I Rejected My Hockey Bully Mates

Team manager

SLOANE

Immediately, movement explodes around me.

Assistant coaches split off toward the benches.

Support staff grab equipment carts.

Meanwhile Coach Pete points toward the players. "You fuckers know what to do."

Nobody even reacts which tells me this is probably a daily occurrence.

Beside me, Carter adjust his sweats before glancing down.

And when I say down, I unfortunately mean down.

The guy is built like a streetlamp.

"Time to go," he says.

I blink. "Already?"

"We've got practice."

Right.

The entire reason we're here.

"We'll see when we see.”

Then he pauses before jerking his chin toward the far side of the rink.

"You're supposed to assemble over there."

I follow the direction of his nod and immediately regret it because standing near the benches with an iPad in her hand is Elara.

For one brief moment, I contemplate pretending I didn't see her.

Then unfortunately my brain reminds me of the bus.

Elara Halcyon, Team manager.

Right.

I let out a long suffering sigh. "Fantastic."

Carter laughs.

Then he turns and jogs off toward the players, leaving me behind.

Within seconds he's swallowed by the growing crowd of hockey players gathering near the locker rooms and just like that, I'm alone again.

My eyes drift back toward Elara.

She stands confidently near the rink entrance, dressed in fitted athletic wear while scrolling through something on her iPad.

People are already gathering around her.

Medical volunteers. Equipment assistants. The non-player crowd.

Apparently my people.

I sigh again before I reluctantly start walking because as much as I'd love to fake a medical emergency, showing up on my first day and immediately getting fired or being reported to Luna Elise feels counterproductive.

The closer I get, the more familiar faces I recognize from the bus.

Some are chatting quietly.

Others are checking schedules on their phones.

A few are already carrying clipboards.

Clipboards— the universal symbol for people who know what they're doing.

Meanwhile I'm standing here with a water bottle and vibes.

Unfortunately, Elara notices me before I reach the group.

Her eyes flick up from the iPad then narrow slightly.

I narrow mine right back.

Professionalism at its finest.

Neither of us says anything though. Mostly because if we start talking now, Coach Pete might witness a homicide before eight in the morning.

I finally reach the group and stop near the edge.

Elara's gaze lingers on me for a second longer before she hisses under her breath, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like b***h.

Good.

Let's keep it that way.

Then she raises her voice. "Okay everyone."

The small crowd quiets immediately.

"Listen up."

Around us, players continue pouring onto the ice while whistles begin echoing through the arena.

The first official day of regionals has started and somehow, despite all my efforts, I'm officially part of it.

Elara glances down at her iPad.

"Coach Pete already assigned everybody to their departments on the bus, so when I call your group, move to your section."

Nobody argues and one by one, Elara starts calling departments.

Equipment team. Recovery team. Nutrition staff. Media support. Video analysis.

People peel away from the crowd and gather into small clusters around the rink.

Eventually—

"Emergency Medical Response Team."

I immediately start walking but not because I'm eager but because standing in front of Elara longer than necessary sounds unhealthy.

I make my way toward the designated area where exactly three other people are already standing.

An elderly woman with silver hair tied into a neat bun.

A girl around my age with dark skin and bright eyes.

And a guy. A very pretty guy.

The kind of pretty that probably knows he's pretty.

Dark curly hair. Sharp jawline. Perfect posture. Feminine aura.

I stop beside them and nobody says anything.

I don't say anything either.

After a few more minutes, everyone has been sorted.

Elara glances around the rink before humming in satisfaction.

"Good."

She lowers the iPad slightly.

"Now that everyone is in their departments, those are your team members."

Her gaze sweeps across all of us.

"And I, Elara Halcyon, am your team manager."

The way she says her own name makes it sound like she expects applause.

Nobody claps.

A tragedy.

"You'll be submitting weekly reports to me every Friday."

Several people visibly groan and Elara ignores them.

"Failure to do so?" A smile slowly stretches across her face. "You don't want to know."

I absolutely believe her but not because she's intimidating. Mostly because she'd probably make the process annoying and annoyance is a powerful weapon.

"The entire team depends on every department functioning properly," she continues. "Equipment, recovery, nutrition, analysis, medical. If one section fails, everybody suffers."

That part actually sounds reasonable.

Then she drops a bomb.

"Especially the Emergency Medical Response Team."

My stomach immediately tightens.

Why is she looking directly at us?

I don't like that.

"All members of the emergency response team are required to know how to skate."

Silence.

The silver-haired woman nods calmly.

The girl beside me nods too.

The pretty guy nods.

I do nothing.

I know how to skate too. Infact, I grew up skating with them even though I barely do it anymore after awakening.

"If a player goes down on the ice, you're the first line of response before the professionals take over."

Elara's gaze sweeps over the four of us before lingering on me for half a second too long.

"Which means mistakes aren't acceptable."

There it is. The jab. Subtle enough that nobody else notices, obvious enough that I do.

"You'll all be tested this week," she continues. "Skating response times. Emergency retrieval drills. Injury assessment procedures."

The pretty guy folds his arms.

Meanwhile, I stand there wondering why everybody suddenly looks excited about homework.

"During matches," Elara continues, "you may be required to get onto the ice in under thirty seconds."

My brows rise slightly.

Thirty seconds?

That's actually kind of insane.

"And yes," Elara adds sweetly while looking directly at me, "that screams knowing how to skate properly.”

I smile but not because I'm happy.

Mostly because I know exactly what she's trying to do.

The funny thing is, Elara after getting adopted, a day I remember vividly—I was ten years old when she got adopted—spent so many years hating me that she occasionally forgets basic facts.

Like the fact that I practically grew up around the triplets.

Around hockey, around ice, around skates, before everything went to hell.

Before they started treating me like a disease. Before I awakened my wolf and stopped spending so much time around them.

My brows rise slightly.

"That won't be a problem."

Elara blinks then narrows her eyes.

"Oh?"

I shrug.

"I know how to skate."

For the first time since this meeting started, she looks genuinely annoyed.

The pretty guy beside me snorts softly.

The dark-skinned girl quickly looks away to hide her smile.

Even the older woman looks amused.

Elara's lips flatten.

“Good," she says crisply. Then she immediately looks back at her iPad like this conversation never happened.

Tiny victory. I'll take it.

"Since everyone understands their responsibilities," she continues, stepping away from our group to walk to the others. "We'll be conducting orientation drills today."

A collective groan rises from the crowd and I join it because apparently, every profession eventually becomes homework.

"Medical team." She calls, gaze shifting to us again.

The four of us straighten.

"You'll be spending the morning learning emergency routes, access tunnels, equipment locations, and response procedures."

The pretty guy raises a hand. "All morning?"

Elara doesn't even look up.

"Unless you'd like players bleeding out while you search for the first aid station."

His hand slowly lowers.

"Thought so."

A few people laugh.

Then Elara finally lowers her iPad.

"Any questions?"

Nobody speaks.

"Good."

Her gaze sweeps across the room one final time.

Then, a whistle suddenly echoes across the rink making everyone's attention shift toward the ice.

The players have begun warming up.

My eyes drift automatically toward them and unfortunately, the constant hum of the bond intensifies again.

Somehow, despite the argument in my room and the insults and everything, a small part of me still notices the way they move across the ice— fast and effortless.

But then, Zayden glances toward the stands toward me, immediately ruining the moment.