Gloves Off: a marriage of convenience hockey romance (Vancouver Storm Book 4)

I follow Ward into his office, taking a seat in one of the club chairs in front of his desk, across from him.

“What do you think about Luca Walker?” he asks.

The twenty-two-year-old rookie who cares more about having fun, partying, and chasing girls than playing in the NHL? He’s a cocky little shit who needs a reality check. When my last defensive partner, Hayden Owens, moved to offense at the end of last season, Ward signed Walker as a free agent and paired us together.

“He’s young.”

No one makes me feel my age like Walker, baby-faced, bright-eyed, and full of optimism. The kid’s a ray of sunshine, fresh as a fucking spring daisy.

Ward waits, watching.

“Inexperienced,” I add.

More of that patient eye contact. The ex-player turned coach is only a few years older than me but has this unnerving calm and wise thing going that makes him seem decades older.

“He’ll have to work hard this year if he wants to keep playing at this level.” For every guy in the league, ten wait in the wings. One fuckup and he’s gone, sent packing to the Storm’s farm team.

“And I don’t think he’s cut out to play with me.”

Ward’s dark eyebrows lift. “Really.”

“Rookies don’t play in the first defensive pair. They start in the third-tier pair and work their way up.”

Hockey teams have three defensive pairs. The first is for your top players, like me, not the guys who are still finding their feet with a new team, playing at a new level.

Ward knows this. We used to play against each other when he was in the NHL years ago, when I was with Montreal and he was with the Storm here in Vancouver. He rose from first round draft pick with a record yearly contract to the top scorer in the league. The guy won the Hart trophy for MVP of the year eight years in a row until a knee injury ended his career. He disappeared for a few years until he cropped up, coaching women’s hockey at the local university, and was hired as head coach on the Vancouver Storm two years ago.

“My philosophy is that working with people better than you is the best way to improve.” Ward leans back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. “What do you think of that?”

I rub the back of my neck. “You’re the coach.”noveldrama

“I still want to know what you think.”

I don’t want to do this. Any moment not in a game, practice, or training is spent healing the multitude of injuries I’ve sustained over the years.

Besides, no one showed me the ropes. No one mentored me. I had to figure everything out myself.

“I don’t have time to babysit.”

Ward’s mouth twists in a wry smile. “I would really like you to make time. I want you to mentor Luca Walker and turn him into the player the Storm needs.”

What am I going to say, no? It doesn’t work like that. Ward’s a good guy, probably the best guy who’s ever sat in this office in the history of the Storm organization, but I’m not interested in incurring his wrath if I ignore a direct order.

He could buy me out of the remaining seasons on my contract and force me to retire, if he wanted to. He could trade me at a discount to make room for a younger guy.

I give him a firm nod. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

From the changes he’s made over the past few seasons, I suspect he has a grand plan for this team.

Jamie Streicher, one of the best goalies in the league, in net. Rory Miller, the league’s top scorer, as center forward and now captain. Hayden Owens, moved from defense to offense and surprising everyone with the jump in points on the board.

And now he’s set his sights on the rookie, Luca Walker. If there’s anything I love, it’s this team, and hell if I’ll stand in the way of our run for the Cup.

I sigh with frustration. “Why can’t you be an asshole like the last guy in here?” The last Storm coach was terrible. Red-faced, angry, always yelling at us. Berating us for every mistake, every loss.

Ward lets out a short laugh. “Thanks, Alexei.” He gives me a nod of approval. “I appreciate it.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” I head to the door.

“One last thing.” He frowns at his computer, pulling something up. “There’s a problem with your citizenship application.”

“Again?” My gut drops. This nightmare won’t end. Ward gives me a strange look as worry tightens in my chest. “This has been happening for years.”

“I wondered why you didn’t have citizenship yet.”

My family immigrated to Canada from Russia when I was eight. “We had visas and permanent residencies, but when I joined the NHL and we applied for citizenship, it all went to shit.”

Years of drawn-out issues over misspelled names, lost applications, rejections for no reason, and requests to resubmit. Headache after fucking headache.

If I could throw money at it, I would—god knows I have enough of it as one of the highest paid players in the league—but that’s not how the Canadian government works.

“The team’s legal staff is handling it now.” Ward gives me a reassuring smile. “They know what they’re doing.”

“Did they say how long it’ll take?”

“Usually a year for processing, interviews, and final acceptance. Could be up to three years, though.”

I don’t know if I have that much time. The reality I rarely admit is, one bad injury and I’m done. It happened to Ward. It could happen to me.

“And with the way your visa works,” Ward adds, “you’ll need to be with the team or have citizenship to stay in the country.”

Alarm races through me. I’m not interested in going back to Russia. I haven’t been back since we left. I definitely can’t let my parents be sent back. They were outspoken against the government—that’s why we left—and fled the country when their arrest warrants were issued. It’s not safe for them to return.

When I was growing up, they worked so hard to keep me in hockey, an expensive sport. They did everything they could to give me a better life here in Canada.

I have to fix this. This is our home. Our lives are here.

Through the glass walls of Ward’s office, dark red hair catches my attention, and I watch the doctor stride up the hall in those infuriating heels. My nostrils flare as she smirks at me.

No one gets on my nerves like her.

As she passes Ward’s open doorway, she shifts her attention to Ward and her smile turns genuine. “Hey, Tate.”

Ward gives her a friendly nod. “Dr. Greene.”

An ache throbs in my chest, thinking about what I said to her two years ago, after finding out she transferred me. After finding out she didn’t believe in me.

There’s no way I’d let someone treat me who bought her way into medical school with Daddy’s money. You’re clearly incompetent.

The hurt in her eyes didn’t feel as good as I wanted, though.

You said that to Ward? she asked.

Yes, I lied. I told him you were incompetent.

She disappears around the corner, and I realize Ward’s watching me with a glint in his eye.

“Too bad you aren’t married to a Canadian.”

“Married?” After Emma, I would never, ever get married.

He looks out the window. “It would really speed the application process along.”

A long beat of silence stretches between us. “Are you saying I should marry a Canadian for citizenship?”

My first thought is the doctor before I shove that thought away, fast. I hate that she pops into my head at random times.

He leans back, watching me in that steady, calm way. “I didn’t say that. I would never tell you to do something illegal.” He shrugs again. “It’ll be fine. You’ve got three years left in your contract. They’ll sort it out by then.”

Nausea rolls through me. I don’t know if I have three years left with the team, and with the way things have dragged out with my citizenship application, I can’t afford to wait that long.

I say goodbye to Ward and head to my car, aware of every pin and plate in my body. Every injury that didn’t heal right because I played through it. On the ice, I use my body like a weapon, playing brutal and physical hockey.

One injury could end everything and send me and my family back to Russia.

Ward’s right. I need to get married, and it needs to be fast.