Page 45 of Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend (Catching Feelings #1)
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
SEAN
I lace my skates slowly, my fingers still swollen and clumsy so early in the morning—the kind of stiffness that makes me wonder if I’ll ever be good at this again. Practice doesn’t start until seven, but I could use the extra time—not just to warm up, but to get my head on straight.
At least I slept like the dead last night.
Of course, compared to the rest of the guysat camp, I’m practically on death’s doorstep, so that shouldn’t come as a surprise.
But it was that kind of sound sleep where you don’t move a muscle all night, and when you wake up, you don’t know where or when it is, and you’re so disoriented, it’s hard to focus.
Nothing a few hundred laps can’t fix … or at least distract me from the ache in my joints and chest.
By the time the other guys start filing in, I’m already sweaty and taking a water break. I check my phone and see a good morning text from Kayla that should make my heart rev up, not hurt.
KAYLA
Good morning, my sexy beast of a husband.
On a scale of *unfazed* to *shocked* where would you rate Eunice knowing all the words to “Baby’s Got Back”??
I have video proof. Reply, and I’ll send you the video.
SEAN
I might be too afraid to watch.
KAYLA
Too bad. Your text has triggered my automated response.
*Attachment*
SEAN
Hold on
Whoa.
Was that twerking? Did I just watch Miss Eunice twerk?
KAYLA
That you did, my good man. That you did.
SEAN
Is bleach safe for eyeballs?
KAYLA
No. Sorry, babe. That’s what you get for going out and conquering the world: a bored housewife who stayed out too late with church ladies.
SEAN
I see now what a dangerous combination that is.
KAYLA
lol
Miss you.
I hope you dominate today. You’re amazing.
SEAN
You too.
Oh, and Happy Independence Day.
KAYLA
Go America!
“Texting that hottie wife, Coach?” Hall says to me when he comes into the locker room.
“Not sure how I feel about you commenting on my wife, but yeah.”
Hall laughs it off. He elbows the kid next to him. “Coach’s wife is a D1 hottie.”
“Nah, she’s pro,” I say, putting my phone in my locker.
The guys laugh and Hall starts talking about his girlfriend, and then they’re all chiming in about girls, side pieces, situationships, and making bets about who can rack up the most Tinder dates before the end of camp.
I’m around guys this age on the Blue Collars, so it’s not like this world is completely foreign to me. Are those guys simply more respectful when I’m around? Or is this another sign of me aging out of the locker room?
The rink air tastes like freezer burn and sweat. Usually, my pads feel like armor, but today, they feel like sandbags holding back floodwaters. Meant to prevent disaster, not win a fight.
Out on the ice, we get to work fast after warmups. Dynamic stretches, edge drills, tracking exercises. I let myself go numb the second I’m in the crease—shut down my pride, turn off my thoughts.
Hold the post.
During controlled rebound drills, I’m all precision and tight angles.
When a low-slot shot requires fast hips, I manage it, but the pull in my groin tells me I’m not twenty anymore.
I can’t risk injuring my knees, so I focus on efficiency and control.
Hall, though, struggles to keep his movements tight enough. His legs are too wide, his lunges too reckless. He overcorrects.
It’s subtle—the guy’s clearly good enough to be here—but at the next level, mistakes like this are way too easy to exploit.
“A little too eager, but he’s aggressive,” Trevor says to Otto as they watch Hall.
“Hungry,” Otto adds.
They nod, like Hall’s every weakness is a virtue instead of a threat. Stepping stones to something greater.
If I make a mistake, it feels like a crack in my foundation. Whenever I stop a puck cleanly, Trevor looks at me like it’s the least I could do.
“You’re like a wall, man,” a kid—Griggs—says. It doesn’t sound like a compliment.
Walls are boring. No one walks into a house and admires the walls. They admire the fixtures, the window dressings and splashy designs.
Who cares that the wall keeps the roof up?
Hall is flashy.
“He’s the kind of goalie who gets fans on their feet,” Trevor mutters.
Those words hit like a slap.
They’d rather let in goals with an exciting goalie than win games with a boring one.
Noted.
Near the end of the day, Hall botches a pass behind the net, and it gets to him. Otto blows a whistle for our final break, and Hall skates over to the bench to get some water. He stops me at the cooler, his brows drawn, jaw flexing. The disappointment on his face is palpable.
“How do you do it, man? You just don’t make mistakes.”
I hesitate. It’s not in my nature to see someone hurting and not help.
Even if it is the competition.
“When you go for the reverse, check your strong-side shoulder first. You’re opening too far, and that leaves you exposed behind the net. Tighten your turn and keep your eyes up, and you’ll be in more control.”
Hall nods, his gaze looking far away, like he’s trying to understand. Then he nods again. “Yeah, okay. I’ll try that. Thanks, Coach.”
“You gotta stop calling me that,” I tell him, tugging my mask back down.
Hall grins. “When you stop knowing all the answers, I’ll call you something different.”
I almost hate how likable this kid is.
He goes out there, and on the very next play, he nails the next two reps.
Trevor claps. “Good work, Hall,” he says. Then more quietly, he mutters. “He’s coachable.”
“At least with the right coach,” Otto says.
Trevor snorts.
I want to spit.
I’m the guy that coached him.
And I can’t stop.
After an intense 3x3, Trevor blows the whistle, and our second day is done.
The guys are hyped, yelling over music while I take a plunge in the ice bath. The cold wraps around me like it’s finally found a friend, someone who understands what it means to be silent and overlooked.
I overhear Griggs say, “Next time, someone needs to score on O’Shannan. That guy’s falling asleep out there.”
The words make my nose sting.
Another joke about how old, how irrelevant I am.
I put in my headphones, listen to a motivational podcast Kayla’s tried (and failed) to hook me on, and tune the rest of their conversation out.
Fifteen minutes later, I go to change and see Hall filming a locker-room story for his socials. I’m relieved I’m wearing a towel (not a given in locker rooms).
Hall’s still shirtless, a towel tied around his waist, too. “There he is!” Hall tells his followers.
Crap.
Is he live streaming this?
“Y’all don’t even know, but this guy right here is the real deal. Sean O’Shannan. Memorize that name. Future coach. Current beast. Say hey, Coach.”
I nod vaguely in the direction of the camera, but keep my head down.
“Seriously, people. This man is goals. Hot wife, hot life.”
I chuckle in spite of myself. I’ve never had a hype man before. If it weren’t all for social media, I might even like it.
“Enough, you chucklehead,” I mumble, and this only makes Hall laugh as he turns to highlight the next player.
I give everyone a quiet wave when I leave and go eat at the cafeteria downstairs in silence.
Nothing like another night to contemplate my obscurity in peace.
When I get back to the sparse dorm room, I’m met with a pang of loneliness.
Not only is there no Kayla, but there are no signs of her, either.
Only my wedding ring and the hair tie I’ve kept on my wrist since our honeymoon.
It’s only been two days, but it feels pointless being here without her.
If it weren’t so obvious that they want Hall already, maybe I’d think the sacrifice was worth it.
As it is, I just wish I were home with her.
Not that she’s there, anyway. Kayla flew out to Raleigh with her team this morning. She texted me that promo would keep her busy till ten, but that she’d call if I’m still up.
SEAN
I’ll be lights out already, unfortunately. Watch the fireworks for me.
KAYLA
I’ll do you one better and burn a candle for you.
No, carry a torch for you?
You get it. I miss you. I’m pining over here.
SEAN
Maybe it’s a good thing if I don’t make the team.
More time with you.
KAYLA
Don’t even joke like that! This is your dream. You deserve to live it.
SEAN
Maybe you’re the better dream.
KAYLA
You’re DEFINITELY the best dream. But newsflash, Cap: you can actually have TWO DREAMS! GASP!
SEAN
YOU can have two dreams.
One is enough for me.
KAYLA
You’re enough for me.
SEAN
Night, Boss.
I read over our exchange more times than I should.
I read it again and again over the next day and the next week.
Ten days in, I can’t stop scrolling back to this exchange, even as our text thread grows longer and longer with new updates—Lucas’s latest antics, the most recent church potluck, drama over a song Clementine played on the organ at the last game that got complaints from a moms’ group for being too suggestive (“It’s an organ!
There are no lyrics! How can music notes be suggestive? ”).
Texts about how much Kayla misses me.
But no, it’s this one that keeps pulling me back.
You’re enough for me.
I believe her.
I believe in her.
I’m honored that she believes in me.
For now.
But I can’t help worrying that eventually, she’s going to see me the way everyone here sees me.
And I don’t know how to keep going with that fear holding me back.