Bring It Home (Nashville Assassins Next Generation 3)

“I know,” I agree, shaking my head. “I don’t know if the owner of the IceCats put some money in the ref’s pockets or what, but they’re fucking us.”

“Exactly. We need the guys to be more blatant.”

“Yeah, but when we do that, they get called for embellishment.”

He lets out a hiss of breath. “So fucking frustrating. We shouldn’t be down like this. We are a good damn team.”

“I know.” I lean back against my chair, locking my hands and placing them on my head. “I don’t even know what to say at morning skate.”

“Get your fucking head out of your asses and win?”

I grin. “I don’t know if we can say that and not get in trouble.”

He nods. “I guess. Back in my day, my coach practically ripped my arm off and beat me with the bloody end.”

“Yeah, and most of you have extreme PTSD.”

He scoffs. “You’ve been listening to my daughter too much.”

“Well, she doesn’t stop talking about mental health, and I applaud her for it.” I’m trying to avoid the issue at hand. I know I am. I don’t want to go on the ice and yell at the guys. I wanted to be up in the series or at least have a game on them. No, we’re at the bottom. Everyone has already written us off. The IceCats have it. I press my hands to my stomach, trying to calm myself. I keep hearing Boon in my head, and I do need to remember I am carrying our child. I know I didn’t lose the first one because of stress, rather because it got caught in my fallopian tube, but still, I need to be careful.

“You okay?”

The concern in my uncle’s voice has me reaching out to squeeze his wrist. “I’m fine, promise. Just tired and stressed. Boon and I already got into it, so please don’t lecture me.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

I shake my head. “We’re fine now, but my hormones are kind of scary.”

He laughs. “They can be, but hell, I thought you two would stay in the honeymoon phase for a second. It’s only been two days of marriage?”

I grin. “Twelve.”

“Twelve days. Lord, and this was the first fight?”

I nod. “Yeah, I was a bitch.”

“It happens. You apologized?”

“I did.”

“Then you’re good. He loves you.”

My heart swells. “He does.” We both fall silent as I watch the screen, taking deep breaths in, when I notice something. “Have they been aggressively playing the forecheck the whole time?”

Jakob’s brows come in as he leans forward, his elbows on the desk. He squints as he watches what I am. Their offense is taking chance after chance, and we’re letting them. We’re not ready for their attack. We’re trying to play a strategic game, and they’re playing a balls-to-the-wall kind of style. “I thought they were being sharp, but they aren’t. They don’t even have plays. Look, Chandler isn’t even calling anything.”

Jakob nods his head. “You’re right. You’re fucking right.”

“We need to switch up the lines, press even harder. Basically, unteach them everything we’ve taught them since I was brought on.”

He pats my head like I’m twelve again and picks up the tablet. “Let’s go fix our play.”

As we head out to go talk to Coach, an overwhelming feeling of accomplishment comes over me. I found the fix; now it’s time to execute it.

And bring that Cup home.

For the second time.

Chapter Eleven

Boon

So apparently, Aiden is just great at everything.

Great scorer.

Great teammate.

Great golfer.

Great soon-to-be son-in-law.

Great, great, great, great. Not that I’m salty or anything. I watch as Shea and Aiden high-five after one hell of a shot by Aiden that got him birdie. I want to hate him, I want to push him into the pond where he made that great shot, but alas, I know we need him. He’s scored four out of the six goals we’ve made in the last three games. We have dug out from the trenches of our demise and tied our series with the IceCats. The coaching team completely changed everything up, and it was rough to adjust, but it was for the best. And now we’re even.

These wins haven’t come without consequences. Just as soon as Sinclair came back for his first game, he scored, but he also took a nasty hit into the boards. We got a man advantage for it, and their best defensemen was kicked out for the rest of the series, but we lost Sinclair once again. Rumor is, he’s done. But I know him, and he isn’t done. I’m also battling a sprained ankle, Aiden has two broken toes, Wes has a sprained elbow, and a lot of the team is beat-the-fuck-up. But we aren’t giving up. Proud is an understatement.

One more win.

That’s all.

One win and the Cup is ours.

I lean back in the golf cart as Aiden and Shea come back toward me. Shea is totaling everything up—not that I need to know the score to know I lost. I still suck, but it’s okay. I’m not here to win; I’m here to get my father-in-law to like me more than Aiden. “Well, Aiden won.”