Page 4

CHAPTER 4

ROMAN

“ Y ou okay, man? You seem…really tense.” Hollis Hendrix glances pointedly at my fingers tapping on his center console.

I grab my coffee to keep my hands occupied. “Yeah. I’m just up in my head.” Not a lie .

I slept like crap last night. I kept waking up from X-rated dreams featuring our new assistant coach. In one, I was on the ice, dressed in full goalie gear, and she was spread out on top of the net, naked and beautiful and begging for a tongue fuck. My brain is an asshole.

“The reality of this final season setting in?” he asks, tone shifting to empathy.

My stomach twists as I lie to my best friend. “Pretty much.”

Before yesterday, that’s exactly what I would have been worried about. But this new development is taking all my bandwidth. How the hell am I supposed to concentrate with Lexi around—excuse me, that’s Alexandria, or Coach Forrester? It’s my last damn season, and I don’t need distractions.

I can’t get her shocked expression out of my head when I let her know I remembered her. Did she think I would forget that weekend we spent together? Never .

“I know there’s a lot of change now with the team and management, but let’s go out on top, right?”

I must be in a fucking mood if Hollis is being all Positive Pete with me.

“Yeah, you’re absolutely right,” I say. “And Ryker will be a great goalie. I’m just worried about Grace and Madden on the ice together.” Especially since Grace will be mine to deal with because he’s defense. “Plus a new assistant coach.” Whose body I explored every inch of for an entire weekend. “It makes for a bumpy start to the season.”

“Forrester has a solid background, though,” Hollis replies.

“She does.”

I looked her up last night.

She’s been a few hours away all these years. And she knew who I was when we met in New York. That’s what’s messing me up the most. Yet I never felt like Roman Hammerstein the goalie. I was just a regular guy who liked baseball and wanted to travel for reasons other than work. The fact that she knew changes how I view that weekend.

“Might not be the worst that things are shaking up, you know?” Hollis says, maybe interpreting my silence as skepticism.

“I’m sure management has a plan in place.” I’m more concerned with how I’ll deal with watching Lexi in action. She’s a lethal combination of gorgeous and competent. Some of the younger guys on the team are all hormones. I cannot handle one of those horny little shits eyeing her like the fucking treat she is.

Our phones light up with an influx of new messages in our group chat. Hollis and I are tight with several of the guys on the team.

“I’ll check that,” I offer. The first message feels like a bad fucking omen.

Dallas

Anyone else curious about the impact of estrogen on practice?

Tristan

I’m more concerned about Flip and Connor knocking each other out.

Ash

This ^^^

Flip

Fuck you guys.

The chat devolves into hockey fight gifs.

“What are the guys saying?” Hollis asks as he pulls into the parking lot.

“They’re pushing Flip’s buttons over Connor.”

“I seriously wish we knew what the deal was there,” Hollis grumbles.

“Don’t we all,” I reply.

He pulls into his parking spot at the arena, and his phone pings. It’s my daughter. I can tell by the ringtone. His eyebrow pops as he reads the message.

“Everything okay with Peggy?” For a while she wanted me to call her by her middle name, Aurora, which is how Hollis often addresses her. But since they started dating, she’s backed off. I’m the only one who calls her Peggy now, and she doesn’t seem to mind the way she once did.

“Yeah. The girls are going to the Watering Hole after work.”

“Again?”

“Dred can make it this time, I guess.” He types a quick response as we exit the car. “Hopefully drinks with the girls doesn’t turn into a girls-only night. Especially since we’re about to start traveling.”

I rub my bottom lip as we enter the arena. “Peggy’s sublet is up in November.”

“I know. I’m ready for her to move in full-time now,” he says .

“One step at a time, right?” I bite back all the fatherly responses. Like, she’s only twenty-one. She’s still young and has a lot of growing to do. Hollis knows this, and he loves the hell out of my daughter. Also, by the time I was her age, I had a three-year-old.

It doesn’t make it any easier to walk this line, though. Sometimes it feels a lot like I’ve lost my little girl and my best friend. Hollis and I are still close, but he’s my daughter’s boyfriend now, and soon they’ll be officially living together. My life looked completely different a year ago: strong career, raising my daughter, working with my best friend. Now, I’m trying not to feel unmoored.

“Hey, my dudes. How’s it going?” Dallas Bright calls as he and Ashish Palaniappa fall into step with us.

“Not bad. How about you two?” Hollis asks.

“Ready to hit the ice,” Ash says.

“Wills is stressed.” Dallas is the only one who calls his fiancée, Hemi, this.

“Please tell me Flip isn’t causing her PR problems already,” I grouse.

Dallas shakes his head. “Nah, he’s been on the straight and narrow. Mostly she slept like crap. Lots of changes inside the organization this season—hopefully most of them for the better, but I think we’re all a little rattled, you know?”

“Yeah. I absolutely do.” In more ways than they realize.

There’s a tense edge in the locker room as we enter. My mental shift is immediate. Sure, we’re all still friends, but as soon as we cross the threshold, I’m in game mode.

Grace’s cubby is on the opposite side of the room from Madden’s. At least management got that right.

Madden and Stiles sit beside each other on the bench, already suited up except for their jerseys. They talk quietly as they lace their skates.

“Quite the somber mood this morning,” Hendrix mutters.

I grunt my agreement, but don’t respond otherwise. When I’m suiting up, everyone knows to give me space to do my thing. I check over my equipment, set my green apple for after practice in the top right corner of my cubby, and begin to prepare, removing my clothes one item at a time, folding them and putting them away before I suit up.

“Bro, cover that shit,” Stiles says.

“The fuck, man?” Hendrix gripes.

“Your back, Hollis.” Stiles gives him a meaningful look.

“What about it?” Hendrix runs his hand over his shoulder, drawing attention to the crescent-shaped marks dotting his skin.

“For fuck’s sake.” Like I need this today.

Stiles sighs and shakes his head. “Don’t you look in the mirror before you leave the house?”

“Yeah, but I’m not looking at my back.”

“The girls need to go for manis apparently.” Bright is probably trying to diffuse the tension.

“Fuck all of you guys,” I snap. I don’t want to be thinking about the marks my daughter left on his back—ever.

Everyone startles. I’m usually silent until we take the ice.

“At least you’re taking care of your girl,” Madden says un-fucking-helpfully. I swear, if he tries to high five anyone about my daughter’s orgasms, I’m going to lay him out.

“Pretty sure you were singing a different tune when your bestie and your sister started up,” I fire back and raise my hands. “This whole conversation ends now. Rookies and newbies, word to the wise, dating inside this family is fucking complicated, so avoid it, or you get to deal with this.” I motion to my teammates, who are also my closest friends.

“He’s not wrong,” Madden agrees somberly.

Vander Zee pokes his head into the locker room, expression intense. “All right, guys, enough chatter. Let’s hit the ice.”

I finish suiting up and follow my teammates out of the locker room.

But my shit mood takes a further nosedive when we reach the rink .

Lexi—Coach Forrester—is already out there, wearing her coach’s jacket and looking every bit the part. Don’t get me started on the way her track pants highlight her curves. Which I should not be admiring.

Her long, thick hair is pulled back in a french braid. Another inconvenient and highly stimulating memory from our weekend together floats to the surface. She was braiding her hair before we got in the hot tub, and I stepped in and took over. She’d been putty in my hands after that. So pliant, so eager to do whatever I asked. The control she gave me was a heady drug. I couldn’t get enough of it. Of her.

I’ve spent the past three years obsessing over her, and suddenly she’s here, in my world. I don’t know how to handle this, and it’s all coming out as anger. But it’s a mask for the disappointment that followed waking up alone in that hotel bed with no explanation as to why. And seeing her here like this? It’s the mindfuck of all mindfucks. No one ends up coaching the pros if they’re not fully obsessed with hockey, but the woman I spent the weekend with didn’t so much as mention the sport.

“Get a grip.” I skate to the net, where Ryker is waiting for me.

He tips his head. “Sorry, what was that?”

I force a smile. Ryker doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of my bad mood. “You feeling good today?”

“A little tense in the locker room, but hoping the energy shifts now that we’re on the ice.”

“I’m sure it will.” Although I’m not convinced. Everything feels off.

Ryker and I warm up with stretches while coaches Vander Zee, Boxer, Thomas, and Forrester refer to their clipboards. Forrester will work with Ralph on defense. And me. And Ryker. It’s all too close for comfort.

Grace is warming up next to a rookie player. Madden and Stiles are across from them, and Bright and Palaniappa are to my right .

The coaches break and Lexi—Coach Forrester—glides across the ice, her braid swinging as she heads for Grace.

Everyone’s eyes seem to follow her. I sure as hell can’t look away as she comes to a stop a few feet away from the newest, not entirely welcome member of our team, Grace.

Madden and Stiles move closer, bringing them within earshot of Grace and Coach Forrester. Grace is in the middle of an inner-thigh stretch, which, granted, makes it look like he’s humping the ice. That’s how everyone looks doing that stretch. The number of viral videos featuring warm-up stretches is unreal. His gaze lifts slowly, taking in Coach Forrester’s long, athletic thighs—which I’ve had wrapped around my waist and my head. I shake off another memory because hard-ons in a cup are uncomfortable.

“Hey, Coach, you wanna give me a hand with my stretches?” Grace smirks as he hops to his feet.

The rookie beside him looks shocked as hell.

Unfamiliar rage shoots heat down my spine. I don’t think, just act as I move in their direction, but Palaniappa grabs my jersey.

“Get your fucking hands off me,” I growl in a tone I don’t recognize.

Palaniappa releases me immediately and raises his hands. “Whoa, buddy. Where’s your head?”

Before I can tell him to mind his own business and back off, Madden slams into Grace, knocking him off his skates as he shouts, “That’s our fucking coach, dickbag!”

Grace grabs the front of Madden’s jersey and says something none of us can hear. But whatever it is, it sends Madden off the deep end. His fist connects with Grace’s jaw before Stiles, Bright, and Palaniappa pull him off.

“Enough!” Coach Forrester blows her whistle.

“You can’t let Grace get away with that shit,” I snap.

Coach Forrester turns my way. She arches one sexy brow and levels me with a glare. “Are you the coach now, Goalie? You want me in your net?”

The answer is actually yes. I poke my cheek with my tongue.

She turns back to Grace and Madden. “This. Whatever it is, it stops now.”

“You heard what he said,” Madden grumbles irritably.

“That’s enough, Madden.” Forrester waits.

Madden drops his head.

“Grace, if I hear a comment like that come out of your mouth again, you will be facing a suspension. Do you think that’s funny? Do you think it’s appropriate to talk to Vander Zee or any other coach like that? Absolutely not. Worse, would you talk to your grandmother like that?”

“No, Coach.” Grace hangs his head like a scolded child, face red with embarrassment as he skates away from Madden, moving closer to Vander Zee and Forrester.

“I am here to be part of this team. If you’re not looking to treat this staff or your teammates with respect, get off my ice.” She turns to Madden. “Don’t pretend your chivalry is on my behalf. You’re looking for any reason to go off on Grace. It’s unprofessional and childish.”

“That’s not…” He stops talking when she tilts her head and his cheeks flush.

This woman is something else. I experienced some of her sass and her fire in New York, but this is different. She’s stepping into her role, showing these boys who’s the boss. And it’s sexy as hell.

“The two of you clearly need a place to channel your aggression, and ice sprints are a good way to give you time to think about your choices and how they impact the rest of your team. And because this is a team, and we’re supposed to function as a unit, all your teammates will join you.” She holds up a hand when the grumbling starts. “Don’t add to your problems. Ten ice sprints each. ”

Ryker sighs. It’s one thing to do ice sprints in regular gear, but we’re carrying more weight than everyone else.

“I’ll take one from each player,” Grace offers.

“No, you and Madden will do ten extra regardless. We won’t tolerate your personal bullshit here at work. You’re too late for winning favors.”

Vander Zee nods his approval. “You heard her, boys.”

We line up and wait for her whistle.

Ice sprints are as expected: hellish. Two of the rookie players vomit. Grace does his ten and then keeps going, side by side with Madden.

But even after that, practice is a mess. Ryker and I take turns in net, and we let in four goals apiece. I feel bad for him. I know why I’m off my game, but he has the new-guy pressure to perform.

We’re all exhausted when we leave the ice, the usually buoyant mood dampened by the obvious tension among the team. We need to figure out a way to manage these boys or we’re in for a shitty season. Everyone in the league knows about Madden and Grace’s mutual disdain. It shines a light on our weaknesses and makes us vulnerable for the next exhibition game.

I can’t escape the locker room fast enough after I shower. But before I get far, Vander Zee calls me into his office.

“Sorry about my performance in net today,” I say as I step inside.

“Everyone was off.” Vander Zee closes the door behind me.

I smell Lexi’s perfume before I register her presence in the room. She sits in one of the conference chairs, still wearing her coach’s tracksuit, braid hanging over her shoulder, clipboard in front of her. Composed. Poised. Like this is where she belongs.

I shut down my invasive, frankly infuriating thoughts about her in much more recreational situations and take a seat at the conference table. I cross and uncross my legs and try to keep my gaze from drifting to her .

“Roman?” Vander Zee looks concerned.

“I know Ryker is taking his lead from me, and I’ll do better,” I say.

Vander Zee and Fielding exchange a look. Lexi seems very interested in her clipboard.

“We have a whole season to get Ryker ready. This is about Madden and Grace,” Jamie Fielding, the GM, explains.

“You’re tight with Madden,” Vander Zee says.

I sigh. “You want to know why they can’t stand each other.” I’m the team dad. I’ve been playing professional hockey longer than anyone. The boys come to me for advice, and management looks to me to help settle the ones who come in with dicks blazing.

“We don’t want to put you in a difficult position, but any insight would be helpful,” Fielding says.

I lean back in my chair. “Honestly, any time Grace’s name comes up in conversation, Madden shuts it right down.” I look to Thomas. “It might help if someone less involved personally talked to him.”

“Maybe,” Thomas says noncommittally.

“Have you asked Stiles or Bright?” I ask. “They all went to the Hockey Academy together. And Stiles and Madden have known each other their whole lives. They might have some sway with him.”

“You mind sticking around while we call them in?” Vander Zee asks.

“Sure.” What else can I possibly say? I don’t want to appear as though I’m not interested in helping the team succeed. But the sooner I’m out of this office and away from Lexi, the better.