Puck Princess (Houston Scythes Hockey #2)

39. Owen

39

OWEN

“That’s not funny.” I shove a plate of pancakes at Kennedy.

None of this is funny. My plans for this morning involved a quiet, intimate breakfast between my fiancée and I, starting with powdered sugar and strawberry pancakes and ending in the bedroom. Now, it’s a full-service breakfast bar that I have yet to sit down and actually eat.

“Because it’s not a joke,” Kennedy says. “I heard my dad talking about it. The meetings are in the works. The worst part is, Dad seems excited about it.”

Callie pushes her pancakes around her plate without taking a bite. “Well, shit.”

Understatement.

I don’t think anyone realizes just how bad this is. For two weeks, I got to enjoy what it felt like to be a man who had it all. But as soon as the reins to the Scythes are handed over to Rodger Santos, his first move is going to be to tear my contract in half and kick my ass to the curb.

I shut the stove off and head to the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” Callie asks.

“I need to get ready for work.”

“But you didn’t eat.”

“I’ve lost my appetite.”

I rip through my closet to find the rest of my clothes. The closet is well organized, and I know where everything is, but I’m pissed.

I knew the moment I met Spencer Santos that he was a snake and very bad news. I felt it a mile away. While everyone else was charmed by his stats and his money, I felt the shift in the air the moment Santos walked into my arena. But I never predicted it would end like this.

“Owen.” Callie’s soft voice comes from behind me and I turn to see her standing with a plate.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Please.” She cuts a bite of pancake and holds it out to me.

Grudgingly, I step closer, my hand finding her hip. I fist her t-shirt in my hand as I take a bite.

It is good. I really know my way around a pancake.

“It’s going to be okay,” she says softly. “You can handle them, Owen. We’ll figure it out.”

I don’t know if that’s true, so I dodge it, taking the plate from her, instead. “Okay, maybe I am a little hungry.”

She smiles. “I knew you were.”

“Thank you,” I say with a full mouth.

She kisses my mouth even though I am chewing. “I love you.”

“I love you. ”

And God, do I ever.

When I walk into the locker room, I can hear everyone talking about the rumors. News travels fast, but bad news moves at warp speed.

“All I know is that tonight's game is going to be insane,” Dax says. “I heard it’s a sold out game. And I don’t just think it’s because we’re playing at home.”

“Nah, it definitely has something to do with Daddy Warbucks,” Heath agrees.

I stomp in and hang up my bag. “I take it Junior Warbucks isn’t here?”

“Not yet.” Lance looks me over carefully. There’s no way he doesn’t know exactly how shitty I feel about all of this.

“Probably doing some kind of social media shit since his dad is about to own the team,” Kason guesses as he laces up.

“Or he’s dying from embarrassment,” Dax snorts.

Heath looks around for context clues before he asks: “What does he have to be embarrassed about?”

“He now works for his dad. Can you imagine?” Dax shivers. “Then again, my old man is a drunk who runs a liquor store with bars in the windows.”

“Considering they’re making nine figures combined,” Lachlan says, “my guess is he’s just fine with it.”

I slam my locker shut a little harder than I mean to.

I’m annoyed, but I don’t actually want anyone to know that. I intend to lay low and figure out what to do about the Santos infestation later. For now, I need to keep my job and try not to hit anyone.

“Let’s just focus on the game,” I bark out. “It’s been a minute since we’ve had a normal game.”

“You mean one where you didn’t beat up someone on your own team?” Dax is joking, but I’m not laughing.

“I mean a game where we have fun. Remember when hockey was fun? When hockey was about hockey and not which rich asshole’s pocket we were in?”

“Aww, look at you getting all sappy,” Heath croons. “Engagement has made you soft.”

I steer around that. “I’m serious. For one night, can we just forget about all the bullshit and play the game?”

Lance claps me on the back. “I like the sound of it. No more drama. No more politics. Just hockey.”

I tug on my helmet. “Alright. Then let’s get to work.”

We’re marching towards the door when Coach barrels into the room. “Sharpe! My office. Now.”

Everyone looks at me.

“What the fuck did you do?” Dax says under his breath.

I have no idea.

He’s interrupting practice on a game day. Meaning it must be important. Meaning I obviously did something.

Damn.

I don’t want to sit, so I stand in front of Coach Coleman’s desk like a statue in full gear.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors,” he says.

“Yeah. But they don’t sound like rumors.”

“They aren’t. The shift in chain of command is already in the works.”

“Lovely,” I grumble.

I don’t mean to say it, but it slips out. Coach’s eyes narrow.

“This will go a lot smoother if you cut the snark, Sharpe.”

It will also go a lot smoother if you get to the point.

My internal monologue is going to have to stay muzzled if I want to keep things chill.

“So, what’s up?”

Coach lets out a pained breath while wiping his hand down his chin. “I’ve been in meeting after meeting after meeting with Rodger Santos. Having him on our team will definitely help us turn the corner on the bad press. Unfortunately, it also might drive me to day drinking.”

Finally, I see it. The crack in Coach’s facade. He hates them as much as I do.

“Then why do it? Why let them have the team? Why fix what ain’t broke? We’re a little jacked up recently, but that has more to do with press—not the mechanics of our team itself.”

“Because hockey isn’t just a sport. It’s a business. It’s politics.”

In short? Even the head coach doesn’t have much control.

“Tonight’s game came with a lot of stipulations from Rodger.” He steeples his hands in front of him.

“Like?”

“He wants Spencer to start. As the center.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I snarl. “Did you tell him there’s no fucking way?”

“He didn’t ask, Sharpe. He demanded it. Said it’s good for the face of the team.”

“What about the fate of the team? Come on, Coach, you know this is bullshit!”

But Coach Coleman is steady. He holds up a hand, and I know that’s my cue to reel it in. I physically bite my tongue.

“Do you really think I take orders from anyone?” he asks. “I might not have Santos’s money, but I have been coaching this team for a long time. Shit, I was the one that cherry picked you. Everyone else saw a hot-headed, smart-mouthed kid with talent he didn’t know how to control, but I saw potential. I still do.”

“They don’t give in to them. Don’t put me on the bench for some daddy’s boy with?—”

“Which is why I told them no.”

I hit the brakes. “What?”

“You’ve earned your spot, Sharpe. No one is just going to waltz in here and snag it from you. Not on my watch.”

The rage thrumming through me shifts to something else. Loyalty. Devotion.

To this team and this coach. To not letting snakes like Rodger and Spencer Santos steal what I’ve spent my life building.

“Thank you, Coach.”

“Don’t thank me just yet.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “They aren’t going to be happy about it. Calling this shot might make it the last game for both of us.”

“Well then—” I take a deep breath. “—let’s make it one to remember.”

“Do me a favor.” Callie is right in front of me, but the crowd is so loud that she has to yell.

I wouldn’t normally let anyone in the tunnel with me. This is when I need to focus on what’s ahead. But tonight, it helps to remember who is standing behind me. Callie. Coach. The rest of the Scythes.

The arena is going nuts as the announcer comes over the speakers. Not only is it a home game—it’s against one of our oldest rivals. It’s set to be the kind of game that reminds me why I started playing in the first place. I try to cling to that and ignore the Santos of it all.

“What’s that?” I ask, pulling her close to me. I am already geared up and in my skates. I tower over her.

She stands on her toes, the world’s most perfect smile on her face. “Give ‘em hell tonight. For us.”

“Always.” I kiss her and then shove my mouthpiece in.

She slips back to stand with her uncle. Coach Coleman is behind me with Rodger Santos at his side.

The starters are waiting for our names to ring out through the arena. Spencer is at the front, the rest of the guys behind him. They’re all looking over their shoulders at me, confused about why he’s in my usual spot.

But I just wait.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, playing for your home team, the Scythes center…”

Spencer hunkers down, ready to make a show of his entrance.

I smile around my mouthguard.

“Owen Sharpe!”

“The fuck?!” Spencer lets out.

“What the hell is going on?” Rodger demands.

I move out around the team, my shoulder brushing Spencer’s as I pass him. Behind me, Rodger Santos is losing his mind.

“This is not what we agreed to.”

“No one can lead the Scythes like Owen does.” I look back at the sound of Callie’s voice. She is standing next to Coach, who looks unfazed by the hissy fit happening next to him.

Rodger looms over her, and I itch to turn around and drag him away from her. “Trust me, Coleman. None of you are safe if you don’t play by the rules.”

“I think that goes both ways,” Callie spits. “Because I’m not going to stay quiet any longer.”

What does that mean?

Rodger Santos is livid. His lip curls, nostrils flare. But Coach steps between him and his niece. Whatever it means, I know Callie is safe.

So I head onto the ice.

The game is rough from the moment the buzzer sounds, but it’s a good kind of rough.

While the other team definitely came to play, we are solid. They may have walked in undefeated, but there’s no way they’re leaving here that way.

I score the first goal and it’s a nonstop highlight reel from there. I’m locked in to what’s happening on the ice.

It’s not until the final buzzer that I look towards the stands, searching for Callie. Ready to climb the boards to get to her, to hold her.

Except, I don’t see her anywhere.

It’s a bone-deep dread that makes me scan the bench and look for him .

And I realize I don’t see Spencer, either.