So This Is War

“You have to play Posey,” my assistant coach, Sterling, says.

I move my hand over my jaw. “Put him on second string.”

Sterling shifts in his seat. “Will, I understand you’re upset⁠—”

“Upset? He was fucking my daughter,” I say through clenched teeth. “In the locker room where anyone could have seen.”

“Yes, a mistake for sure, but you’ll only punish the team, our record, and chance at the Cup if you take him out. Like it or not, we need him.”

I feel like punching a wall because I know he’s right. Unfortunately for me, Posey is one of the best defensemen in the league, despite what I said to him last night. We need him. Pacey needs him because he’s slowing down. It’s showing. This very well might be his last season. Hell, it should be his last season. If I take out Posey, Pacey will have a hell of a time keeping up.

“This is bullshit,” I say through clenched teeth just as there’s a knock on the door. “Come in,” I shout.

The door opens and in walks Halsey Holmes. Easily one of our best drafts in Agitators history. The man is a machine on the ice—precise, sharp, and quick. He can see plays three steps ahead, and he capitalizes on that natural instinct. We’re fucking lucky to have him.

“Coach,” he says with a curt nod.

“What do you need?” I ask him.

He tosses a card on my desk, then stuffs his hands in his pockets. “That’s for you.”

I glance down at the card and back at him. “What the hell is this?”

“Read it. You’ll figure it out.”

I pick up the envelope but don’t open it. “If this is about Posey, I want nothing to do with it.”

“If you don’t read it, then your starting line wants nothing to do with you,” Halsey says, standing his ground. “Fuck with one, fuck with all.” With that, he leaves my office.

I look over at Sterling, who has the smallest, and I mean smallest, fucking smirk on his face.

“Get the fuck out,” I yell at him.

He stands and gathers his things before leaving. When the door is shut, I open the stupid envelope and read it.

Two things you need to know about Levi Posey:

When I was at my lowest, in a very dark place after losing my brother, Posey often slept on my couch just so I wasn’t alone. When I was reading in a corner, feeling so desperately alone, missing my brother, he’d sit next to me and stare into nothing. When I thought I couldn’t make it through Holden’s funeral, he held me up. Your daughter would be lucky to have a man like him.

This is the first time I’ve ever seen him in love. This is the first time he’s ever told me he was in love. And I’ll hang up my skates before I let you take that away from him.

Holmes

I stare at the letter, reading the first paragraph a few times over. I remember when Halsey lost his brother. It was devastating to the entire hockey community, but mostly to Halsey. I remember the way he focused on nothing but hockey. At the time, I considered it a wise way to channel his energy. But now . . . now that he’s out of that fog, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him play better.

Although, he can’t credit that to Posey so . . . nice fucking try.

I toss the letter in the garbage and go back to my starting lineup.

Can I bench Posey?

“GOOD GAME, COACH,” Sterling says as he heads out of the rink and down the tunnel to the locker room. “Are you going to say anything?”

“No,” I answer as I ignore the fans looking for a high five.

“Interesting, because this is the most cohesive I’ve ever seen them play. Five to one is one hell of a game, especially for a team that should have, on paper, given us a battle.”

I pause and turn toward Sterling. “Are you trying to imply something?”

He shrugs. He never backs down to my grouchiness. “Just interesting is all.” He moves faster down the hallway and into the locker room. I head straight to my office where another envelope waits for me.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter as I take a seat and open it up.

I will deny this until the day I fucking die, but the reason I’m a happy motherfucker with the girl of my dreams has a lot to do with Posey. He might pretend he’s indifferent when helping, and he might offer terrible advice at times, but that advice always seems to turn into something worth listening to. If you think Posey is the worst thing for your daughter, you couldn’t be more wrong. He’ll treat her well. He’ll support her how she needs. And most importantly, he’ll give her the love she deserves. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen the way he talks about her. How he’s so fucking proud of her.

Trust me when I say, if you fuck with him, if you fuck with them, you’re fucking with all of us. She’s part of the family now, and we won’t go down without a fight.

Silas

I crumple up the letter and toss it into the trash can.

Fucking annoyed.

Really fucking annoyed.

A note from Holmes, sure. But a note from one of the biggest assholes on the team? Is Posey paying them to do this?

Either way, makes no difference.

Over my dead body will I be okay with Posey dating my daughter.

“COACH WOOD,” someone calls when I’m a few feet away from my car.

I turn to find Eli and OC standing behind me.

“Jesus fuck,” I say as I grip my head. “If this has to do with Posey, I don’t want to fucking hear it.”

“That’s fair,” OC says. He’s been a huge addition to the team since we lost Rivers, but seeing that he’s on the Posey train makes me rethink that decision. “But you’re going to listen.”

The fuck?

Where does he get off talking to me like that?

Eli Hornsby, the prettiest motherfucker on the team, steps up and says, “Posey is one of the main reasons I put my skates back on after losing Holden Holmes.” He wets his lips and continues, “I never said this, but I was ready to quit after I found out about his death. I was there that night, and I didn’t stop him from drinking too much or from driving under the influence. I blamed myself, endlessly. It was fucking torture. And every time I stepped out on the ice, I kept thinking about how he should be out here too. I was done, but Posey . . . he stood by me. He knew I didn’t want to talk, so instead, he made me laugh. He joked about the good times we had with Holden. He joked about anything and everything. He even made me fucking bologna sandwiches. He pulled every trick out of his back pocket to make things easier . . . a little less painful. I know he’s done the same for your daughter.”

My brow turns into a scowl at the mention of Wylie.

“I haven’t known him as long as the other guys,” OC says, “but I will say this. I’ve never seen a more loyal friend. He cares about each one of the players on the team, he offers them help, even if it means helping a friend pick up breakfast because they’re running late. You might see him as the playboy you’ve had to help out of some disagreeable situations, but that’s not what defines him. What defines him is the loyalty he carries in his heart, the loyalty he’s already shown your daughter. He loves her, simple as that. And he’ll give up everything just to make her happy.”

I twist my lips to the side. I’m getting really fucking sick of this bullshit.

“Are you done?” I ask.

“We are,” Eli says. “Good game tonight, Coach. Shame our leadership couldn’t enjoy it.”

They turn around and walk away.

When the hell did I start losing the respect of my players?

I pause, the question sounding off in my head. What the fuck did Posey say to them?

What did he tell them about my relationship with my daughter?

They probably perceive me as an angry tyrant. But they don’t know the whole story.

No one knows the whole fucking story.

I’m not in the wrong. I know I’m not . . .

“HEY COACH, CAN I JOIN YOU?” Pacey Lawes says as he stands next to my chair on the plane.

I look up at him, knowing exactly what this will be about.

“Don’t want to hear it,” I say.

“It’s about my retirement,” he says.

When I look up at him again, he lifts my bag from the seat next to me and sets it in the aisle as he sits.

I knew this was coming, but why would he address this on our way to Nashville on an airplane?

He rests his head against the headrest and says, “I’m barely holding on, Coach Wood. The pain is starting to take over, and every day, I wake up more and more stiff. I still have headaches on occasion that are absolutely debilitating. There are days when I feel like I can’t put on my gear one more goddamn time.” He looks over at me. “I can’t do this for another year. This is . . . this is it for me.”

I swallow, knowing this will be a huge loss to the team. Lawes has been our backbone, our foundation, some might say the start of something great. With him in front of the goal, we’ve had more championship wins than in franchise history.

“I can respect your decision,” I say. “But if you’re in this much pain, why haven’t you said anything?”

“Because I’ve been able to power through,” he answers. “But not because of sheer will.” He looks me in the eyes. “Because of Posey.” Motherfucker. I look away, but Pacey keeps talking. “He’s the one who stays in the ice baths longer with me so I’m not alone. He’s the one bringing me all kinds of vitamins and powders to help me with recovery. He’s the one who checks on me at night when we’re on away trips to make sure I don’t have a headache or to make sure I have everything I need to wake up fresh the next day. I know you think of me as the backbone of the team, but the fact of the matter is, Posey is the one who keeps us together. And it’s about fucking time you realize that.” He rubs his hands together and says, “And your daughter . . . she’s so talented. She’s intelligent. She has a good head on her shoulders, and the fact that she fell for a good man shows that. He’s a solid man. A man you can trust.”

“Trust?” I shoot back, losing my patience. “A man I can trust? If I can trust him, then why did he go behind my back and date my daughter?”

“I can’t answer that for him,” Pacey says. “But what I can say is that Posey has a reason for everything he does. You might not agree with it, but there is a reason. Maybe you should ask him. Maybe you should give him a second to explain what happened. That’s what good leaders do, after all. Right, Coach? They listen.”

He stands from his seat but doesn’t leave. Instead, he leans in again and says, “You’re the best coach I’ve ever played for. You’re a smart man, and you have the kind of drive that gets his players moving. Don’t fuck that up over this. We respect you, but the way you’re treating Posey and your daughter? That’s causing a lot of players to lose their respect for you.”

He pats the back of the chair and then takes off.

I look away, focusing on the clouds out the window, his words registering harder than any of the other ones said to me.

“But what I can say is that Posey has a reason for everything he does. Maybe you should give him a second to explain what happened. That’s what good leaders do, after all. Right, Coach? They listen.”

Fuck. I’m not blind. I’ve seen everything these boys have mentioned about Posey. On and off the ice. But I refuse to ignore his blatant disrespect, his lies about what he was doing behind my back with my daughter. Why should I?

But . . . to be called out for not being a good leader.

That hits hard.

Harder than I want it to.

THERE’S a knock on my door just as I set my bag down. Sterling and I had a two-hour meeting about tomorrow’s game and how we want to match up with the Renegades. They’re known to be quick on the ice so we determined ways to keep our legs fresh.

After two hours, I’m exhausted, and the last thing I want to do is hear about fucking Levi Posey again.

There’s another knock, and it seems like they won’t go away, so I head over to the door, open it, and—lo and behold—Posey is standing on the other side.

I run my hand over my brow. “I can’t do this tonight.”

“Hear me out, Coach.”

“Why?” I ask. “Don’t you think your teammates have done enough?”

“I don’t think so,” Halsey Holmes says, stepping behind him. Following closely are the rest of the guys.

God Almighty.

This is starting to feel like an after school special.

“I think our friend here was looking for a nightcap . . . of water,” Pacey says. “And he wanted to spend it with you, his leader. Don’t you think it would be a good idea to listen to him?”

These fuckheads.

Christ.

I walk over to the dresser and grab my key card and stick it in my pocket before moving out of my room. I walk ahead of them straight to the elevator, where I punch the down button. I feel them all gather behind me, and I’m wondering if this will be a team thing.

I sure as hell hope not. When the elevator dings, we get on it and ride down to the main lobby where we get off and head straight to the restaurant bar. We nod at the hostess who allows us to choose our table. We go for one in the far back, away from everyone. Fucking hell. They should be leaving me the fuck alone. I take a seat in the booth while Posey sits across from me. I half expect the other guys to take up the rest of the booth and the top of the table, but instead, they sit a few tables over, watching.

Lurking.

“Quite the extravagant way to boost your image,” I say to Posey.

“Wasn’t trying to boost the image, was trying to portray the truth.”

“Okay, so they said you were a good guy, that you put people first. That was the general consensus. Tell me, why should I give a fuck about that?”

He places his hand on the table and looks me in the eye. “Coach Wood, I’m not here to win your approval. What the boys said was their choice, their decision, and frankly, I have no idea what was said to you. But when I told them I needed help, they came to my side. But like I said, I’m not here to get you to like me. You either do or you don’t. I’m here to show you this.”

He pulls out his phone and pushes it toward the middle of the table.

I glance down at it and feel my heart sink as I stare at a drawing of one of my favorite pictures. It’s of me and Wylie and we’re out on a frozen lake. She’s about five in the picture, and I’m holding her hands as she shakily skates across the ice.

I pick up the phone and observe the drawing and how realistic it is, how it feels like the picture, but also isn’t quite the same.

“Why do you have this?” I ask.

“I took it . . . from your daughter. I emailed it to myself. She’s been working on it the last few days as a therapeutic way to stay connected to you, and I wanted to show you. This is what your daughter is capable of. This is the talent she possesses.”

I stare at the photo, studying the lines she used and the shading to create dimension. It truly is remarkable. Wylie did this? Impossible. This is the work of an established artist, not a young girl.

“You might not believe in her chosen career path, but don’t downplay her talent. A talent that she used to secure a very high-paying job, one that will offer her the opportunity to support herself and pay you back for the schooling you paid for. This . . .”—he points at the phone—“this is her passion. This is what she’s good at. And you needed to see it. You need to see the heart she has, because it comes through in every drawing. She’s really fucking good, and I’ll be damned if you don’t acknowledge how goddamn lucky you are to have such a beautiful and talented daughter.” He clears his throat. “I couldn’t give two shits if you like me, but don’t throw away a relationship with your daughter over this. She loves you. She wants to be a part of your life. Let her, Will.”

“I don’t need you telling me how to raise my daughter.”

Posey stands from the table and places his knuckles on the edge. Leaning in, he replies, “You don’t. But you do need someone to tell you when you’re being an ass, and you’re being an ass. That’s something I won’t stand by. I love your daughter, I’ve loved her longer than you probably know. I’ve searched high and low for a woman like her, and I’ve waited a long fucking time. I won’t watch you tear her apart. I won’t fucking stand for it.” He knocks his knuckles on the table. “Don’t lose the best thing that’s ever happened to you over pride. You’re better than that.”

Posey moves away from the table and the others join him, walking behind him as a group. Pacey places his hand on his back while Halsey says something to him. Posey nods, and they disappear toward the elevators.

I drag my hands over my face and let out a deep breath.

Fuck.