Chapter 06. Sniper Captain

~Two (2) Years Later: Minnesota. July 2025~

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*THE HOCKEY ARENA: NORTHBRIDGE UNIVERSITY ICE CENTER*

Memphis McCarthy’s P.O.V

We’re in the den. It’s training day—the last one before the big game next month, on the night of resumption, at the start of junior year. 

Northbridge Wolves vs Saint Spurs. Only winning is allowed.

Stick in my grip, blades tearing blazingly through ice, I have one objective: the goddamn puck. My eyes are locked on it as I body check Norman to get it. My ribs take the hit; I firm my blades into the ice, still chasing hard after it.

“Fu–, Memphis!” Norman spits before going down, but he’s passed the puck already.

“Apologies,” I call after him, not stopping, not sorry at all. I have a new opponent. Avan—left-wing, my partner. But today is different. I’m captain, I’m right-wing, and everyone’s my opponent. Five against one.

“McCarthy?” Coach Gale yells from the sideline. “Get the goddamn puck!”

“You don’t have to tell me what to do, Coach,” I say under my breath, lifting my eyes to the offensive zone as I chase Avan down. I close in on him.

“Come on, McCarthy,” Avan taunts, holding his own so brilliantly. “Is that all you’ve got?”

I’ll show you.

Eyes on my objective, I rush for him, ready to use my body again to move him from the puck. He picks up pace. I fake an attack with my stick—so fast. He reacts, ready to counter. The minute he lifts his stick, I steal, shoving my stick into the puck. 

My blades accelerate down the ice as I deke past him.

“Yes!” Coach Gale echoes from a distance.

My teammates are on my tail, closing in on me. Bruno, clad in his armor, slams his gloves together as he goes down in front of his net, squatting, ready to prevent me from scoring.

“Norman?” Russo yells. “Now!”

Norman comes around, shoving his stick so fast at the puck. But I switch hands even faster, catching it again with a triumphant smirk. 

It’s too late.

They breathe down my neck, skating too close. My knives fly faster than I’m breathing. Even on the ice, sweat runs down my face, back, and chest, but I don’t lose control of my precious puck. Once it’s mine, it’s mine. Like every other thing I desire.

The offensive zone is just three seconds away.

Avan appears in my line of view. He knows my moves—the moves we practice all the time.

But rule 101 in Memphis’ book of Hockey: stay unpredictable.

I hit the puck backward and shove my knives into the ice, stopping. They fly ahead while I turn back in a breath, going after my puck.

“Shit!” Russo splutters.

A chuckle spews from my lips as I reach it. Grip so firm, I move it back toward them, eyes glued to the blue line. As they race for my puck, I make a quick swish, turning my stick to protect it while slipping between their defense.

Skating over 30 km/h, so close to the line, it’s almost impossible to switch positions. Bruno predicts my target as he drops with his gloved hands. But I’m that good.

I twist my body, passing the puck to the other side so fast.

And shoot!

Silence. 

My deep breath.

And the net trembles.

“Yes!” Coach Gale shouts. “Good one, McCarthy!”

Chest pounding, I gasp for air, slowly pushing my lips up to a smile as I skate toward Bruno.

He looks up at me from the ground and shakes his head with an impressed smile on his face. “And that’s why you’re captain.”

“This is why I’m captain,” I reply, stretching my hand to him. “Because I’ve got fu–ing awesome teammates.”

He grins but takes my gloved hand with his. I yank him off the ice.

“McCarthy?!”

Still panting, I look over my shoulder to see my teammates flying toward me, all raising their sticks and cheering.

“Let me guess, you wore your nipple covers today,” Norman jests.

“Of course, I did. I was playing against the team. Needed all that luck,” I answer, slapping my free hand against my chest before we crowd around each other for a team hug. 

It’s my good luck charm. Ginger hair, the green-eyed princess, left them behind that night, probably to pay for stealing my brand-new jacket—there’s only one of it in the world, and it was signed by one of the hockey legends we went to watch in NJ. Couldn’t stop thinking about her, so I foolishly wore the silicone nipple covers for my first game, freshman year, and I’ve never lost a game I played in since then. Not even one loss.

“They’re wearing out already,” Avan comments on my nipple covers as he breaks the hug. “We’ve still got a bunch of games before graduation, Cap. What are you gonna do?”

“Patch them right up,” I answer, already skating toward the sideline for a break before we go again for 5 against 5 in an hour.

“You’re fantastic without the nipple covers, McCarthy.” Coach takes it upon himself to remind me the minute I get off the ice. The guys chatter, coming behind me.

“Thanks, Coach,” I reply with a smile, grabbing a water bottle while yanking off my helmet. And immediately, I pour the contents of the bottle down my throat.

“That was brilliant… And that’s how you’ll defeat Saint Spurs in August.”

“We will defeat Saint Spurs,” I object. “Not me. I’m nothing without the team.”

He nods, quickly dismissing me as he turns to the others to nitpick. Nothing new. 

Coach Gale is awesome, but as usual, everyone kisses up to McCarthy because my Dad’s the president of Litho Core Semiconductors & Technologies, which heavily funds university projects and initiatives. And my mom’s the CEO of the company, and the first daughter of Northbridge University hockey legend, Harrold Hozier—my grandfather. He retired early and turned into a business titan. My older half-brother, Marcus, is even more impressive: he made the list of smartest COOs/CEOs of our time, alongside business icons like Alexander Thorne. That’s his role model. I’m more of a Dimitri Belcroft guy.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, though. I might be an elite hockey player—not bragging; records and stats show it—but I’d rather be treated like everyone else. Fair and square.

“Avan, that was sick.” I compliment him once I empty my bottle and begin taking off my gloves. “The way you held on to the puck.”

“What can I say…” With a smug smile, he flicks his left eyebrow and raises his shoulders. “Learned from the best. H. H, the legend.”

With a chuckle, I slap his palm for a high five. Avan and I trained under my grandfather when we were just kids. I sink into a seat behind the players’ bench, take off my skates, and retrieve my phone from my crossbody bag. My thumb flicks across the screen as it unlocks. I scroll through notifications, messages, and reminders, skimming over them. Nothing fun or important.

A message from my brother pops up.

Marcus: {What are you doing on your birthday? Do I have to clear my entire month?}

Scoffing, I lean back and tap open his chat.

Me: {It’s not until September. Stay busy. And I might not be celebrating this time.}

Marcus: {Northbridge’s hockey king not celebrating? Pigs will fly. Your gf’s probably planning something with your mom already.}

Me: {Maybe. Don’t care.}

Him: {You should care.}

I let out an exhale, staring at his message as a weight settles on my shoulders. 

Yeah…, I have a girlfriend. And we’re kind of engaged—family, business, politics stuff—one of the obligations of being a McCarthy. Everyone sees it as a privilege; everyone expects me to see it as a privilege. Maybe it is. I think Rissa is beautiful and sexy and amazing; she’s the most popular girl on campus, and we look so good together. So freaking good. Her father is on the board of trustees for my Dad’s company. He’s also a major university donor, a Northbridge hockey legend, and a member of the university’s board. So, major privilege.

But I keep needing a break once or twice a year. For a month or less, we’re out of each other’s faces, and we get to fu– whoever we wanna, then we get back together, and we keep going, rinse and repeat. I’m not sure if that’s healthy for a couple meant to get married after graduation. We’ve been together since we were teenagers. 

Marcus: {Just hit me up when there’s a plan and a party location. I’ll shut down the city for you if I have to.}

Smiling, I type my response: {How about finding someone for me?}

Him: {Who do I have to find? Are you kidding?}

I twist my mouth, my finger hovering over the keypad as my mind drifts to ginger curls—those enthralling green eyes, the smell of sunshine and peach, the sway of her hips in those tiny denim shorts, the dangerously sheer top she’d boldly worn that screamed for my attention the moment I walked into the club, how she’d muttered her request, our dance, her perfect moves…, the tangible feel of her, the lively sound of her voice and laughter—all that I’ve never been able to forget, no matter how hard I try.

Shutting my eyes, I shake the memory out of my head and mutter, “It’s all in the past, Memphis. It was just one night. One night.” 

Then I type a reply: {Shut down the city instead. See you around.}

Marcus: {See u.}

“New semester, same old same disturbance… those figure skaters are gonna wanna lay claim on our fu–ng den again.” Russo’s irritated murmurs float to my ears, and I glance at my teammates.

“Daphne’s hot. I don’t mind seeing those little skirts and strong legs for another year,” Clark laughs, earning a slap on his neck. I drop my eyes and get back to doom-scrolling.

“Cap?”

I lift my head away from my phone, staring at the boys.

“What you gon’ do about this? Ice rink shared for two more semesters, or we protest?” Norman yells.

I’ve had enough of those figure skaters myself. My jaw tightens as I rise. “We fu–ing protest!”

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☆⁓Author’s Note⁓☆

Alexander Thorne (Billionaire CEO) and Dimitri Belcroft (Billionaire Playboy) are the MMC’s of my two previous books: ‘Sold To The Possessive Billionaire In A Suit’ and ‘Married To My Sister’s Boyfriend’. The worlds are interconnected; you can check them out.