Page 33

CHAPTER 33

COACH H

KAYDEN

I wake before my alarm, just like every Saturday, and after a quick shower, I make my way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and another cookie. This one is still cold in the center because I pulled it from the freezer late last night.

It's been three weeks since Emory baked these. Forty-eight cookies just because I told her I missed when my mom used to make them for me. Three weeks since Christmas Day, when I realized without a doubt that she's the only woman I'll ever want to share my life with.

I can't help my moan as I take a bite. It's nothing like Mom used to make. It's not as airy. It's missing that crackly top. And the cinnamon to sugar ratio isn't quite right. But I'd choose these every time. I would choose Emory every time. And that's a problem.

What I felt for Hannah was never like this, but to my eighteen-year-old mind, I thought she was supposed to be the one. She was the first woman I dated after Chicago selected me in the draft. I'd just turned eighteen and was living on my own for the first time. Suddenly, I had millions of dollars after years of relying on public assistance. I thought I was an adult.

More than anything, I wanted to prove that I wasn't my dad, and I was convinced that meant finding a woman and settling down. So I mistook my attraction for something more. Then I cheated on her, just like Dad did to Mom. My mistakes, not Hannah's, but she was the one who suffered for them. She was the one left silent and staring dead-eyed at the floor after I told her. All I could do was walk away. I paid the rent for the rest of the year, but I never went back. I couldn't see her again. I couldn't stand the reminder that I'm just like my dad after all.

"You know, you might have a problem." Emory's voice startles me away from thoughts of my past mistakes and throws a future mistake right in my face. A future mistake I have to make sure I don't make. I can't do that to Emory.

I shove the rest of the cookie into my mouth and push off the counter. "Nah pwobwem," I mumble through a mouth full of cookie. "Jus so goo." I smile at her as I grab my travel mug filled with coffee and hope I don't have cookie crumbs lining the outside of my mouth. Actually, I hope I do because that means I can still get a little more of that taste this morning.

"Where are you going?" she asks.

I swallow the last bit of cookie and run my tongue around my lips. "Practice. You know how it is. If you don't practice, you can't win championships."

She moves to block me from leaving, as if I can't just lift her aside if I need to. As if I need an excuse to touch her. "Not today you don't. I asked Brant last night. Every Saturday morning you leave, and you always have that giant gym bag with you. Well, last week, Lily, Brant, and Chloe invited me to breakfast on Saturday morning. At the same time you were supposedly at a practice Brant didn't know a thing about. What are you really doing? Is there some other woman you sneak off to see?" The tight line of Emory's mouth drops into a frown, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “I wouldn’t mind, you know. As long as you told me. We're obviously not real. I'd just… want to know. ”

Obviously not real. It's what I need to hear, but it feels like she's stabbed me in the chest.

"Nyx, I swear." I cup my palms on her shoulders as she looks down. Even through the sleeves of her t-shirt, something electric moves through me at the touch. "There's no one else. There hasn't been since we started, and there won't be." There hasn't been anyone in almost twelve months. Not since I first saw her standing outside the locker room with Lily last year. And there's never going to be anyone else.

"Brant wouldn't know because it's not practice for him," I tell her. "But I really am going to practice."

I draw in a breath. What if I just tell her the truth? What if she finds out how I really spend my Saturday mornings when I don't have an early game?

She might start to think I'm not the carefree playboy I pretend to be. She might start to rethink what she feels about me. I can't let that happen.

"Just trust me? If I don't leave now, I'm going to be late. Not to make myself seem too important, but I kind of need to be there for practice to start."

She's adorable, with her eyes squinted, staring at me. Just another thing I lo—appreciate about her. But finally she steps aside. "I do trust you," she says, "but you know you can trust me too, right?"

Her words make me feel like I just walked into a wall. I almost stop. Almost. But I press my lips even tighter and walk onto the elevator. I don't look back as the doors close behind me. Not when I step out and into the parking garage. I don't even look in my rearview mirror as I drive away.

It takes ten minutes to drive to the city sports complex where we hold our practices, and I think about her for every one of them. But that's nothing new. I haven't been able to stop thinking about her since she moved in. Since that first morning I saw her in my house. I knew right then it was the sight I wanted to see every morning for the rest of my life .

But I can never let her know that.

I let my head fall back against the headrest and close my eyes for a second before forcing myself to get out and head to the back of the SUV for my equipment bag. I desperately need this distraction. If not, I'm just going to keep thinking about her all day.

"So you weren't lying about practice." Emory's voice makes me jump for the second time this morning. This time, I bash my head on the raised tailgate door, just as an extra insult. "But why doesn't Brant have to do these? You're on the same team."

"What are you doing? How did you know where I'd be?"

A proud grin sweeps over her face. "Really? You didn't notice the giant white pickup truck following you all the way here? I knew I could do it! I really think I could have been a spy, you know. But don't try to butter me up."

"You followed me?" In the corner of my eye, I see Noah and his mom walking up to me. Behind them, Madison and her dad pull in. Madison waves just as I turn to look, so I have to wave back. And of course that draws Emory's attention.

"Now that you know I wasn't lying, you should probably go," I tell her. "Practices aren't open to the public. It's a real policy." A real policy I just made up on the spot, and since I'm the coach, I can do that.

"Hey, Coach B." My hand is dangling limp at my side, but Noah still fist bumps me anyway. Maybe Emory would believe he's just a really friendly, random kid who I've never met before in my life? "What are we doing at practice today?" he asks. "Please say we can have another scrimmage."

"Coach B?" Emory laughs. "Well, this got more interesting."

"Oh, who's this?" Apparently Noah just now realizes that I'm not standing alone.

"Uh, this is… She's, um…" My eyes flick between Noah and Emory. Both of them are looking expectantly at me. My fiancée. My girlfriend. There are so many things I want to say, and every one of them is wrong .

Emory extends her hand toward Noah. "I'm Coach H. I'm helping Coach B for the rest of the season."

My jaw drops open. "But you don't know anything about hockey. Or literally any sport."

She just shrugs like that doesn't matter. "How hard can it be?"