Page 21 of Breaking the Pucking Rules (LA Vipers #1)

CASEY

O ver the years, I’ve experimented around the arena to find the perfect hidden spot.

When I was younger, I used to come here after school and do homework while Dad was working, and not much has changed. I’ve just switched up homework for actual work.

Being here always inspires me. There’s something about the energy of watching the guys on the ice, listening to the whistles, the shouts, and the laughter.

It’s addictive.

Dragging my eyes from my cell, I watch Dad waving his arms around as he explains something to his forwards alongside his assistant coach.

The players listen to every single word, soaking it all up.

The image before me morphs into one of me standing before a handful of girls, all of them gazing at me like I’m the most important person in their world at that moment. That I can help bring all their dreams to fruition.

Can I, though?

Dad and Parker might have the confidence in me, but will others?

Just because I’ve grown up around hockey, just because I’ve played, just because my father is head coach of the LA Vipers, it doesn’t mean I’ll be any good at coaching.

Dad and his assistant step back and the guys skate off, ready to put whatever they were just told into practice.

As always, my eyes follow number fifty-five.

It’s an obsession I’m not sure I’ll ever overcome.

I never feel more at home than I do when I’m here like this. It’s where I belong.

Hockey is my life, and I desperately want to share that passion with those who will become the future of the sport I love so much.

Looking back down at my cell, I try to put everything I feel about ice hockey into words.

If nothing else comes of this, those who read it will know just how dedicated I am.

I know that I should probably let Dad read my application, maybe even Parker, but I can’t wait.

If I don’t hit send right now, there’s a chance I’ll talk myself out of it.

There is no time like right now.

My heart is in my throat as my thumb hovers over the button that could very well change the course of my future.

I already have a full-time job, but that doesn’t matter. I will always find time for hockey.

Hell, I’d do this coaching job for free, given the chance.

I figure that if I get it, the only thing that will change is being able to attend road games.

I don’t go to all of them, but I like to go to a handful throughout the season.

But it’ll be worth it. Seeing those girls doing what they love, helping them improve, watching them win their games...It’ll be more than worth it.

My hand trembles as I wait for my email to show as sent, and the second it does, my stomach turns over as if I’m going to be sick.

This was not the way I expected my day to go when Dad woke me up this morning.

I remain hidden in the shadows, watching the guys practice until Parker messages to let me know that she’s outside. Kodie is still on the ice, and it takes every bit of strength to walk away from him.

It’s ridiculous. He doesn’t even know I’m here.

“I thought I was going to have to drag you out,” Parker laughs as I drop into her car.

I chuckle, but I don’t really feel it.

“Shit, what happened?” she asks, reading my reaction.

“Nothing,” I mutter as she pulls away.

“Did you see him?”

“From a distance, yeah. He didn’t see me.”

“Casey, you need to?—”

“I applied for the job,” I confess, needing to change the subject.

“You did?”

“Yep. Now we wait.” Just saying those words puts me on edge. Waiting to hear back is going to be hell.

“You’ll get it. They’ll be stupid not to.”

“We’ll see,” I muse, hoping like hell she’s right.

I want it.

I want it so fucking bad.

T he next morning, I find myself back in my favorite seat, waiting for the under eights team to take the ice.

It’s their first game of the season, and I can feel the apprehension in the air.

The coaches have everything set up for them, and I’ve got a notebook in hand.

I figure that if I’m lucky enough to get an interview, I need to have first-hand experience with the teams, the coaches, and the players.

Parents from both teams fill the seats below me, each nervous for their daughters as the coaches give their pre-game speeches.

I imagine what I would say to them in this moment.

It isn’t hard to come up with something. I’ve had a lifetime of pep talks from Dad—mostly before games, but also about life in general. When school was hard going, or I had a test I didn’t feel prepared for, he was always there with uplifting words that gave me a confidence boost.

Once they’re ready, both teams burst onto the ice with applause and cheers from the parents watching.

Goosebumps rise across my skin as they take their positions and wait for the puck to drop.

I swear, I have a smile on my face the whole time they're playing.

It’s not the first youth game I’ve watched, but this time, it means so much more. Just having the chance to possibly work with these young players is a privilege.

It’s a tight game, and teams are tied two-to-two. But two minutes before the end of the third period, our number fifty-five shoots off around the side, successfully evading the other team’s defense before taking a shot that has everyone in the arena holding their breath.

A proud laugh erupts from my throat as the puck hits the back of the net, and the girl who scored it immediately begins a celly dance that has the whole place smiling.

Maybe it’s got something to do with the number, but I find myself completely enthralled by her.

When the final whistle blows, all players on our team form a huddle, and they being chanting something I can’t make out. The coaches descend on them, congratulating their girls on an incredible win.

Pride swells in my chest, and I fight to drag in my next breath.

I want to be down there with them.

Because they’re all incredible sportsmen, they shake hands with the opposing team before they disappear off the ice, searching for condolences from their parents.

Our team, on the other hand, bounds off the ice, excited to celebrate their first win of the season with their loved ones.

As they skate off, my eyes linger on one player as she awkwardly runs on her skates toward her?—

“Fuck,” I breathe as she launches herself into a very strong and familiar pair of arms.

The Polar Bears’ number fifty-five is Sutton Rivers.

Of course it is.

I shake my head. It should have been obvious from the second I saw her jersey.

My heart is in my throat as he spins her around. She’s lost her helmet, allowing me to see her wide smile.

I lean closer, desperate to hear the laughter that no doubt spills from her, but I’m too far away.

Ripping my eyes from her happy face, I look at her dad.

My breath catches, and the rest of the stadium disappears when I find the most incredible smile lighting up his face.

On any normal day, he’s grumpy as fuck. Even after a win, his smiles are generally more of a grimace or a smirk. He smiled that night, but as amazing as it felt to be at the reason for it, I now realize it was nothing like the one he gives his daughter.

Because that smile? It’s…life-altering.

I want him to smile at me like that.

It’s stupid, fickle, and impossible, but the desire is there all the same.

He puts her down a few seconds later before dropping to his knees and helping her out of her skates.

I’m completely enthralled by them.

And when I quickly glance around, I discover that I’m not the only one.

More than a few moms are blatantly staring at him.

Something hot and uncomfortable rises in me, and I quickly realize it’s jealousy.

He’s mine.

He’s not. He’s so far from mine it’s laughable.

But I want him to be.

Once Sutton has removed her pads and has her sneakers on, the pair of them say goodbye to the others who are lingering around—mostly moms who are hoping for a shot with the pro hockey player. They walk toward the exit hand in hand, talking animatedly, I assume about the game.

Lifting my hand, I rub the spot above my heart as the image of them morphs into one of me and Dad all those years ago.

I don’t remember it at the time, but I bet all the moms were making moon eyes at him then as well.

Shaking my head, I look down at the notes I’ve written as the ten and under team gets ready to take over the ice.

The thought of this being a regular thing on Sunday mornings makes excitement flutter in my stomach.

Looking at their season schedules online, it seems that both teams train and have games on Sunday mornings or Wednesday evenings depending on when the Vipers’ games are.

Pulling my cell from my pocket, I check my emails.

I shouldn't be disappointed; it’s the weekend, and I only sent my application yesterday.

But I am.

I want this.

And not just because it’ll be another way to see Kodie more often. That is just a very welcome bonus.

The next team doesn’t fare so well and ends up losing their first game. It sucks, but it also means I have plenty of notes about places they can improve by the time the final whistle blows.

Confident that I can walk into an interview—assuming I get one—and talk honestly about both teams and their performances, I head out of the arena and into the LA sun.

Lowering my sunglasses from my head, I locate my car and make my way home.

The second my ass hits the couch, I turn the TV on to ESPN and open a new browser on my cell before typing one my favorite search terms.

Kodie Rivers.

I already know he keeps his private life, and more importantly, his daughter, out of the media. But after seeing them together today, I need more.

I need so much more.