Page 51 of Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend (Catching Feelings #1)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

KAYLA

“ T his is a closed training camp,” a disapproving man says from the ice. “How did you get in here?”

Otto skates over to the side of the ice, stopping him.

“It’s okay,” Otto says. “I approved it.”

My heart unclenches a little. “Thanks, Mr. Hanninen,” I say with a wave and a grin that probably looks insane given my face paint.

“Dude, is that Coach’s wife?” one of the guys on the bench says to Hall (whom I recognize from his daily streams).

“Yeah. You can’t tell through the face paint, but she’s hot.”

“Oh, I can tell.”

Scottie and Clementine both laugh next to me. “You have 20-year-old men falling at your feet,” Scottie says. “Every woman’s dream.”

Clementine and I both laugh, because ew.

“GO CAP!” I yell at the top of my lungs.

Otto’s shoulders shake in a laugh, and then there’s a whistle, and the scrimmage starts.

Honestly, as much as I’ve tried to watch hockey over the last few months, I still don’t get it.

What I do get is that Sean looks like a fire’s been lit under him.

He moves with purpose—no wasted energy—but there’s a quiet flair to it.

He’s like the James Bond of goalies. His movements are graceful, understated, and arresting.

The best part, though?

I can see how much our support means to him. He’s loose and playful, but still sharp on his feet. Skates. Whatever. And even from the bleachers, I can feel the grin behind his mask.

“Thanks again for arranging the team buses on such short notice,” I say to Scottie.

“Just doing my job,” she says as she claps for Sean. “But Clementine’s the one who made all the signs and banners. That girl is like a walking Pinterest board.”

“With an encyclopedic knowledge of late 2000’s rap …” I add.

Scottie laughs. And we watch Sean play like he was made for it.

After the final whistle blows, the players tap their sticks, and Otto claps his gloves together once.

“That’s a wrap, boys,” he calls. “Final evaluations in twenty. O’Shannan—go kiss your wife before we meet.”

I run down the stairs to the break in the glass near the tunnel, and Sean grabs me under the arms and pulls me to him like I weigh nothing. I wrap my legs around his waist. His gloves are still on, and they press clumsily against my back, but I don’t care.

Sean’s lips part, and he devours me like he’s starving and I’m the only thing that can sustain him.

I know the feeling.

His face is sweaty and his lips are hotter than I expected. Mine are still sticky from the lip gloss I shouldn’t have worn. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but this.

But then Sean pulls back, breathless, searching my eyes with a look that pricks my heart. “What happened with the town?”

“Cap!” I laugh, dragging my nails through his beard, wanting his mouth back on mine. “Who cares?”

“I do!”

“The team’s mine. But honestly, I wouldn’t have cared if it wasn’t. I’ve found where I belong.”

“Mullet Ridge feels like home, does it?”

“You do.”

We kiss again—longer this time. No more speeches or doubts. The steadiness of his hands is a promise. The warmth of his lips is a vow.

“I can’t believe you came for me,” he says, his voice rough yet reverent.

“It’s like I told Eunice and Loretta,” I whisper, my words puffing against his mouth. “No matter where you are, I’ll be on the sidelines cheering you on.”

He places one more soft kiss on my lips before setting me down with aching gentleness. “I love you. Thank you for coming.”

I put my hands on either side of his cheeks. “I choose you, Sean. Always.”

His eyes crinkle as he smiles. “And forever.”

My family is talking to Sean’s, and our friends all wait in the stands, but when I turn around, I spot Fletch standing several rows down, away from the rest of the crowd.

I walk across the rows to join him, dropping into the seat next to his.

“How you doing, Coach?”

“Not as good as you, Owner.”

I elbow him. “Seriously. You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Right. You don’t look wrecked at all,” I say.

“It’s the hair, okay? It was made to be under a hat.” He runs a hand through it, and it sticks up at far too many angles.

“Have you considered growing it out even more? Maybe the weight of it will keep it down.”

“I’ve considered shaving it, but I’m not sure my mom would forgive me,” he says, snorting. Then he breathes in and out slowly. “It’s hard seeing someone get a second chance that I’d kill for. I’m happy for Sean. I just can’t help but envy the guy. He’s got it all.”

“You have more than you think, you know.”

“Do I?”

I exhale, trying not to allow frustration to tinge my words. “So MLB didn’t work out. Do you really intend to punish yourself for the rest of your life over it?”

“I’ve done a bang-up job for the last few years. Why stop now?”

“Fletch—”

“I know. There’s more to life than baseball,” he says, though it’s lip service. “But I feel like I failed my family.”

“You didn’t fail anyone.”

“I was in the Minors when my brother was attacked. I got called up a few months later. I thought it was God or the universe or whatever telling me that our curse was broken. That our family’s luck had finally shifted, that we could stop paying for the mistakes of the past. And then—” His chuckle would make strychnine seem sweet by comparison.

I’ve watched Fletch’s first at-bat and seen the wrist fracture that ended his career.

He’s strong enough to teach, to show players how to swing.

And his understanding of strategy and game theory is next level, according to my data analyst friend.

But he doesn’t have the strength or stability to compete at the next level.

Coaching is all there is left for him. For someone whose identity and destiny have been tied to this one thing, it’s devastating to think how the fallout from his injury must hurt so much worse than the injury itself ever did.

I don’t say anything, because I’ve learned that when Fletch has something on his mind, he’ll say it eventually.

“A friend told me I have a focus problem.”

“A focus problem?”

“Yeah, she said, ’It’s not about why; it’s about what’s next.”

“Your friend sounds smart.”

He shrugs.

“And pretty.”

“That’s enough.”

“It’s the friend from the chat board, isn’t it? The one you’re secretly in love with?”

“I’m leaving.”

“I’ll fire you if you do.”

A loud whoop sounds behind us, and Fletch and I both turn to see Lucas whipping his shirt overhead while Scottie rolls her eyes. But I see a hint of a smirk on her lips. Scottie’s tough as nails, and she needs someone who doesn’t back down from a challenge.

We’ll see if Lucas fits the bill.

Fletch makes a quiet huffing sound, and I wonder if he regrets opening up as much as he did.

“Thanks for talking to me, Coach.”

“You know, it’s technically ‘Interim Coach.’”

I snort. “You try smiling during a game, and I’ll make it official.”

He narrows his eyes. “You mean that?”

“I do.”

“You sure? It’s hard to take you seriously when you’re wearing full face paint.”

“Ha ha. One day, you’re going to meet a girl who loves you enough to look this stupid for you, too.”

“A guy can only hope.”