Glaring at each other the entire way, Ian and Christensen followed him back to his office. Lucy was already there, pacing the small cramped room and tearing whoever was on the other end of the phone a new asshole.

“You said forty-eight hours, Maddie. Unless I fell into a time warp, it’s been twelve.” She paused, listening. “We’re talking basic human decency in letting me warn Petrov and Christensen this was coming. You said we’d have the opportunity to respond.” She waited again, grinding her teeth. “Oh yeah? Fuck you and the Post. You’re gonna regret this, Maddie Peters. Just you fucking wait.”

She hung up and looked like she was ready to fling her phone across the room. Then Ian’s gaze locked with hers and she let out a deep breath before shoving her phone into her purse. “Ian, Alex, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe they ran with it so fast after overhearing it. And to cite The Biscuit as a source? Such bullshit. I thought we had time. I was told we had time to prep you both for this coming out. I’ll figure out how to set this right.”

Right? Was that even fucking possible? No, it sure as hell wasn’t. They were so far beyond setting things right that it was’t even a flicker in his old man’s eyes.

Coach stood behind his desk, glaring at Christensen and Petrov. “And while she’s doing that, I need to know from both of you that what I witnessed in the locker room isn’t going to happen again.” He yanked his chair out and sat down in it, the lack of height not doing one little thing to make him less of an imposing presence. “I can sympathize about this being a shit show, but we can’t afford to have you act like it. You are professionals, and I expect you to act accordingly. Your team expects you to act accordingly, especially with the playoffs about to start.” He eyeballed them both. “Can you do that?”

There wasn’t a choice. He had to. His entire life he’d been in his dad’s shadow, the journeyman player who went late in the draft—and rumor was he only made it then because of his last name—who’d finally come into his own. This run for the cup was his chance to prove once and for all that he deserved to be here. He refused to let his dad fuck this up for him. He’d worked too hard for that shit.

“Yeah, I can do that,” he said, ignoring the man standing next to him.

Christensen nodded but kept his mouth closed.