Puck Princess (Houston Scythes Hockey #2)

11. Owen

11

OWEN

“There he is,” Kason announces the next morning as I walk in the locker room. “Whatever good time you had last night after we left, you’re welcome.”

Before I can ask, Dax does it for me. “The fuck you talkin’ about, Hazzard?”

“Callie seemed pretty happy yesterday at our little surprise party. If I had to guess, Owen reaped the benefits.”

Then he’d guess wrong.

I mean, sure, we had sex once right after everyone left. And then again while Callie was packing up her toothbrush and the few bathroom things that have migrated back to my apartment. And there was a short goodbye fuck in the entryway. But Callie, wrongly, chose to sleep at Kennedy’s house last night.

Apparently, she thought I would keep her up all night with sex and make her late for her first day back at work. Which… yeah, she was probably right. But the sex would’ve been worth being late for.

“Seriously? You think the only reason he’s with her is for good sex?” Heath is trying to defend me, but I’m not exactly thankful.

“ Great sex ,” I correct, tossing my bag on the ground. “But Jameson is right. There’s more to us than that.”

Most of the guys snigger at that, but I don’t give a fuck. If this is being whipped, then give me thirty lashes.

“Must be nice getting laid so often that you can actually focus on other things.” Kason is staring at his reflection, adding gel to his hair.

“Maybe if you spent less time in front of the mirror than the girls you’re trying to hook up with, you’d have more opportunities,” Dax jabs, making everyone laugh.

“Callie and Sharpe are old news,” Kason announces. “I want to know what the deal is with Lance and Coach Coleman’s daughter.”

Lance shrugs like he has no idea what Kason is talking about.

Kason snorts. “Shut the fuck up with that. She can’t stand you.”

“Kennedy is… complicated,” Lance answers casually.

“If by ‘complicated,’ you mean she hates your guts, then yeah, that sounds about right,” Heath cackles.

“And yet, he keeps going back for more punishment,” Dax joins in. “I saw you working her last night. Are you just hoping she’ll get tired of you trying and crack?”

Kason grins. “Tell us Lance: how many licks does it take to get to the center?—”

Lance tosses a dirty towel at him, but he dodges it.

“Lay off, guys.” I say, sitting on the bench and grabbing my bag. “That’s Coach Coleman’s daughter you’re talking about.”

I’m as curious as anyone—and happy to have the spotlight turned away from me, but the Scythes will cease to exist as an organization if Coach hears anyone talking about Kennedy like that.

“Y’all are ruthless.” The amused voice comes from the new kid. He swaggers into the locker room like he owns the place, and my jaw tightens.

I don’t really know him yet. Hardly at all, actually. But I don’t like him.

Part of it is that he subbed in for me the game I got tossed and scored, but mostly, I’ve seen this guy’s type before. He’s fresh out of university where he was the top dog, and now that he’s made it to a great team, he thinks he’s hot shit. Hot enough to skate his way to the front of the line. But it doesn’t work that way. And watching him strut around my locker room, getting buddy-buddy with my team, I bet he thinks he’s going to run the playbook on my ice.

Yeah. I don’t fucking think so.

“Let me set the stage for you, Santos,” Heath starts in. “Here we all were, the whole damn team at Owen’s pad yesterday, eating food, drinking beer, having a good time. And in the middle of it all is Romeo and Juliet. Capulet vs. Montague.”

“What in the actual fuck are you talking about?” Kason interrupts.

“I was an English major in college before I dropped out to be?—”

“A shitty hockey player,” Dax interrupts. “We’ve heard it before. Go on.”

Heath continues, unfazed. “We’re all just doing our thing, but Lance and Coach’s daughter are on separate ends of the room. He’s got heart emojis in his eyes, and she looks like the dragon from The Hobbit . Yet, he says, there’s nothing going on .”

“What Shakespeare is trying to say here,” Dax summarizes, “is Lance has been denying forever that there is some kind of heated history between him and the coach’s daughter, but we know he’s full of shit.”

A wide grin crawls across the new kid’s face. “That sounds like a no trespassing zone, for sure, but I do understand the appeal of an off-limits challenge.”

Lance sighs and walks towards the door. “Y’all are something else. I’m going to go stretch.”

I feel for the guy and almost want to go after him. For one, I want out of here. These guys are annoying as fuck this morning. Especially the new kid. But I grab my skates to lace up. Maybe I’ll just get a head start on the ice.

“So this party y’all had.” New kid strips down to his boxer briefs to change into his gear. “Was this a team thing or…”

“Yeah it was for Callie, the PT. Have you met her?” Heath asks.

“Not yet.”

“She’s Owen’s girl,” Heath adds. I’m glad someone did. I was about to stake my claim and it wouldn’t have been quite so polite.

The kid just responds with a noncommittal, “Hm.”

Dax looks around with a wince. “We should have probably let you in on it.”

“Yeah, I mean if the whole team was there, it would have been nice to?—”

“It was invite only,” I cut in.

“For team members,” the rookie points out. It’s not a question, it’s a statement. But I answer, anyway.

“For friends.”

The room grows quiet with tension, but I don’t give a fuck. He can’t just walk in here and expect to be one of us. That shit has to be earned.

“What’s the difference?” he asks and I stop lacing. “When I was captain at MSU, you walked into the locker room on the first day and you became a team before you even put on the jersey. You were friends, you were brothers, you were family. That’s what hockey is all about. Brotherhood. Companionship.”

“That’s deep, bro.” Kason beats a fist against his heart.

“Yeah. Real deep. Like a sinkhole.”

“You got a problem with me already, Sharpe?” he grins, looking around like someone is going to back him. He’s forgetting whose team this is. But he’s going to find out real quick.

I can grin like that too. “No problem at all. I know who you are. I’ve seen your stats, and you were pretty good?—”

It makes him grin more, all while puffing his chest and looking around to see who’s paying attention.

“—for a college player who stayed in school an extra year to make the cut,” I finish.

And there goes the grin. Now, we are getting somewhere.

“Did you hear why the Scythes chose me? You know, while you were spending all your time researching me in the middle of the night.”

He thinks he’s gaining an edge, but I’m not worried.

“My dad, Rodger Santos? I’m sure you’ve heard of him,”

Heath points at the kid. “He’s that big wig millionaire whose grandfather pumped the ground and hit oil. And he pumped that money into the NHL. Man, I knew you looked familiar! We lost Solomon and struck gold!”

Fool’s gold, maybe.

I keep my expression neutral as Santos smirks at me.

“We didn’t pick you for money,” I say flatly.

“You might be right. Maybe your coach saw that you lost your best player recently and needed to bring in someone to save the team from floundering mid-season.”

I stare at him. He stares at me.

Meanwhile, everyone is watching. Waiting.

But I’m not giving this little prick the satisfaction of kicking his ass. Me overreacting, pissing off the coach and starting more shit, is exactly what he wants.

I wolf whistle. “Everyone, on the ice in five.”

Then I shove past him and make my way to the rink.

We warm up, going through the drills I laid out. Everyone plays their part and it’s like nothing ever happened. Part of me even thinks we might be better off without Miles.

I have to hand it to the kid, he’s not terrible. He’s a bit of a puck hog who thinks his shit don’t stink, but he could turn into a good enough replacement.

At least, that’s what I think until he starts getting in my way.

“Santos!” I yell out. “You might have been the center on your last team, but here, you’re a winger. Your job is to defend the puck, not parade it around like a cake.”

Even from across the ice, I can see him grinding down on his mouth guard. I ignore him.

“Alright! Circle back around and let’s try that again. We’re playing the Sharks next week and their offense is—” The wind is nearly knocked out of me when Santos slams against me as he passes.

“My bad.” He plays it off like an accident.

It takes everything in me not to take him to the ground, but I know I can’t. Not after what just happened with Miles. I have to hold it together. Coach is helping Callie get situated again and he told me to “lead practice and show the new winger the ropes.”

I’d like to tie a rope around this kid’s neck right now.

But again. I won’t.

“I want to run it just like we did before, but Heath, let’s have you over on the other side. We need coverage for?—”

“That’s not what I would do,” Spencer cuts in.

I’m about to snap my stick in half and impale him with it.

“No one asked what you would do, Santos.”

“Hey, if you want to create a hole right where their best guys are going to be, go ahead.”

“I think he has a point,” Dax mumbles, clearly afraid to speak up.

I open my mouth to say something, but Lance puts a hand on my back.

“O… why don’t we just call it a day and you go get that shoulder checked?”

“What are you talking about? My shoulder is fine.”

I can see Spencer sniggering, and I want to grind his teeth into dust against the ice. Lance is just trying to deactivate the bomb that’s about to go off.

So I let it go.

As much as I don’t want to, I know I have to be the bigger man. He’s trying me, and I’m not going to fuck this up. Not with my job on the line. Not with Callie back at work. And not with a baby on the way.

With time, I’ll put him in place. But Lance is right, it’s a little too hot in here.

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I should have Callie check it out.”

“I’ll go with you,” Lance says.

“Me too.” Dax pulls his helmet off. “I have an injury I should probably get looked at.”

“You fell off a barstool last night ‘cause you can’t hold your whiskey,” Kason laughs. Everyone else joins in. Everyone but me, Lance, and Hotshot, who is still glaring daggers after me.

“We can see how Callie’s doing on her first day back,” Lance adds.

I hold Santos’s glare for a moment longer than I should, and I’m fuming. I don’t want Callie or Coach to see it. I need to cool off.

“Actually, you guys go ahead. I need a shower.”