Page 7

Chapter 7

Garrett

T he clash of sticks on ice echoes through the rink as I blow my whistle. "Alright, boys! That's a wrap for today."

Sweat drips down my temples as I watch the team skate off. A week into my new gig as assistant coach, and I'm already feeling at home with the Blades.

"Nice work out there, Hughes," Martinez calls, clapping me on the shoulder as he passes.

I nod, a grin tugging at my lips. "Thanks, Martinez. It’s all coming together nicely."

"It sure is," Martinez agrees, leaning against the boards. "How's it feel being back on the ice?"

I take a deep breath, savoring the crisp, cool air. "Like coming home."

We watch as the last of the players file off the ice. The rink falls quiet, save for the hum of the cooling system.

"You know, I wasn't sure how I'd take to coaching. These kids are so young, and I wasn’t sure how I’d connect with them," I admit. "But these guys...they've got heart. That makes it so much easier to coach them."

Martinez nods. "That they do. And they respect you, Huge. Your experience, your achievements—it carries weight."

I chuckle. "Glad to hear the nickname is still alive."

"Some things never change," he grins. "Speaking of which, want to grab a beer sometime soon? For old times' sake?"

"Sounds great," I reply, feeling a warmth that has nothing to do with the exertion of practice.

As we head to the locker room, I can't help but reflect on the past week. The smell of sweaty gear and athletic tape. The satisfying thwack of a well-aimed puck. The camaraderie, the banter, the shared purpose. It's all so familiar, yet refreshingly new in a different environment.

"You know," I say, "I thought I'd miss playing more. But there's something about nurturing young talent..."

Martinez nods knowingly. "It's a different kind of rush, isn't it?”

“Absolutely,” I respond, smiling.

The locker room buzzes with post-practice chatter. I weave through the players, offering encouragement and critiques.

"Karlsson, work on that slapshot. Reynolds, solid defense today."

It's different being on this side of things. No more ice time for me, but damn I’m enjoying molding these guys into a cohesive unit.

I grab my bag, heading for the showers. The hot water soothes my aching muscles—turns out coaching is its own workout.

As I towel off, I catch my reflection. Still built like the mountain that earned me my nickname, but the salt-and-pepper hair is new and I’m still getting used to it. I run a hand through it, wondering if I should buzz it off.

Nah. The ladies seem to dig the silver fox look.

I dress quickly in slacks and a button-down.

I'm zipping up my bag when I notice Evan Daniels is still here, methodically packing his goalie gear. The locker room's cleared out, just us left.

"Hey, Daniels. Solid saves today," I call out.

Evan looks up, grinning. "Thanks, Coach. It was a good practice today."

I lean against a locker. "I’d love to talk a little strategy with you. I've got some ideas for improving our penalty kill."

"I'm all ears," Evan says, turning to face me.

We dive into hockey talk, dissecting plays and discussing improvements. It's easy, comfortable. Evan's sharp, he’s one of our older players and his insights are valuable.

After a while, the conversation shifts.

“I’m getting married soon and the guys are having a bachelor party for me. You’re welcome to join if you’re into that kind of thing.”

“Wow, man, thanks for the invite. Sounds like fun.”

“It won’t be a total blowout like my fiancé, Sophie, had in Vegas, but I’m sure we’ll manage to get into some trouble.”

My heart skips a beat. Vegas. Sophie. Cyn. I force a casual nod. "When was your fiancé in Vegas?"

"A couple weekends ago. She’s always wanted to have her bachelorette party in Vegas. She and Cyn went all out."

I nearly blurt out, "I know all about it” but I catch myself just in time. Instead, I ask, "Cyn? As in one of the Blades’ PTs?"

Evan nods. "Yeah, Cyn and Sophie are best friends. They're...quite the pair."

"Oh?" I prod, aiming for nonchalance and worrying that I’m failing. "How so?"

Evan chuckles. "Cyn's a bit much, you know? All sass and energy. But she's good people."

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "Sassy, huh? How so?"

Evan leans back against his locker, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Man, where do I even start? Cyn's got an opinion on everything, and she's not afraid to share it. Loudly."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "When Sophie and I first started dating, Cyn made it very clear she thought we were a mismatch. She cornered me at a team party and gave me a whole speech about how I was too grumpy and set in my ways for someone as sweet as Sophie."

I can't help but laugh. "Sounds like she doesn't pull any punches."

"Not a single one," Evan agrees. "She told me, and I quote, 'Listen, Ice Man, Sophie's my best friend, and if you break her heart, I'll make sure your next physical therapy session involves a lot of unnecessary pain.' And then she just walked away, leaving me standing there with my jaw on the floor."

I whistle low. "Damn. That's a good friend."

Evan nods, his expression softening. "Yeah, she is. Don't get me wrong, Cyn's intense, but she's fiercely loyal. Once she saw how happy Sophie and I were together, she became our biggest cheerleader."

He pauses, a mischievous glint in his eye. "And then there was another time she got wind that I was hesitant about Sophie and I moving in together. I was being stubborn, set in my bachelor ways." Evan shakes his head, chuckling. "Cyn didn't hold back. She said, 'Listen here, you overgrown popsicle. Sophie's the best thing that's ever happened to you, and if you're too thick-skulled to see that, maybe I should check you for a concussion.'"

I can't help but laugh. "She actually called you an overgrown popsicle?"

"Oh yeah," Evan grins. "And that's not even the best part. She then proceeded to list, in excruciating detail, all the ways Sophie had improved my life. From my eating habits to my fashion sense. Apparently, I used to dress like, and I quote, 'a color-blind lumberjack with a grudge against style.'"

I snort, picturing the scene. "Sounds like she really laid into you."

"She did," Evan nods, his expression softening. "But you know what? She was right. I was being an idiot, too scared to commit. Cyn made me see that and now that Sophie and I live together and are getting married in less than a month, I couldn’t be happier.”

I can't stop thinking about Cyn. Days pass, and I barely catch glimpses of her at the facility. A flash of blonde hair disappearing around a corner. Her laugh echoing from the trainers' room. But never a moment alone.

I should approach her. But something holds me back. Maybe I'm hoping she'll make the first move.

One night before I go home for dinner, I head to a yoga studio not far from the training facility to try out a class.

Yoga is my secret weapon – keeps me limber, centered. My past teammates used to love to tease me about it.

I chuckle to myself as I roll out my mat, remembering some of the ribbing I've taken over the years.

"Hey Huge, careful you don't snap like a pretzel!" That was Smitty, always quick with a jab.

Or there was Jonesy, eyebrows waggling suggestively: "All those flexible ladies, eh Hughes? That's why you go, right?"

But my personal favorite was from Martinez himself, back when we were teammates. He'd caught me doing sun salutations in the locker room before a game.

"Jesus, Hughes! You trying to commune with the hockey gods or something? Maybe if you pray hard enough, they'll bless you with a hat trick tonight! Lord knows we’re going to need it to beat the Maple Leafs."

I'd just grinned and kept at it, much to his exasperation.

Then there was the time the whole team stumbled upon me in full warrior pose in the training room.

"Look at Huge!" Becker had hooted. "He's gone full Zen master on us! Quick, someone get him some prayer beads and a meditation cushion!"

The guys had a field day with that one, mimicking my pose and making exaggerated "om" sounds for weeks afterward.

But the teasing never bothered me. I knew the benefits I was getting—better flexibility, improved focus, reduced stress. Plus, there was something oddly satisfying about being the 6'3" "mountain of a man" gracefully flowing through poses.

I settle into child's pose and take a few deep breaths before sitting up to shift into cobbler’s pose.

I glance at the door and my heart stops. It's Cyn.

She looks absolutely stunning in her form-fitting yoga tights, which accentuate every curve of her body. The top clings to her breasts, highlighting the lines of her silhouette. Her hair is gathered casually in a messy bun perched atop her head, with a few loose strands escaping to frame her gorgeous face.

She doesn't see me at first, setting up a few mats over. Then our eyes meet.

I smile. She smiles back, a hint of surprise in those green eyes.

The instructor starts the class. I try to focus, but it's impossible. Cyn's right there, moving through the poses with effortless grace.

Downward dog. My mind flashes to Vegas. Her body, arched beneath me. I feel myself growing hard. Fuck, not now…

"Breathe deeply," the instructor says.

I follow her instructions, willing my body to behave. Think about hockey stats. Think about the news podcast I listened to on the way over here. Think about anything else but don’t think about that night.

"Warrior two," the instructor calls.

I stretch into the pose, sneaking a glance at Cyn. She catches me looking.

I look away quickly and nearly topple over.

Focus, Hughes. Come on, you can do this.

Tree pose. I wobble slightly, struggling to balance. My gaze drifts to Cyn again. She's perfectly poised, one leg gracefully bent against her inner thigh. Her arms stretch overhead, elongating her torso. I can't help but admire the elegant line of her neck, remembering how it tasted when I kissed it in Vegas.

Half moon. We turn to the side, extending one leg back. Cyn's leg lifts high, her muscles flexing. My mind wanders to how those legs felt wrapped around me, strong and insistent. I lose my balance, stumbling slightly.

Cobra. We lie on our stomachs, pushing up with our arms. Cyn's back arches beautifully, her chest lifting off the mat. I flash back to her writhing beneath me, her back bowing in pleasure. Sweat beads on my forehead, and it's not just from the exertion.

The instructor calls for wheel pose. I watch, mesmerized, as Cyn presses up into a full backbend. Her body forms a perfect arc, breasts thrust toward the ceiling, hips tilted upward. It's all I can do not to groan out loud as I remember gripping those hips, pulling her against me.

We move into pigeon pose. Cyn folds forward over her bent leg, her forehead touching the mat. Her shirt rides up slightly, exposing a strip of tanned skin at her lower back.

This is quite possibly the longest hour of my life.