Julieta appeared after school drop-off, completely unannounced. She was already at the gate before we even knew she’d arrived. Muss’s youngest daughter flipped off the reporters outside the gates as they drove in, and honestly, I was gonna buy that kid a pony for her birthday. She might only be four, but she had Julieta’s attitude.

Julieta unloaded an entire cooler of shit that looked like an epic girls’ night in, and sent us all off with promises that she’d look after Nova and Huey until Devan got back after work this afternoon. Not that Nova needed someone to care for her; she was so fucking tough. But I could see the damage the words on the screen were doing to her. She was curling in on herself protectively as her family’s reputation was dragged through the mud on national television.

I was skating around the rink, doing some last-minute drills. Muss slid up beside me, his face a mask of concern. “You haven’t been texting back. We were worried about you.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Julieta said as much when she turned up.”

Muss snorted a laugh. “I would have warned you that there was no stopping Hurricane Julieta, if you’d answered your phone. We’ve got your back, man. You know that. With the team, with the media—whatever you need.”

“You’re a good man, Clint,” I said roughly. Honestly, for so long, the only people I could rely on were Dev and Rigby. We always took care of Alana, not the other way around. But Clint gave his support over and over again, without ever expecting anything in return.

He slapped my shoulder hard. “So are you, Cooper. Don’t let this shit get to you.” With that, we skated off the ice and in to see the trainers.

The crowd at tonight's game were wild. Corporate could say what it wanted, but the stories hadn’t done anything to the crowd numbers. In fact, there were more women in the crowd than ever, some holding signs that said things like “Are you looking for a fifth?” and “I want to visit the Eiffel Tower” which Ludo explained meant they wanted to be spit-roasted while the guys gave each other a high five.

Fuck me. Ludo was enjoying it, though. That kid was a fucking peacock, and was busy skating the boards and flirting with girls in oversized jerseys. I just shook my head. Somehow public relations would make that my fault too. Like there hadn’t been horny puck bunnies in this sport for decades.

As I skated out, there were hoots and cat-calls from the supporters of the other team, and I ignored them. I’d channel this shit into the game, and then they could suck my dick when I trounced their shitty fucking team into the ice.