“What the hell is your problem?”

you bark, storming right up to the coach, your voice echoing off the walls of the ice rink loud enough to make heads turn.

“You think just because I’m a girl, I can’t skate circles around your precious little boys? Newsflash, asshole—skates don’t come with a dick requirement.”

You’re fuming, chest rising and falling, fists clenched, the adrenaline crackling off you like electricity. The coach opens his mouth like he’s gonna say something smug or dismissive, but you cut him off, eyes blazing.

“Save it. You didn’t even let me try out. You just looked at me and decided I wasn’t worth your time. That’s not coaching, that’s being a goddamn coward with a whistle.”

You can feel every pair of eyes on you, but one gaze hits different—hotter, heavier. You glance over and catch Tim LaFlour watching you from the bench, helmet in his lap, his expression unreadable but eyes locked on you like you just flipped his whole world upside down. He doesn’t look away, not even a little. There’s something simmering under the surface—curiosity, admiration, maybe something more—

and for a split second, your rage flares hotter just from being seen. You throw the coach one last glare like you’re daring him to stop you from stepping on that ice.

“You’re scared I’ll make your boys look weak,”

you growl, voice low and lethal.

“But go ahead. Keep pretending it’s about ‘team chemistry.’ Everyone here knows the truth.”