Page 10

9

Lennon

W e lost our first game. 3–1.

Coach Maver keeps telling me to shake it off. That we have the rest of the season ahead of us. But it’s like my mind can’t stop replaying every single goal I let pass.

One of them I really couldn’t do anything about. It was redirected and tipped in over my shoulder, completely changing trajectory.

The other two, though…I should’ve stopped them.

And we were playing the fucking Northwood University Penguins. They’re a team that we swept every single game last year.

The night after our game, I allowed myself to wallow for a bit, lamenting to Mason until he told me he was going to fuck the complaining out of me. Now at the start of a new week, I’m over it and hungry to do better for our next one.

That’s exactly why I find myself sitting in one of the rink’s conference rooms with Coach Holloway and Grace, watching footage of the UPU Glaciers, our opponent this upcoming weekend. They have a strong first two lines that will prove to be challenging, but they lack depth in their third and fourth lines. Their special teams also tend to crack under the pressure, but I’m not underestimating anyone. Not after last weekend.

“Thirty-five’s fast,” Grace murmurs, eyes locked in on the same player I’m watching on the tape. She whips down the ice, weaving effortlessly between the other players. There’s no hesitation when she shoots and sinks the puck right between the goalie’s legs.

I mutter in agreement. “Think Maria can keep up with her?” Maria is one of our best defensive players.

Grace shrugs. “She’s got a shot.” She glances over at Coach as if she’s going to ask him a question but shuts her mouth when it appears that he’s sleeping. I’d like to say I forgot he was ever here, but his presence is hard to ignore. Even when he’s not doing anything.

I braid my hair while we keep watching the footage. We still have practice after this, but I asked Coach Maver if I could watch before it. Grace ended up tagging along, just in case, and then Coach Maver assigned Coach Holloway to watch with us.

Clearly, he’s doing a great job.

“Are you going to Mason’s tonight?”

“Why?” I arch a brow at her. “Any particular reason you’re asking?”

Her cheeks flush. “No, just wondering.”

“It doesn’t have to do with a certain hockey player you might be wanting to invite over and have the place to yourself?” I ask teasingly.

She darts her eyes around nervously, but it’s only us, and it’s not like Coach Holloway is listening in on the gossip. “He’s just coming over to watch a movie.”

“Suuuure.” I smile, happy for her. “Tell Bryant that couch belonged to my grandparents, so watch it.”

Grace pinches my shoulder.

“I can stay at Mason’s if you want.” I wasn’t planning on it. If anything, I was planning on avoiding him after our night this past weekend. The things I used to find charming about him are slowly losing their appeal. His laziness is grating, and even though we’re just friends, I’m starting to wonder if it’s even worth the effort just to blow off a little steam.

“I owe you one,” Grace says. “I’m gonna go see the trainer to get my knee wrapped before we get on the ice. And it’s not like he’s going to notice I slipped out early anyway.” She pointedly looks at Coach, who’s still leaned back in his chair, eyes closed and arms crossed. “See you in a few?”

“Yep, see ya.” I return my attention to the game footage once she’s gone, but I have a hard time focusing. Every few moments, I can’t help that my eyes wander back to Coach Holloway.

There’s a dark shadow of hair across his jaw, hiding the sharp angles of his bone structure. There’s a small bump along the bridge of his nose, like he’s broken it one too many times. Even when he’s sleeping, there are heavy frown lines between his brows. Like his gloomy disposition plagues him even in rest.

“Are you paying attention?”

I jump in my seat, completely taken aback by the gravelly voice that cuts through the air.

Coach Holloway doesn’t even open his eyes. How the hell did he know I was staring at him? Why was I even staring at him?

“I am. Are you?” I retort, secretly glad he’s not looking at me because my face is hot from getting caught.

“It’s not me that needs to study these players to play against them,” he mutters.

“But shouldn’t you be watching to help give me pointers?”

His large shoulders heave in a heavy sigh. “Do I need to teach you how to skate too?”

I’m really trying to keep my tongue in check since he made that comment to me in practice about talking back to coaches. But right now, it’s oh so tempting to bite back.

“No, I learned that when I was four. Thanks, though.”

He huffs and finally peels his eyes open. He blinks at the light and shields his eyes momentarily. “What time is it?”

“Do I need to teach you how to tell time?” The quip comes out too quick to stop it.

Coach Holloway slowly cranes his neck in my direction. I hold my ground, even as his strong stare threatens my spine to bend into submission.

“Do you have any feedback for me?” I ask, hoping to distract him.

“For what?”

“From the last game,” I say exasperated.

He cracks his neck nonchalantly. “Don’t let pucks past.”

I throw my hands up. “Wow, never thought of that one.” Pushing to my feet, I toss my braid over my shoulder and stomp down the row of seats toward the door. “You know, when you walked in that first day, I was so excited thinking about the possibility of getting to be coached by you.” I reach the front of the room and cross my arms. “I recognized you the moment you walked in. And I thought this is it. This is what’s going to improve my game so that I don’t fuck it up for the team again this year.” My voice catches, and I choke down the lump that rises in my throat.

Coach Holloway watches me impassively as he stands and stretches his arms above his head. The movement causes his shirt to ride up, and I catch a glimpse of tanned abs.

“But clearly, you’re not interested in helping me,” I continue. “You’re not interested in helping any of us. So why are you even here? Why waste your time?”

“What do you want from me?”

The calm, detached way he asks the question takes me off guard.

“I-I want you to coach me. I want to get better.” I want to win. I want that Frozen Four title more than anything.

“You want me to push you?”

“Yes!” Silence rings loudly throughout the room as my heart pounds in my ears. There’s only the ticking sound of the clock hanging above the door as my plea hangs in the air.

“Fine.” A muscle in his jaw tightens as he settles his cold eyes on me. Something clicks behind them, and the resolution I see there sends a shiver down my spine. “Be at the rink an hour before practice tomorrow morning.”

I open my mouth to argue that I have an opening shift at the café, but the look on his face has me biting my tongue. I’ll talk to Krista and get it covered. Instead, I ask, “Should Grace be there too?” After all, he’s supposed to coach both of us.

“I don’t give a fuck.” He grabs his sweatshirt off the back of the chair and strides toward the door with purposeful, powerful steps. “But your ass better be there. And remember, you asked for this.”

He’s out the door before I can respond.

I did ask for this. I just hope I’m ready for what Luke Holloway looks like when he’s actually putting in effort.