Off Ice Obession

ZOYA’S POV

“ZOYA! AGAIN, MOVE!”

Urgh! If I hear my name one more time, it might actually be the thing that finally tips me over the edge.

I’ve been on edge since I woke up this morning, hungover and struggling to crawl out of this personal hell, and Coach Sloane seems determined to drag me straight back into it.

I take a deep breath, trying to suppress my irritation, just like I do during every training session when she makes it her personal mission to push me to my limits. I damn well appreciate it, but that doesn’t stop me from occasionally wanting to hit her with my ice skate.

“You’re being fucking sloppy asses!” she yells as we skate straight past her. “Sloppy girls don’t win medals! If you want to spend the rest of your careers warming the benches and grow old with absolutely nothing to show for it, do that off my rink!”

And this is exactly why I want to throw my skates at her.

“Come on, Zoya! Put in some damn effort!” that old douchebag Logan yells from the sidelines. “We spend a lot of fucking money on you. No slacking!”

I shoot him a cold glare. “One more minute, girls!” Coach Sloane yells.

I turn away before I do something that will have me explaining myself to the league’s disciplinary committee.

Logan is my manager, the man responsible for handling my publicity, endorsements, sponsorship deals and pretty much everything that involves my career outside the rink. Unfortunately, he’s also a walking headache with the personality of a wet sock.

He’s been managing my career for two years, and you’d think by now he’d have figured out that I don’t appreciate being treated like some clueless little girl who needs a man to tell her what to do.

But no. Logan has a habit of making every conversation about how difficult I am, how I should smile more during interviews, how I need to dress more femininely for appearances and, my personal favourite, how I should be grateful that people are interested in a female hockey player.

Apparently, scoring goals isn’t enough. I also need to look pretty while doing it.

Fucking sexist prick.

“One minute is over! That’s enough for today!” Coach Sloane finally announces. A collective groan rises from the girls as we skate towards the benches. I practically collapse onto mine, pulling off my helmet and running a hand through my sweaty hair.

Thank God. My head is still pounding, my legs feel like they’ve been dragged through hell, and all I want is a hot shower and several hours of uninterrupted sleep.

“Zoya.” I close my eyes. Not again. I look up to find Coach Sloane standing in front of me, with Logan beside her, looking like he’s just swallowed something sour.

“What?” I ask, reaching for my water bottle.

“Office. Both of you. Five minutes,” Sloane says. I pause with the bottle halfway to my mouth. “Can whatever this is wait?”

“Get your ass to the office now,” Logan snaps.

I glance at him. “You’re really getting bold old man. Watch it.”  He exhales sharply, shaking his head as though I’m the most exhausting woman he’s ever encountered.

Coach Sloane points a finger at me. “Five minutes, Kade. Don’t make me come looking for you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” They walk away, and I stare after them. Whatever this meeting is about, I already know I’m not going to enjoy it.

I grab my towel and water bottle, dragging myself off the bench. My legs are practically begging me to retire, but apparently, retirement isn’t an option today.

Five minutes later, I’m standing outside Coach Sloane’s office.

I knock once before pushing the door open. Logan is already inside, leaning against the edge of her desk with his arms folded. Coach Sloane sits behind it, looking rather serious. My attention, however, goes straight to the collection of boxes scattered across the floor.

Some are open, their contents spilling out, while others remain sealed.

Oh, great. Another fucking threat.

I stare at them, wondering what today’s lovely surprise is. A bloody knife? A chopped-off teddy bear’s head? My picture drenched in blood? Or perhaps another one of those beautifully written letters from my secret admirer?

Honestly, I’ve seen it all. For the past six months, I’ve received everything from creepy messages to packages that would make a horror movie director proud. At this point, I should probably start charging the bastard rent for taking up so much space in my head.

“What’s in the boxes?” I ask, dropping my water bottle on the spare chair.

“Sit down, Zoya,” Coach Sloane says.

I glance at her. “That bad?”

“Just sit.” She said again. I sigh and take the seat opposite her desk.

“We’re getting you a bodyguard,” she announces.

I blink, totally caught off guard.  “What?”

“With all this shit going on, we can’t afford to take any risks.” She stated.

“Come on, I’ve got this under control.” I throw my hands up. “You’re overreacting, and that’s exactly what this bastard wants.”

“You nearly died last week, Zoya,” Coach Sloane reminds me.

“Emphasis on nearly,” Logan adds.

I turn to him and shoot him a look to shut his mouth. “Look, Coach, I know you’re worried but it’s not that damn serious. “

“You must be crazy!” Coach Sloane snaps, rubbing her forehead. “A fucking psycho is still on the loose, and he deliberately rammed into your car. You’re the first line left winger, Zoya. You’re one of the most important members of this team, and we cannot afford to lose you.”

I open my mouth, then close it. Okay, that was a good point. She wasn’t wrong, Coach Sloane; she knows exactly how much this team means to me.

I’ve worked too damn hard to get here. I didn’t spend years training, sacrificing weekends, nursing injuries, and fighting for my place in this league to have some lunatic ruin everything.

But a bodyguard? Seriously?

“I don’t need someone following me around like I’m some fucking retard who can’t cross the street without assistance.”

“Whether you like it or not, it’s happening,” Logan says.

I slowly turn my head towards him. “It’s not your place to make that decision.”

“Your safety is part of my responsibility,” Logan replies.

Coach Sloane releases a tired sigh. “Your new security detail has already been arranged. He’ll be starting immediately.”

I stare at her. “Already arranged?”

“Yes.” She nods.

“You made this decision without consulting me?” I scoff. “I really don’t need a bodyguard.”

“I don’t have the energy to argue with you,” she says. I  lean back in my chair, letting out a humourless laugh.

“Oh, one more thing.” Coach Sloane’s eyes meet mine. “He’s going to be living with you.”

“What?” I sit up straight. “You can’t be serious.”

“It’s a done deal, Kade,” she says. “Deal with it.” I stare at her, waiting for her to take it back. She doesn’t.

“Who is he, anyway? Some retired cop? An ex-military guy? Whoever he is, I hope he’s not another crazy sexist like someone I know.” My eyes briefly shift towards Logan. Coach Sloane exchanges a look with him before letting out another sigh.

“His name is Viktor Zorin,” she finally says. “And he’ll be meeting you tomorrow morning.”

I stare at her. “Wonderful. Can’t fucking wait.”