"Stag! Get in here!” Coach bellows to me as I limp past his office. Practice has been brutal this past week, but we’re a few wins away from a Stanley Cup. This is exactly what I’ve trained for the last 20 years.

“Sure thing, Coach. What’s up?”

“Don’t give me that smug shit, Stag. Sit down.” I can tell this isn’t going to be a quick chat. I sigh, because I’d hoped to head to the boat house this afternoon and see if I could stare at Juniper’s ...