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Lincoln and I quickly announce our exit to Hunter and Sadie and practically sprint to my apartment.

Then we spend the rest of the morning and early afternoon making up for lost time.

After a few cups of coffee and multiple orgasms, we finally agree to address the team head-on at practice.

We’re going to be completely honest and upfront with the players.

Although our personal lives should be nobody’s concern, the press and social media kind of make that impossible.

Lincoln heads to the rink before me, claiming he has a couple of things he needs to prepare for practice.

I’ve just pulled into my parking spot when my phone rings through the speakers of my car.

Sadie’s name pops up on my dash, and I tell myself I don’t have time for her meddling, but decide to hit the accept button anyway.

Her voice fills my car.

“I know you’re probably at the rink, but this will only take a second.”

A second for Sadie could mean anything from two minutes to an hour.

I make sure to let her know I will gladly hang up on her if she takes more than a minute .

“I promise, one minute tops. I just want to say something to you before you meet with the team.”

Anxiety pumps through my body and my heart rate increases at the mere mention of talking with the team.

Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, I say, “Well, go ahead. You’re down to fifty-one seconds.”

Sadie ignores the annoyance in my voice and presses on.

“No matter how the team responds, you’ve done nothing wrong. You are an amazing hockey coach and none of this changes that. So keep your head high, gorgeous, there are people out there who would kill to see you fall.”

She quotes the tattoo I have inked on my ribcage, causing me to laugh out loud.

The small laugh loosens my chest and eases a bit of the anxiety I felt before the call.

I’ll forever be grateful I have the best friend in the world.

“Thanks, Sades. Love you.”

“Love you too. You got this.”

The call disconnects and I turn off the car.

Giving myself one last pep talk, I take a deep breath, get out of my car, and make my way into the rink.

Here goes nothing.

The team takes the news way better than I could have ever expected.

They had a few hours after the news hit before our meeting, so maybe their initial reactions weren’t as pleasant.

But when Lincoln and I address the team, no one has a bad word to say.

I’m pretty sure a lot of that has to do with Niko.

As a captain, he’s as good as it gets.

Him knowing beforehand probably made it much easier to talk with the guys before we came in.

I’ll have to ask him later how all of that went, even though I know he won’t say a word.

What’s said in the locker room stays in the locker room.

Especially when it comes to coaches.

Doesn't mean I won’t try like hell to get it out of him.

There are a couple of questions, one in particular from our rookie, Jefferson, that I refuse to repeat. But overall, the entire team is supportive of us. Lucy from PR joins and warns the guys that reporters may be focused on us, rather than hockey, in the coming days. All of the guys nod, listening intently as she goes over some questions they may ask and she provides them with a few different things they could say in response.

Now that that’s over with, we can finally focus on hockey again.

I hope.

We spend most of the practice doing flow drills, getting the guys’ legs moving, before moving on to some standard three-on-two drills to get the team clicking again. We have a game tomorrow night, so we don’t want to push them too hard, but after not having a full practice together yesterday, we want them working in their offensive lines and defensive pairings a bit.

After we finish the drills, we end the practice with a little game. We move the nets up to the center ice circle and play a game of three-on-three. One person from each team stands in the center, while the other two players on the team stand outside the circle. Only the people in the middle can shoot to score. It’s a fun game I learned in college and the guys love when we play it.

Once Lincoln blows the whistle signaling the end of practice, the team exits the ice, leaving only the rookies behind to clean up the pucks.

Hunter follows the rookies off the ice once they’re done, but Lincoln hooks his stick around my waist before I can step off the ice behind them. I turn around and he pulls me toward him.

“Listen, just because the guys know doesn’t mean I want any PDA. Especially at work.” I stick my glove up, blocking his face.

Lincoln laughs and that smile I dream about lights up his face. He puts his hand on his chest and pretends to be insulted. “You wound me, Coach.”

Rolling my eyes, I put my hand on my hip. “I highly doubt that. Now what is it that you want? It’s been a long day and I have a bacon chicken ranch pizza calling my name.”

He starts to skate backward and pulls a puck out of his track pants. “I know you do not have dinner plans that don’t include me, Montgomery. What do you say we play for it? Loser buys the pizza.”

I’m never one to back down from a challenge, which Lincoln is fully aware of. Without giving him an answer, I sprint toward the puck that’s sitting between us and race down the ice.

We go back and forth down the ice a few times, each hitting the crossbar and one goal post.

“Next one to hit a goal post wins,” he reminds me—as if I don’t know the rules.

“Thanks, Coach. I’m well aware of how the game works. Considering I kicked your ass last time.”

Smirking, Lincoln skates toward me, and I crossover backward to keep up with him. Closing the gap between us, I reach my stick out just as he goes to drag the puck back to try and deke around me. I steal the puck and take off down the ice.

Because I like to show off, especially for him, I wind up and take a slap shot from the top of the circle, striking the left post dead center. I raise my hands in victory as I circle the net, only to be thrown against the boards in the corner.

“Nice shot, Montgomery. But I let you win.”

Lincoln’s lips hover close to mine, and I can’t quite remember why I was so against PDA a few minutes ago. The smell of mint invades my space and it takes every bit of self-control not to crash my mouth to his.

“Yeah, right. I saw you pumping your arms trying to catch up. There’s no way you’d let me win anything. Admit it, I win. You lose. Pay up, buddy.”

Lincoln’s eyes drop to my mouth and his breath kisses my lips as he talks. “I may have lost the game, but I won something so much better.”

My heart skips a beat, but somehow I manage to ask, “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“You. I won you.”

The intensity of his stare has me nervously laughing and shoving at his shoulder. “You’re so cheesy.”

He grabs my wrist before I can skate away and pulls my body until it’s fully pressed to his front. I can feel his heartbeat against my chest and mine begins to thump in response.

Lincoln’s hand finds my cheek and he smooths his thumb over it. “I love you, Ellie.”

All the air is sucked from my lungs.

The edges of his mouth quirk up and a devilishly handsome smile stretches across his face. “I mean it, Ellie. I love you. There is no one else I want in my life pestering me for the last slice of pizza or using every last bit of hot water in the world’s longest showers while you sing completely off key to Eric Church. You make everything better. You make me better.”

I try to say it back, but I’m still trying to catch my breath. Something unintelligible comes out of my mouth.

Lincoln laughs and shakes his head. “I’m not sure what you said but you don’t need to say anything right now.” Bless his heart.

“I had some giant plan to buy one of those Bobcats jerseys with your name on it for myself and show up to a game with it on or something. Hunter and Sadie were adamant it would be hot, but then I realized you’d absolutely hate every second of that and probably wouldn’t speak to me for a week so I called off the whole thing. After everything that happened this morning and after telling the team, I couldn’t waste another minute of not letting you know how I feel. I love you, baby.”

Tears sting at the back of my eyes. He went to my best friend for help on how to tell me how he feels. He is constantly putting me first and lifting me up. He is my biggest cheerleader and the best partner. Once the realization sinks in, I blurt it out.

“I love you so fucking much, Lincoln.”

He dives forward, placing a claiming kiss on my mouth. I part my lips to allow his tongue the entrance it deserves. We devour each other and forget about everything else.

Suddenly, cheers erupt, echoing throughout the empty arena. We pull apart and look around to see where it’s coming from.

Standing there, behind the bench, is our entire team. They’re cheering and hollering like a bunch of neanderthals, but it’s a scene that will be engraved in my heart for years to come.

I drop my stick and bury my face in my hands, trying to hide the pure joy—and maybe a little embarrassment—from the guys.

Lincoln grabs my hand and lifts it into the air like he’s announcing the winner of a boxing match.

“ She loves me too! Let’s fucking go! ”

The guys erupt into another fit of cheering and fist pumping. I turn to stare at the obnoxious man beside me.

I love him, but Lincoln Scott is a dead man for this.

He looks down at me and laughs at the scowl that covers my face. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it.”

Ripping my hand away from his, I shake my head and go to make my escape. I’ve only taken two strides when I feel his hand on my arm, yanking back toward him.

In such a dramatic fashion, he drops his gloves and wraps his arm around my waist as he pulls my hips flush to his. Dipping me backward, he leans down and plants another kiss on my lips before pulling me back up.

The team begins their hollering again from the bench, but it's all background noise at this point.

I’m too distracted by this man holding me.

His smile is genuine and it steals my breath.

He pulls his signature move and tucks a loose piece of hair behind my ear.

Leaning in, he whispers, “I love you, Coach.”