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Really?” 501 gave me a look of pure skepticism.
    “Yeah, Ghost. Maybe you should think about why that is.” Ghost was easily the smallest guy on the team, so a lot of times he got overlooked by guys like 501 and other defensemen like him. They thought that because they had longer legs and weighed more, they would have the upper hand. I knew from experience, though, that the smallest guys out there were also the best at evading the big guys like me, and it had a lot to do with speed. When Ghost wanted to turn on his jets, he could really fly across the ice. I hoped he would choose to do so today, actually. I wanted to use it to convince him he could give more than he’d been giving in games in order to be a more effective player.
    I’d never been the kind of teacher who would spell everything out for someone, though. I liked letting my players learn things on their own, only giving them a nudge in the right direction when necessary. That was what I hoped to do with 501. He let out a grunting sort of sound and turned his attention back to the ice, while the crew changed the setup for the next event.
    “I bet you would win,” Sophie said adoringly to him.
    “Not likely,” Jo-Jo said. “501 would trip and slam headfirst into the goal post again or something.” Which was exactly how my young defenseman had ended up with concussion symptoms. It was worse than that, even. Somehow, he’d gotten himself called for a tripping penalty in the process of chasing the opposing player back to the goal, and he’d almost knocked the puck into our net at the same time.
    The boys had been giving him shit over it ever since.
    The coaches and I had been, too, to be honest, but in a different way. We’d been using this time while he was forced to sit out to remind him to slow down and that he had more time to make his moves than he seemed to think. Sometimes, it was better to take a step back, especially for a young guy like him. Being up here right now might not be fun for him, but it was far better for his future in the league.
    Sophie didn’t pay Jo-Jo any attention. Her eyes were only for 501. “You would win,” she repeated.
    One of her sisters, who had previously been just as smitten with 501 as Sophie, was now making gaga eyes at Jo-Jo, though.
    I said a silent prayer that all my players would remember that these were teenaged girls and, therefore, well out of bounds. Then I chuckled and got up to get a drink, nodding at my assistant coaches, David Weber and Adam Hancock, as I passed them. I’d barely gotten to the back of the room, where we had a buffet table full of drinks, sandwich fixings, and the like, when Paige caught me, stopping so close she almost brushed up against me.
    She smelled like sunshine—warmth and fresh air combining into a state of perfection. I’d noticed it earlier, but it nearly knocked me on my ass now. “Can I get you something?” I asked. I should have asked her before I got up to begin with. I just hadn’t been thinking.
    She shook her head. “I just wanted… I wanted to thank you. It’s really rare that anyone thinks to do anything for Sophie, let alone for the rest of my girls. I wanted you to know how much I appreciate it.”
    “I only did what anyone would do,” I said, but even as the words left my mouth, I knew them to be untrue. She was right. Most people wouldn’t have done what I had, whether they had the opportunity to do it or not. They would look right past this young girl, assuming that they’d offend by offering help where it wasn’t wanted or simply not having a clue what help they should offer. Too many times, I’d seen people completely look past Linnea, ignoring her or pretending they didn’t see her. And it always made me mad. It made me feel inadequate, because no matter how big or strong I was and no matter how much money I made, I couldn’t protect her from the cruelty she’d faced every day of her life, whether she recognized it as what it was or not. It