Page 13 of One Good Puck (Denver Bashers #5)

Abby

I watch the highlights of the Bashers game on my phone screen, mesmerized.

I still can’t believe I’m doing this. I don’t care about hockey or any sports. I never have.

But after I met Gavin all those months ago, I was so smitten by how kind and handsome he was that I started watching Bashers highlights. And his interviews after the game.

And I was smitten even more. He’s so calm and cool when he’s coaching.

It’s wild to me, honestly. Hockey games are so loud and stressful.

But he stands there looking like James Bond in the suits he wears, his facial expression always focused.

He frowns a lot, but not like he’s upset.

More like he’s concentrating. Like the chaos of the game makes perfect sense inside his head.

I’ve watched clips of other hockey coaches losing their temper during games.

That’s not at all how Gavin is. He doesn’t lose his cool.

He doesn’t throw things or scream at refs.

He keeps that focused look when he talks to his players, the team staff, and the officials.

It’s like nothing fazes him. It’s honestly pretty hot.

My face heats when I think about how silly it is that I do this—that I watch clips on YouTube of the hot older guy I have a crush on. I’m acting like a teenage girl.

As the last of the highlights wraps up, I reach over and grab a blanket from the back of the couch, covering Emma with it. She’s fast asleep with her head on my lap, her tablet on her chest. I smile as I pull it away and brush back her messy blonde hair.

The post-game press interview starts playing automatically, so I watch that too. They interview Xander about scoring the first goal of the season. He’s all smiles, cracking jokes with the reporters.

“Do you think your soon-to-be father-in-law was happy with your performance in this game?” a reporter asks him.

A grin splits Xander’s handsome face. “You’d have to ask him. But I think he’s pretty happy. I’m like the son he never had,” he jokes. The reporters chuckle.

The camera cuts to Ryker St. George, who I just met at Sophie and Xander’s engagement party. He looks older than Xander by ten years. With his shaggy, dark brown hair and beard, he kind of reminds me of a lumberjack.

“Ryker, how does it feel being the oldest player on this team?”

I wince at the reporter’s question. What a rude thing to say.

But Ryker doesn’t seem fazed. He doesn’t even blink when he answers.

“Just happy to be able to play for the Bashers,” he says.

“Nice work on the assist you had tonight. Do you wish you could have scored a goal, though?” a different reporter asks.

“Especially with your history,” someone else says. “Your nickname early in your career was the patron saint of slap shots. We don’t see those out of you much anymore.”

Ryker slow-blinks at the reporter who asked him that question, clearly annoyed.

“I’m a different player than I was when I was younger. I don’t like to live in the past,” he says curtly.

Wow. He handled that well. I’d burst into tears if people asked me rude questions like that every day at work.

A minute later, the footage cuts to Gavin. He’s shed his suit jacket and is wearing just a dress shirt and tie. He crosses his arms over his chest. I can’t help but stare, admiring the way the crisp, white fabric stretches over his broad shoulders.

Just like during the game, he wears that focused frown on his face while answering questions.

“Do you regret getting rid of McCoy, who’s a younger, better player, so you could make room on the roster for St. George?” a reporter asks.

“That’s not at all what happened. Don’t report things that aren’t true,” Gavin says, his tone hard.

“Can you explain what happened then?”

“It was in the press release we sent out.” His jaw bulges. He’s irritated.

“But not everyone saw that,” the reporter says. “I think it would be helpful if you addressed it now.”

“McCoy lost his spot on the team because he committed a crime. St. George joined the team because we had an open spot. Those are two completely separate instances, unrelated to each other. For you to try to connect the two is pointless. And irresponsible reporting.”

I lean back, surprised at his bluntness. I didn’t know he and the team were dealing with all that. It sounds pretty serious.

“Do you think you made the right call?” another reporter asks. “According to the latest sports news reports, it’s rumored that McCoy might get picked up by another team in the league.”

Gavin’s gaze sharpens. “I made the right call.”

“But what if?—”

“I want to make this very clear to you all,” he says, cutting off the reporter. “I don’t care how good you are at hockey. If you’re a disgusting human being, I don’t want you on my team.”

He walks off, ignoring the reporters hollering after him.

I stare at my phone screen, stunned at how Gavin told off that reporter.

I have no idea what he and that reporter were talking about, but it involves some guy named McCoy who used to play for the Bashers but doesn’t anymore because he did something awful. And it sounds like it was Gavin’s call to get rid of him.

And that makes me like him even more for taking a stand like that. These days, it seems like professional athletes can get away with some pretty horrible behavior, and the people around them refuse to hold them accountable. Not Gavin though.

I do a quick search on my phone to find out exactly what happened.

When I find out, my jaw drops. Apparently, Zach McCoy released nude photos of his ex-girlfriend on a revenge porn site.

My stomach churns. How could he do such a thing?

How could he betray his ex’s trust and sense of security like that?

I skim a few articles and learn that Gavin cut him from the team the day he found out. That sick feeling fades at how quickly he made that decision. How he didn’t hesitate to do the right thing.

My heart thuds in my chest. Yet another example of how incredible Gavin is.

Just then, I hear the door to the garage through the kitchen open. I glance over and see Gavin walk in.

He offers a soft smile. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

I take in the easy look on his face when he drops his keys in the tray at the end of the counter. He doesn’t seem stressed out or upset after what went down at the press conference.

He slips off his shoes and walks over, smiling when he sees Emma snoozing in my lap.

“Wow. She’s out.”

“She crashes hard at the end of the day,” I say.

“I’m jealous. I have to take two melatonin chews to sleep half as good as that.”

I chuckle. He looks over at the coffee table and smiles when he sees a small plate with cut-up apple slices and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“Midnight snack?” he asks.

“That’s actually for you. Emma wanted to make you something for dinner since you made her breakfast.”

Warmth flashes in his eyes. “That’s really sweet of her.”

“She’s pretty thoughtful. You don’t have to eat it, though.”

He frowns. “Why not?”

“I just figured you’d want something heartier than peanut butter and jelly after work.”

The corner of his mouth hooks up. He leans down and picks up the plate, then bites into the sandwich. “Is it bad if I admit that I have PB and J after games quite often? ”

I chuckle softly. “Really?”

He nods and finishes the sandwich in two bites, then chows down on the apple slices.

I gently scoot over and stand up. “I should put her to bed.”

“Need help?”

I shake my head as I lean down and scoop her up. “I’ve got this down.”

I carry Emma to her bedroom, tuck her under the sheets, and kiss her forehead. She stays asleep the whole time. I shut the door to her bedroom, then walk back out. Gavin’s standing in the kitchen now, his plate empty. I smile at how quickly he devoured that.

I walk over to the couch and grab my phone. “Well, goodnight.”

He looks up. “You don’t want to join me for a late dinner?”

“Oh. I figured you’d want to decompress on your own.”

The corners of his mouth curve up in a soft smile. “I like it more when I have company.”

I bite back a grin and walk over to him. “Okay.”