“Just be glad I didn’t punch you in the face. Again.”

Novikov went after his fiancée and Cella tossed the extra hockey stick to one of the regular players since she had her own.

With a smile, she skated over to the ones trying out. “Hi, everybody. I’m Cella Malone. First off—”

“Again with the first off,” Crush said under his breath, unable to hide his smile.

“—how many of you were already told by Novikov that you’re done?”

When all but three people out of the forty raised their hands, Cella shook her head and said, “Yeah. Let’s start over.”

Reed started walking toward the ice. “I think they’re asking for you.”

“Who?”

He motioned over to the players’ bench where MacRyrie and Van Holtz were sitting with a few of the senior players. With a wave, they motioned him over.

Crush went to their side, figuring they needed something, but MacRyrie just made everybody move down on the bench. It took Crush a good sixty seconds of staring before he realized that they expected him to sit. With the team. On the bench.

Holy shit.

Cella skated over to where Crush was sitting with Van Holtz and MacRyrie. Novikov—after begging and receiving Blayne’s forgiveness—was back out on the ice with Reed and several of the other players, but she’d forbidden him from speaking. She wanted to add “ever,” but she thought that might be asking too much. So she’d ordered him to silence until after the tryouts.

“Where is she?” Cella asked Crush.

“Where’s who?”

“Hannah. Blayne said she brought her, but she hasn’t seen her since she changed in the locker room.”

“I haven’t seen her.” When she sighed, he held his hands up. “I’ll go look for her.”

“Thank you.”

After Crush walked out, MacRyrie muttered, “Nice guy.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Friendly,” Van Holtz added.

Cella’s eyes narrowed. “And?”

“Just an observation. No need to get testy.”

Debating whether to yell at them just for the hell of it, Cella heard Novikov berating some poor kid who just wanted to live his dream. The kid had potential, too, which was why Novikov was bothering. She’d realized that the worst thing for any player was when Novikov completely ignored you. That meant you weren’t a threat. As a player, you weren’t worthy of his attention. But the poor kid he was currently yelling down to wouldn’t know that.

Skating over, Cella slid between them. “Where’s my silence?”

“He asked me a question.”

“So you yell at him?”

“It was kind of a stupid question.”

It probably was, but still ... there were better waysto, oh, why bother?

“Go sit down, Novikov. Over there.” She pushed him toward where MacRyrie and Van Holtz were sitting.

“I’m not done.”

“Yes, you are.”

“You’re going to make me sit with them?”

“Be nice. They’re your teammates and Van Holtz is your boss.” She shoved, sending him gliding across the ice.

She faced the kid. “Okay.” She smiled at him to put him at ease. “Why don’t I have you work with Reed instead?”

Ric watched Cella Malone take the hopefuls through the paces. Unlike Novikov, she wasn’t a ridiculous bastard about it, but she wasn’t so nice that she was ineffectual. That was a great skill to have.

Novikov sat down next to him.

“I don’t know why I have to sit here with you two.”

“Because you’re an asshole?” Lock asked.

Novikov leaned over Ric. “You got something to say to me, humpback?”

“As a matter of fact—”

“Hey!” Cella was in front of them. She raised her hands together, then pushed them apart. “Separate.” She snarled and spit out between clenched teeth, “I said separate.”

Lock and Novikov sat back in their seats.

“I swear,” Cella said, shaking her head. “You’re worse than my baby brothers. You two—like cats in a bag.”

Ric watched her get back to work. “Impressive, huh?”

“What?” Lock asked, using the handle of his hockey stick to scratch his forehead.

“Cella.” Ric pointed at Novikov. “She handles this homicidal idiot quite well, wouldn’t you say?”

“You do know I can hear you, right?”

“Know, but don’t care.”

Crush walked down another long hallway, letting his nose lead him. He eventually tracked the girl down by the soda machines. She was dressed in her hockey gear, skates included, but she was pressed between a Coke machine and a water cooler.

He knew that look on her face, too. He’d had it when he’d tried out for his school’s hockey team—and failed miserably. In fact, Crush was mocked for a good six months—until the growth spurt. Amazing what an obnoxious fourteen-year-old left wing hanging from the school flagpole could do for a white-haired boy’s rep.

“Cella sent me to look for you.”

“I can’t do it. There’s like thirty guys out there.”

“Some of them are female.”

She blinked. “Really?”

“Don’t judge.”

“No, no. I wasn’t. It’s just ...” Hannah shook her head. “I can’t do it. I can’t go out there and make a fool of myself.”