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Gavin had been putting this off, but he knew he couldn’t anymore. He’d met with Finn two days ago, and he liked the kid already—but the dad was going to be a problem, and there was nothing to do about it but to deal with Morgan.

He dialed the number he’d gotten from his agent and waited as it connected, ringing over and over again.

Considering Morgan’s stature, he wasn’t surprised when he never answered and the call went to voicemail. He kept it short and sweet as he left a message, explaining that he was the new coach of the Evergreens and he hoped to chat with him soon.

Maybe someone else wouldn’t have called him back right away, but Gavin wasn’t particularly surprised when less than ten minutes later his phone rang.

He’d known that was probable if not guaranteed, so he’d deliberately not started any projects in his office that he wasn’t going to finish.

In fact, he’d been sitting there, in his chair, staring at the window, thinking of how attached it would make him look if he texted Zach .

They’d started texting—or to both of their surprise—calling each other at the end of every day.

Even on days they spent the whole day together, it didn’t feel like it had been a good day if he didn’t get to talk to Zach while they both lay in bed.

They dissected the day. Talked about future plans—both long-term and what tomorrow would bring—and about other things, too.

What stupid movies Gavin was watching. The classes Zach was thinking of taking during the next semester.

How Gavin had burned his toast this morning because he’d been too busy watching (again) the video of Elliott and Mal playing together.

It was everything and it was nothing, and Gavin liked it so much he was worried he should stop—but it was harmless, wasn’t it?

They were just making friendly conversation.

It was totally okay that Zach was becoming his favorite person.

Your assistant coach should be someone you liked.

The job was hard enough on its own, without Gavin having to deal with someone he didn’t give a shit about.

“Hey,” Gavin said, picking up the call.

“You called me,” Morgan said.

Typical Morgan response. They didn’t have a lot of experience together, other than the national tournament he’d coached five years ago, when he’d been an assistant and Morgan had captained the USA team.

He’d fed Hayes Montgomery that gorgeous pass so he could score the winning goal in the championship game.

“I did,” Gavin said. “ You got a minute?”

“Wouldn’t have called you back, otherwise,” Morgan grumbled. “Before you say anything, I want to make a case for Finn starting this year.”

Gavin wanted to say he was surprised, but was he?

No. Not really. This was why he’d called Morgan in the first place. This was the whole fucking problem.

“Don’t you think Finn’s made a good case on his own for starting?”

“Well, obviously,” Morgan said, like Gavin’s question was top ten in the dumbest questions he’d ever been asked.

At least, Gavin figured, there was that. He didn’t have to convince Morgan that Finn was good. He just had to convince Morgan to leave Finn alone, hoping that without all that constant fatherly pressure, he might be not just good, but great .

“That helps,” Gavin said bluntly.

“Helps what?”

“Helps what I’m about to say to you,” Gavin said. “You gotta leave him alone.”

There was nothing but silence on the other end for a long, interminable moment. Gavin actually thought he might’ve hung up on him. That wouldn’t be that out of character.

“You trying to tell me how to father my own goddamn son?” Morgan finally asked, bordering on belligerent.

Gavin sighed. “No, I’m not telling you how to father him. I’m telling you to stop coaching him. Let me do that.”

More silence.

“You actually gonna do it?”

Gavin considered telling Morgan that now he’d asked the stupid question, but that would only piss him off, and he was on thin ice anyway.

“That’s the plan,” Gavin said, keeping his tone as neutral as possible.

“Well, if you do it better than that fucking idiot at Syracuse, then, sure, I’ll be happy to leave it to you.”

“What did he do?”

Morgan sighed, long-suffering. “All the wrong shit, okay? It was like he didn’t know how to deal with Finn at all. Kept pushing him. When he doesn’t get that we push ourselves .”

Gavin wondered if Morgan even knew he’d said we , like Morgan and Finn were a matched set, or if it just came naturally.

“What did Finn think about that?” Gavin could guess. He could also guess that when it came down to it, if asked, Finn would claim he’d transferred to get farther away from his father. Not that he hadn’t liked his coach.

“Oh, you know. He didn’t get it.” For the first time conversation, Morgan sounded human. Like a real fucking dad, who’d gotten blamed in full for something that he was undoubtedly partially—but not entirely—responsible for.

“He’s young,” Gavin said.

“Yeah. Yeah .” Morgan exhaled sharply. “So you’re gonna coach him?”

“Yes. The way he should be coached,” Gavin said. He was sure the Syracuse coach had promised similar things, and there was no way he could guarantee to Morgan he would be better. There was only his word.

Hopefully, that would be enough .

“You were a decent enough coach, back at Four Nations,” Morgan admitted. He didn’t sound entirely convinced, but he didn’t sound doubtful either.

“That was a ten day tournament, five years ago,” Gavin reminded him, though now that he was thinking about it, why had he brought that up?

“Believe me, I know,” Morgan said dryly. “But still. You were good. I . . .I’m not gonna leave him alone entirely, though.”

“You shouldn’t. You’re his dad.”

“If I overstep and you find out, let me know, okay?” There was suddenly a vulnerable note in Morgan’s voice. “He’s got a mom, right? But she’s busy. Remarried, had more kids. I want to be there for Finn, but sometimes . . .it’s like the only thing we have that connects us is hockey.”

Gavin sighed.

“I know, right?” Morgan sounded almost amused now. “It was easier when you thought I was just a total asshole.”

“I’m sure at some point you’re going to remind me of that fact again,” Gavin retorted dryly.

Morgan barked out a laugh. “Oh, probably. I won’t be a stranger, so yeah. I expect it’ll happen.”

“I hope you’ll come to town and give our guys something to aspire to,” Gavin said.

“Definitely.” That smug tone of Morgan’s was back. The one that he’d always had, that screamed, yeah, I know just how fucking good I am.

The worst of it was he had been. Probably still was, even though he’d been retired for a few years now.

“Good,” Gavin said. He stood and made approximately thirty more seconds of small talk—but they both knew why Gavin had called and he’d dealt with it so there was no point in prolonging the conversation.

By the time he’d hung up with Morgan, he was already packed up and walking out of the rink, heading home.

He could wait until he got home, ate dinner, and pretended to watch a movie before he called Zach. Or he could just call now .

It wasn’t hard to know what he wanted to do—besides, wouldn’t it be less bad if he did it now, when he was upright and walking, and not when he was lying in bed?

That was all the justification Gavin needed.

Dialing Zach’s number, he realized as his heart beat just a little bit faster, that the fact that he was needing excuses to call his assistant coach was probably not good.

But then Zach answered, with an out of breath, “Hey.”

Gavin pushed all those uncomfortable thoughts away and focused on Zach.

“Hey,” Gavin said, suddenly and inexplicably happy in a way he couldn’t remember being in so long. “Did I catch you at a bad moment?”

“No, no, I’m just—” He cut off, breathing even harder all of a sudden. “Just finishing up a workout.”

Gavin’s skin prickled with heat.

“I can call back—”

“No, no, it’s all good,” Zach said, and Gavin didn’t want to tell him, the way you’re panting is making me crazy. Is making me think of things I don’t want to think about. That I shouldn’t be thinking about. “What’s up?”

“I just got off the phone with Morgan.”

“Oh yeah?” Zach’s breath was finally evening out, but Gavin still felt infused with heat. Or maybe that was just the air outside. It was hot for Portland, nearly eighty still, even though the sun was going down.

It was a decent enough justification that Gavin’s mind snapped it up, accepting it as fact.

“It wasn’t terrible. He’s not terrible. Wasn’t even unreasonable about it.”

“And here you were dreading it so bad,” Zach joked lightly, even though Gavin had barely mentioned how much he wasn’t looking forward to making the call.

Like he’d just known , because he knew Gavin.

“Yeah,” Gavin agreed, squeezing his eyes shut.

It had been a very long four years since he’d felt seen the same way he felt seen right now. It would be so easy to just lose himself in this feeling. But it wasn’t fair to Zach to do that. Not when he didn’t know if he could give it right back.

And he didn’t know—was still partially convinced, in fact—if his ability to do that was completely and utterly destroyed. After all, part of the reason he’d removed himself from people was that he wasn’t sure he had anything left in himself to give to anyone.

“So he’s gonna give Finn some space?”

“So he says,” Gavin said. “Apparently the coach at Syracuse was partially to blame for this whole situation. ”

“Yeah?” Zach sounded surprised. About as surprised as Gavin had been. “Finn didn’t mention the coach when I talked to him. I mean, he didn’t mention his dad either, but that was sort of a given. He just said he needed to get away. Have a change of scenery.”

“I think maybe Reynolds interfered because he thought the coach was fucking Finn up.”

“And he fucked Finn up more as a result?”

Gavin winced. This poor damn kid. He needed to catch a break. “Yeah. Basically.”

“Well, we’re gonna have to fix that. We should tell Ramsey to reach out to him.”