Page 17

Chapter 17

Declan

The piercing blast of Coach Dunaway’s whistle cuts across the arena, signaling the end of practice as we’re all winding down. I glide across the ice to meet the rest of the guys as they start piling off, and Sawyer claps me on the shoulder when I swish to a stop next to him.

“Good work out there today. You’re really giving me a run for my money.”

“At this rate, he’s going to force you into an early retirement, old man,” Theo teases him, but Sawyer just rolls his eyes.

“I think that’s your own insecurity talking, not mine.”

Theo smirks and playfully punches our massive, notoriously stoic goalie’s arm. “Speaking of talking, why are you so quiet today, Grant? Did your tongue get stuck to the ice while trying to block my shots?”

Grant glares at him. “Not all of us need to be talking twenty-four-seven.”

“Oh, wow, someone’s extra grumpy today,” Theo banters back, feigning offense.

The guys start disappearing down the hall to the locker room, but I stay on the ice. Maybe I’m overdoing it, but I’m not ready to call it quits yet. I still have a lot of energy to burn, and there’s no better way for me to do it than by hitting the drills. The rest of the guys are too caught up in their bullshitting and easygoing banter to notice.

I glide out across the ice toward the small pile of pucks that got left behind and swipe one of them with my stick, then square up in front of the net. I’m determined to get my pivots on point, since that’s the big thing Coach Dunaway told me I need to work on.

The yoga I’ve started doing with Hannah is definitely going to help, but it’s not enough on its own. I take a few deep breaths, really trying to zone in on the net in front of me and how I’m going to get there, then leap into action.

My body turns into a streak of controlled power as I hurtle across the ice, closing the distance between myself and the rightmost edge of the net as fast as my legs will let me. But just as I get to the line where a shot should be fired, I pivot hard to the left, spinning gracefully, and let the shot loose with a powerful backhand. The puck soars into the net so hard that if it wasn’t bolted down, it probably would’ve flipped over.

A whistle carries out over the ice, and when I glance over my shoulder, I find Dunaway in the stands with one of the assistant coaches.

“Nice shot, Murray!” Dunaway shouts, both hands cupped around his mouth. Then he waves me over. The assistant coach excuses himself while I’m making my way over, and Dunaway meets me at the boards.

“You don’t have to overdo it,” he says with a smile when I stop in front of him. “You’re already killing it. I don’t want you burning out.”

I nod. “I understand. I just want to do the best I can for the team.”

Dunaway chuckles at me. “I respect your work ethic, Murray, I really do. But you’ve got to live for yourself a little bit sometimes too. Your mind needs a break. It can’t be all hardcore hockey, all the time.”

“You’re right.” I nod. “I know that. I just have a hard time not giving things my all. If I’m in, I’m in, you know what I mean?”

“You’re preaching to the choir. I wouldn’t be heading a Cup-winning team if we didn’t have that in common.” Dunaway rubs a hand over his shiny bald head. “Now don’t get me wrong, the drills and practice are important, but it’s just as important to take care of yourself, especially in this line of work. You never know when your next game might be your last thanks to an injury or strain or something.”

A chill runs through me despite the sweat on my skin. I don’t even want to think about that happening.

Getting to this point has been a years-long, back-and-forth journey, so the last thing I want is for some random injury I could’ve prevented to steal the dream away from me now that it’s finally in my grasp. I have so much respect already for Dunaway, but I only respect him more for talking to me like this.

At this point in his career with a Cup win under his belt and an all-star team in the making, he’s approaching living legend status, so it means a lot to me that someone like him cares enough to be taking me under his wing like this. He really must believe in me and what I can do, and that lights a fire inside me. But I have to admit, I haven’t exactly been taking his advice before now.

“That’s every player’s worst nightmare,” I finally say, and Dunaway nods at me.

“Exactly. So like I said, you’ve gotta take care of yourself, on and off the ice. Speaking of which, how’s the yoga been going?”

My stomach knots at the question. Hannah has made it abundantly clear that her dad would never approve of the feelings I have for her, and I feel like an asshole for keeping this secret from him when he’s being so transparent with me. But it’s not like telling him the truth would do any of us any good, so I swallow back my guilt.

“It’s helping a lot so far. Hannah’s an amazing teacher. It must run in the family.”

“Now you’re just kissing my ass,” Dunaway says, although he smiles at me. “But you’re right. Hannah’s talented. I can’t wait to see what she does in a courtroom. Teaching yoga as a side hustle to help pay for school is one thing, but when she lands her first real job at a law firm, these judges and juries aren’t going to know what hit them.”

Something protective stirs in my chest at that, some little impulse to defend her. I don’t see why the two things have to be mutually exclusive, especially if Hannah enjoys and is good at them both, but I try my best not to let my thoughts show on my face.

“Anyway, don’t let me keep you, Murray. I can talk all day long, but I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.”

“Thanks for the talk, Coach. I appreciate it.”

“Anytime. But remember what I said.”

“I will. I actually have a session with Hannah in a bit, so I’d better get cleaned up.”

Dunaway raises his eyebrows. “Oh, good. I’ll have to tell her to keep up the good work. If the pivot I just saw you do is any indication of your progress, you’re going to be a real killer after another few sessions.”

“I’ll try. See you later, Coach.”

Dunaway waves as I turn and skate across the ice to go to the locker room, but his words follow me.

I know I’m good at hockey—I wouldn’t have ended up on the Aces if I weren’t—but hearing that Dunaway believes in me this much makes me realize there’s a lot more riding on me and my performance than just my reputation. He’s putting his on the line too by giving me one hell of a big break with the Aces like this, so I don’t want to let him down or disappoint him by being reckless and overdoing it.

That makes me feel even more guilty about keeping whatever is going on between me and Hannah a secret from him, but I don’t really have a choice. They’d probably both stop talking to me—or worse—if I came clean with him. And both Hannah and hockey have become essential to me in different ways.

He’s right, the yoga practice is good for me, and not just for making me better on the ice. It’s good for my mental health too, which is just as important. And there’s no one else I’d rather be learning from than Hannah.

But I don’t know how I’m going to be able to keep seeing her for lessons without something eventually getting out about us. Because the attraction I feel to her is only getting stronger the more time we spend together, and it’s making me lose it a little bit. I mean, we made out in a very public parking lot last week where her not-quite-boyfriend or anyone else she knows easily could’ve seen us and told Dunaway. I wouldn’t put it past that Aaron guy to do exactly that if he ever got the chance.

So we’re going to have to be careful going forward. Extremely careful. And I’m going to have to do my best not to do anything that would get either one of us in trouble. It sounds like Hannah already has so much on her plate between her teaching and law school, and I don’t want to do anything that might ruin either one of those things for her. Or that might put my spot on the Aces in question.

But resisting her is like trying to fight gravity—theoretically possible but practically impossible.

I shake my head and hit the showers, hoping it’ll help quiet my thoughts… but it only offers a temporary reprieve.

Because as soon as I park my bike outside the yoga studio half an hour later, every nerve ending in my body comes alive, anticipating seeing Hannah.

Keep it together, Murray. This doesn’t have to be complicated .

I take a few deep breaths to prepare myself after I slide my helmet off and fasten it to my bike, then put on my best nonchalant smile and stride right through the front door. Hannah’s already on her mat in the middle of what is probably the wildest yoga pose I’ve ever seen.

She has her back to me, but she’s standing on her head and hands with her legs extended in a perfectly straight line above her. A grin splits my face—and all my resolve drains right out of me at the sight of her like this, her muscles flexed and engaged, her body demonstrating a strength and control that’s mesmerizing.

“I knew you were flexible, but this is something else,” I say, speaking quietly so that I won’t startle her.

Her gaze shoots to mine in the mirrors that line the wall in front of her, and she smiles, but it looks like a frown since she’s upside down. She lowers her knees down to her elbows for balance, then shifts her feet back to the ground and rights herself, flipping her beautiful dark ponytail out of her face.

“It’s a headstand. It’s advanced, but I can teach you if you want.”

“I might be a hockey player, but I’m in no hurry to break my nose, so I’m gonna pass,” I tell her, and she laughs and shrugs.

“Suit yourself. But for a hotshot like you, it’s bound to happen sooner or later. Assuming you’re telling the truth about it never being broken,” she says and steps closer to take my nose in her fingers, inspecting it.

My pulse quickens at her unexpected touch, innocent as it is, and my eyes instantly snap to hers. With her hand on my nose like this, I know she can feel how hard I’m breathing, but that’s good. I want her to know what she does to me.

“Looks like your nose is straight,” she says, her voice sounding a little strained as she lets go of me. But then her expression changes, like a switch has flipped in her brain and she’s back to business. “Ready to get started?”

I shrug. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Love the enthusiasm,” she says with a smirk. “Do you remember the poses from last time?”

“I think so?”

“Alright, then let’s see what you’ve got,” she says and waves a hand above one of the mats, inviting me to prove it. The poses weren’t that complicated, so I do my best to recreate them from memory, and when I’m finished, she nods at me. “Not bad. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks.”

Warmth spreads through me at her approval. I’m hoping the tingle in my stomach from her praise isn’t showing too obviously on my face, but judging from the way she’s looking at me, I’m not so sure.

“I think you’re ready for something a little more advanced. We’ll keep that core set, but we’ll add to it today with a few more poses that should target your hip flexibility specifically.”

“I don’t know whether I should be excited, scared, or both.”

Hannah chuckles. “Probably a little bit of both. You’re gonna be sore after today.”

“Well, that’s not anything I’m not used to with you,” I fire back, and although her cheeks ignite with blush, she smiles at me.

“Consider it my way of returning the favor. Alright, let’s start from the first pose.”

“This one?” I ask as I bring my hands above my head, and she nods.

“Exactly. From there, I want you to step forward with one leg and bend your knee, like this,” she says and demonstrates a sort of lunging pose, keeping her hands raised perfectly straight above her head. “It’s called Warrior One.”

I grimace because I can already feel the stretch before I’ve started it. But I stumble through it, and Hannah shows me the rest of the routine, including a transition into a pose she calls Warrior Two and then into Extended Side Angle.

“Thanks for all the food you’ve been sending me this week,” she says as she leans sideways to touch her hands to her toes along with me.

“Anytime, hummingbird,” I say, smiling at her with my head turned sideways, and she freezes at my use of the nickname. A small tremor visibly runs through her, but she tries to play it off by coming back up and stretching to the other side.

“How’s your week been so far?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Stressful,” she answers quickly. “Tuesday in particular was shitty.”

I join her in stretching to the other side and lock eyes with her. “Really? What was going on?”

“Nothing, just the usual.”

She doesn’t elaborate, and I get the strong sense that she doesn’t want to, so I don’t push her. This is the easiest, most fluid conversation we’ve had since that night months ago at the club, so I’m not about to rock the boat now. But she stays relatively quiet throughout the rest of the session, letting me drive the conversation and answering briefly. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I can’t help wondering if I said or did something to put her off.

Fuck, I hope not .

There’s a shadow behind her eyes that wasn’t there at the beginning of our session. But it could just as easily have nothing to do with me—she did say she’d been having a rough week, so she probably has a lot on her mind.

Part of me wants to ask, if only because I want to help lighten the load if I can, but I decide to let it go.

“Same time next week?” she asks as she drags a towel across her forehead when we’re finished.

“Yeah, that should work for me. Thanks.”

“You’re doing well. Way better than I would’ve thought at the start, honestly.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment.”

Hannah laughs, her eyes twinkling.

“It was,” she says and leaves it at that as she starts rounding up the mats and resetting the room to close. I help her as usual, then wait at the door while she takes a quick shower. The hiss of the shower stops and I hear her rummaging around for a while, then her phone rings.

“Hello?” she asks as she answers it, her voice echoing loud and clear from the tile locker room. I know I shouldn’t be listening, that it’s none of my business, but short of leaving the building or plugging my ears, there’s nothing I can do to avoid overhearing it.

“Yes, Aaron, I didn’t forget. Saturday at seven. I’ll be there,” she says, and a rush of ice fills my chest when I realize what’s happening.

She has a date with that Aaron guy this weekend. The one she said she wasn’t interested in getting back together with.

“We’ll definitely need reservations. It’s Altitude. That place is always packed,” she says, and I file away the information without thinking. “Listen, I just got out of the shower at the studio, can we talk about this later? Yeah, I’ll call you when I get home. Bye.”

A few minutes later, Hannah emerges from the locker room with her still-damp hair tied in a ponytail—and her face flushes when she sees me. Her eyes widen a little, as if she’s suddenly realizing how small this place is and how likely it must be that I overheard the entire conversation she just had.

“You heard, didn’t you?” she asks, her voice low.

I shrug. No sense in denying it.

She sighs and twists the end of her ponytail between her fingers. “It’s just dinner, not a real date. I didn’t even want to go, I just said yes to get my mom off my back. She really wants us to get back together.”

Her words come quickly, almost desperately, as if she wants to make sure I believe her.

I step closer, and her throat bobs as she swallows. The air in the studio thins, charged with electricity that makes the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Energy crackles between us, like her body is a magnet responding to the proximity of mine.

“What do you want?” I ask, and although I can see conflict warring in her eyes, she doesn’t say anything for several moments.

Her eyes lock with mine, vulnerability and desire battling across her features. For a heartbeat, I think she might actually answer honestly—might say the words I’m desperate to hear.

“It’s just dinner,” she finally whispers, shaking her head. “That’s all.”

I take a step back as the breath I’ve been holding leaks out.

“Right,” I say, forcing a smile that I don’t feel. “Just dinner.”