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ONE

a terrible liar

MIKHAIL

A few months later.

C oach Brown has just announced that he plans to retire at the end of the season.

I can’t say I’m shocked, and when he goes on to share that he’s one of the oldest coaches in the NHL, retirement certainly makes sense. The guy has hustled hard, as hard as any player, and besides being one of the oldest, he’s also one of the winningest, especially in the past decade or so. He’ll go out as a legend, no doubt. I’m happy for the guy.

“I want to spend some time with my grandkids before I get too senile,” he cracks, setting off laughter among the coaching and leadership staff. “I really wanted you guys to hear it first. Gossip travels fast around here. It was important you get the words from me, not from someone else.”

“You’re the best, Coach,” Evan says. “We’ll miss the hell out of you.”

“Shut it, Kazmeirowicz,” one of the offensive coaches says jovially. “You bailed early.”

“Hey, just like Coach, I know how to go out on a high note,” Evan says. “You blokes will be dragging your walkers in here and Coach and I will be drinking beers on the beach. Don’t hate.”

Everyone laughs, but there are lots of questions. Is there a replacement coach in the wings? No. Does Coach have thoughts on who it might be? No. What will happen to team dynamics with a coaching change? He doesn’t know.

Grant steps in and says he’s working with the owner to identify a short list of potential head coaches. They’ll start interviewing as soon as possible so they can get someone in place right as the season ends. They’ll try to make it as seamless as possible. Blah, blah, blah. Talking head stuff. Grant is good, no doubt, and I know he played before he managed, but he’s still a suit to me.

Coach jumps in, like he can tell that the front-office party-line doesn’t sit well with those of us on the ice. “Look, I’ll be honest. I don’t think this is the end of changes for the team.” He looks directly at me and says, “You are going to have to be your absolute best as a leader this year, and next year as well. There are going to be ups and downs, and this team will need A-plus leadership if it’s going to weather the storm and come out the first-class operation it’s been over the past decade.”

No fucking pressure, I guess.

“We appreciate everything you’ve done, Coach,” I say. “I’ll try to make you proud.”

The meeting ends and Evan claps me on the back as we walk out. “A man of few words, as usual.”

“What’s there to say? Guy’s retiring. People retire.”

Evan chuckles. “That is true. Well, have a good night.”

“You too,” I say, wandering through the halls and out into the early evening.

Reagan and I are still in the same one-bedroom apartment I’ve been renting since I moved to Vegas. We talk, every once in a while, about buying a condo or a house, but I always have this weird feeling of impermanence. I don’t think I’m ever high on a trade list, not while I’m in the Captain’s role, but it still always seems vaguely possible that I’d be asked to pack it up and play somewhere else.

Reagan is at work still, so I start working on our dinner, prepping some lean steaks, broccoli, and baked potatoes for the both of us. I’ve got everything going when she walks in, immediately pulling off her heels before the door is even closed.

“Whoo,” she whistles. “Them dogs are hurtin’ today.”

“Lots of time on your feet?” I ask as she kicks the door shut and heads over to the kitchen.

“I had a bride who wanted to tour four locations in the same day. So, lots more walking than usual.”

“Bridezilla?”

She makes a noncommittal face. “Meh. That remains to be seen, I think. She’s a visual artist and she’s got a thing about aesthetics, plus a very specific idea in her head about décor and such. She wasn’t difficult; I think she just wants to pick the exact right space.”

“Mmm,” I grunt in response. Reagan and I haven’t really discussed the wedding planning stuff yet. We were both career driven when we met and I’ve never felt like we’re in any kind of hurry to rush to the altar. Committed, yes; in a hurry, no. At least, I’m not in a hurry. My mother would argue that I should be, but that’s another story. She’d have us hitched and making her some grandchildren tomorrow, if we would agree to it.

“I know, I know,” Reagan says, snaking her arms around my waist from behind as I peer into the refrigerator. “Weddings are boring.”

I turn around, picking her up and spinning around so her back is against the refrigerator door. I kiss her mouth first. Her jaw. Her neck. “I never said that,” I growl against her skin.

Her hands are on my cheeks; she pulls my attention to her face. There’s a challenge in her expression. I grin in return.

“I love you, but you are a terrible liar,” she says, planting a loud, wet kiss on my lips. “And don’t try to do that boyish, sexy grin thing. Making me tingle in my panties doesn’t absolve you from your absolute disinterest in anything having to do with wedding planning.”

“Tingle in your panties?” My cock’s getting hard at the thought. I push my hips toward hers, the hardness pinging her just where she likes it. “I like the sound of that. Maybe I should check it out.”

She wiggles against me as my tongue pushes at her bottom lip, urging her to open for me. We kiss until all I can think of is what she’s going to feel like when I’m inside her and we’re both about to come.

That is, until I smell something burning.

“The steaks!” I yelp, setting her down and turning to the stove.

I pull the charred flank steaks from the broiler, smoke billowing out. Reagan shoves the kitchen window open, then dances around with a dish towel, trying to avoid having the smoke alarm go off. Hands on my hips, surveying the black block of meat, Reagan peeks around my shoulder and starts to giggle.

“Whoops,” she says.

“Yeah,” I say, chuckling.

“What happened?”

I turn and look at her, an eyebrow raised. “Someone, uh, distracted me.”

“Sorry.” But she doesn’t look at all sorry. In fact, she looks pretty pleased with herself.

I shove a fork into one of the steaks, a knife in the other hand, slicing into the middle. Thankfully, the inside is still medium. The char is only on the outside.

“It looks salvageable so your evil plan to get pizza on the menu has been thwarted.”

“Damn. You totally caught me,” she says as she starts pulling plates out of the cabinet.

She tells me about the real bridezilla client she has as we get our dinner on the table.

“She’s forty-two and this is her third marriage,” Reagan says, rolling her eyes. “She dresses like a total stripper—and first let me say that I have a great deal of respect for dancers and sex workers because those are some hard-working ladies—but geesh. She’s over-tanned; she smokes; her clothes are two sizes too small. She picked out this ridiculous, gaudy wedding dress that cost more than it’s worth. The guy she’s marrying is, like, the biggest douchebag. It’s a shit show, and she acts like this is the wedding of the century. It’s so stupid.”

“Sounds pretty stupid. Like, needs its own reality show kind of stupid.”

“ Right ?” She shakes her head as she looks down at her plate to inspect the charred steak

“It amazes me that you can work with these people with a straight face.”

“I love the work; you know that,” she says. “But I’ll tell you, it really makes me think fondly of flying to Hawaii and eloping on the beach. No frills.”

“That would be cool but didn’t you already decide on Detroit?”

“I did. But plans can change. And people do change their plans all the time. Also, people do get married on the beach instead of the church they grew up attending more often than you might think.” She shrugs and attempts to divert the conversation. “Anyway, I don’t want to annoy you with all this hypothetical wedding talk.”

I look up from my dinner plate. “Do I look annoyed or something?”

Reagan’s lips purse, pushing to one side as she assesses. “You don’t. But you also kind of have the look of a guy who’s talking about his next car payment.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She laughs. “I know how much you’d rather talk about literally anything else. And I plan them for a living, so you’re probably tired of hearing me chatter on about other people’s weddings all the time. And I get that, I really do.”

“I do care, Reagan, about being with you. I care about making a commitment to you. I already have, I guess. In my mind, marriage is the piece of paper. The wedding is the party or whatever. The commitment has already been made. I don’t want anyone else.”

Reagan brushes her short, dark bob out of her eyes, exposing more of her pretty face. She’s so small; I used to worry about breaking her. But I know how tough this woman is. I know how hard she’s worked to get to this place in her life. And I know she’s not easy to break at all. I admire her so much.

“I just want you to be happy, babe, so whatever you choose is cool with me.”

“I know you do, but will you promise to tell me if I ever start acting like crazy bridezilla lady?”

“I solemnly swear,” I say, reaching out a pinky. She hooks it with her own and we shake.

“Good,” she says. “How was your day?”

“Coach Brown is retiring.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I’m not sure. I like Coach Brown, of course, but maybe it’ll be good to infuse some new ideas into the coaching style.”

“That’s very progressive of you, babe.”

“Yeah, I mean, I know I was feeling some kind of way when Grant came and switched everything up. It was tough for a bit, but the guys finally embraced it— I finally embraced it—and it made the team stronger. The lesson here? Sometimes change is good.”

“You’re incredibly sexy when you’re all introspective and leader-y, you know that?”

“Leader-y?”

She makes a noise and raises a shoulder, picking around the charred bits of her steak.

“Well, Princess, I think you’re sexy all the time. But especially when you say I make your panties tingle and you pretend I didn’t totally burn the shit out of this steak.”

She picks up her phone and toggles it back and forth, teasing me with a secret smile.“Well, we could ditch this meal and still order a pizza instead. We can totally do that if we want to. And as for my tingling panties, we’ll just have to find something to do for the forty-five minutes or so until the pizza comes?—”

I’m up from the table and pulling her with me to the bedroom before she can even finish her sentence.

“You always have the best ideas, Princess,” I say against her ear.