Defender (Seattle Sharks 9)

“And how many years would you like that to be? Last season you lost your goalie and fell apart at playoffs! This year, you’re what?”

“This year our stats are solid. We have more wins than losses—”

“You’re ranked eleventh! How is that okay?”

“I wonder if Mom and Dad know the kids can hear them fighting?” Connor asked from his seat next to mine as he took off his helmet.

“Don’t think Dad cares,” I muttered, leaning over to untie my skates.

“It’s almost March, and you’re nowhere near the record you held a couple of years ago!” Paulson screeched.

“Every year can’t be a Cup year,” Coach argued.

More than a few Sharks flinched.

“Tell that to the Patriots!” Paulson screamed.

“Fucking football,” Porter seethed.

We all undressed in slow, quiet motions, none of us willing to give up the unabashed eavesdropping.

“I’m telling you that some hard decisions have to be made, and I see now that you’re not capable of advising those decisions, or even weighing in. You’re too close to the players.” Paulson’s voice dropped and all of us leaned toward the door, even the quietest of movements ceasing.

“I never denied that.” Coach spoke slowly.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page. The bottom line can’t be ignored. Not when it comes to roster changes in the post season or the expansion draft.”

My stomach dropped. That fucking draft. I was a Shark. I loved being a Shark. The idea of putting any other jersey on made me nauseous.

I looked across the locker room and saw Gage’s elbows braced on his knees. Was he really going to tell us all that he was retiring and then turn around and play for the new Charleston team? I couldn’t wrap my mind around it, but that phone call…

“It’s a little early to—” Coach started.

“Bullshit,” Paulson interrupted. “Here’s my preliminary list, based solely off salary and stats.”

Gage launched from his seat, striding toward the door with his skates on.

“Are you fucking kidding me? He’s our best—”

“We can all hear you!” Gage threw the door open mid-sentence. “Take your shit elsewhere, because none of us need that in our heads.”

Coach blanched, looking above the door like he hadn’t realized where he’d stood.

“Good. They should hear it. They should all know that the free rides are over. You put up the numbers for the Sharks or the Sharks don’t write out the numbers for you. Not that you care, McPherson, right? You’re retiring.”

Damn, I hated Paulson. Never could figure out why you’d buy an NHL team if all you wanted to do was rip it apart.

“If I wasn’t, I sure as hell would be now,” Gage answered, and shut the door in his face. “Don’t think about it, guys.” His order echoed through the silent locker room.

Paulson already had a fucking list. Like hell we weren’t going to think about it.

* * *

“Earth to Nathan,” Harper called out as my fist slammed into the punching bag for the millionth time that afternoon. Sweat poured down my back, a testament to how long I’d been at this.

“Hey,” I answered over my shoulder, grabbing the bag so it stopped swinging.

She watched me from the doorway of my in-home gym, leaning against the frame with one ankle crossed over the other. She was in yoga pants and a Sharks hoodie that hid her curves, yet I found her sexy as hell. Always did. That was why I tried to leave her the hell alone when she was working at my place. She’d never get that dissertation done if I fucked her every time I thought about it.

“What’s got you worked up?”

“What makes you think I’m worked up?” I wiped the sweat off my face with a towel.

“You’ve been hitting that bag for over an hour, and I know you had practice this morning already. Want to talk about it?”

“No,” I answered without pause. The last thing I wanted was to take my foul mood out on her.

She stared me down.

Guess this punching session was over. I dropped my gloves and started at the tape on my hands. “I’m fine,” I finally ground out when she didn’t move.

“Uh huh.” She arched that damn eyebrow at me.

There wasn’t any way to talk to her about this. She’d been a genius all her life. It wasn’t like she’d ever really failed before. I had. Plenty. And now that I’d clawed my way up to the pro’s, there was every chance I would lose the team I loved right around the same time I’d lose the woman I was addicted to.

“Harper, I’m just in a mood. And it’s not your fault.” It wasn’t. She’d been upfront with me that she was leaving. I couldn’t really get pissed off over something I’d always known.

I threw the used tape in the trash and chugged a bottle of water.

“What caused this mood, then?” she asked.