take her to the busiest sports bar in town. You tackled her mouth-first in front of the paparazzi. And you bulldogged your way up to her at the last game in full view of all the TVs in the state of Texas. Now, you are going to see this thing through for a charitable cause.”

Signing my life away on the dotted line was not on my bingo card for the day. But at this point, I don’t see any other option.

It would be nice to at least talk to Callie about this first. This and the kiss at the game.

God, what was I thinking?

I wasn’t, obviously.

I knew she was at the game. Even though her and Kennedy weren’t front and center, and she was hiding behind a ballcap, I spotted them almost immediately.

It threw me off during warm-ups. I found myself looking her way again and again—and found her looking mine more than once. But when the puck dropped, I locked the fuck in.

Every pass was fluid. Every time their defense got scrambled, we left them in the dust. By the time I went for the jugular and scored the goal, we were unstoppable. The crowd was on their feet, the arena was roaring, and I was right where I wanted to be.

Until I saw that some of the commotion wasn’t because of the banger I’d just scored. It was because some piece of shit, drunken opposing fan was getting rough with a girl.

But it wasn’t just a girl. It wasn’t even his girl.

It was Callie.

My girl.

My feet were moving before my mind thought better of it. All the adrenaline I felt from the goal was channeled on lightspeed into anger. Rage. And then into my fist smashing into that asshole’s face.

But it didn’t stop there. Even after that dipshit hit the ground, lights out for the night, I was still running on pure gas. Callie was scared. A fear that seemed deeper-rooted than just being manhandled by some beer-fueled asshole.

Callie has been hurt before.

That was the thought in my head.

It’s been the thought in my head ever sense. I can’t shake it.

I get what everyone else is all up in arms about, though. The punch and the kiss caused a lot of commotion online, so I’m not actually that surprised that Coach needs us to publicly smooth it over. And I have to admit, the fact that our current affairs have kept the press interested enough that they are completely ignoring Summer and Nicky is enough reason for me to sign anything anyone slides in front of me. This could be a marriage license, and it still might be worth it.

I pick up the pen. “Alright. As long as there’s no fine print, I’m down to sign.”

“Good answer.” Coach turns to Callie with an expectant look on his face.

She sighs, clearly not crazy about it, either. But she knows as well as I do that we have no other choice. “Fine. I guess it can’t hurt anything at this point.”

“Everything you’re doing is hurting things, sweetheart.” Coach Randy rubs a hand down his face. “After everything you two have pulled—not to mention the fact this isn’t the first time you’ve been in a workplace relationship—well, I’d say all our hands are tied.”

Callie’s eyes stay locked on her uncle while I look at her.

What the fuck did he just say?

“All of that is behind me.” She pops the cap off the pen. “It was a mistake. And this is different.”

“You bet it is,” he agrees. “Which is why I want it in writing. You two are in love, and the world is going to witness it. Proof is in the pudding.”

As soon as her signature is scribbled across the bottom of the page, she tosses the pen down on the desk and marches out.

I want to go after her. I want to talk about the kiss, about the way she was terrified at the game.

More than that, I want to know what the hell Coach is talking about.

But when I stand, he sticks up his hand. “Hold it, Sharpe. I’m not done with you yet.”

I look longingly at the door as it closes then back at him. “Sir?—”

“Take a seat, son.”

I comply, gritting my teeth.

“I didn’t want to do this, Owen. But I can’t have her getting hurt again.” I’m actually surprised by the softness in his tone. He sighs and rubs at his chin, fingers raking through his short beard. “Callie is in a very vulnerable situation right now. Because of some events in her past, even just working in the hockey industry was a risk. But I hired her because she’s an excellent PT.”

“I agree with that.”

“She’s also like a daughter to me. I practically raised her. Do you understand?”

Do I understand the threat laced through every single syllable of what he just said?

“Yes, sir.”

“I want to protect her.” He arches a brow.

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

And I do. My nephew is the same for me.

“Which means I want you to protect her. As much as I don’t like any of this, I am trusting you, son. You’re an incredible hockey player, Sharpe. One of the best I’ve ever had the honor of coaching. And while I don’t know you that well off the ice, I want to believe that you’ll put the same care, concern, and passion into your personal life as you do your professional life. Do you understand what I am saying?”

I nod again. “I do, sir. And I will.”

“Good.” He grabs the paper and tucks it into his desk drawer. “You’re dismissed.”

Unsure what else to say, I stand up and make my way to the door.

“Oh, and Sharpe?”

I turn around.

“Ice that hand..”

I flex my fingers, pain shooting through my swollen knuckles. “You got it, Coach.”

I let out an exhausted breath as I make my way down the hall. I was ready for a lot of things when I walked in there this morning. Coach is a bit of a drill sergeant on his best days and Satan’s right-hand torturer on his worst. A little fire and brimstone seemed warranted.

But that was… different. Seeing him bare his soul, even if it was just for a second, was an odd sensation.

And then there’s the bigger issue. A contract.

That’s a hop skip and a jump more official than the conditions I agreed to in the hallway of my apartment building.

This whole thing is becoming too real, too fast. I’m contractually bound to a relationship with Callie Coleman.

The woman who gets on every nerve I possess.

The woman who has been nothing but a stubborn pain in the ass since the night I saved her from freezing to death.

The woman who was so stellar in the sack I haven’t stopped thinking about her since that night.

But none of this is real. Even though we just signed a contract, we aren’t actually dating—we just agreed to keep doing what we’ve already been doing. Coach, the fans, the media, the world… they don’t need to know that.

Some things are real, though.

Like how, as I pass the training room, my chest goes tight. She’s right there, just on the other side of the door.

I wasn’t lying when I told Coach Randy I’d protect her.

And I’d be lying to myself if I said that the concern I have for her safety is fake.