Page 39 of Sexting the Coach (Pucking Daddies #6)

Weston

“Ladies and gentleman, welcome to Ontario and thank you so much for coming out to help us celebrate the best of the best in our great sport. This celebration is long-standing and allows us to recognize the legends of us, from players and coaches, to referees and other key staff.”

There’s a round of applause, and a flutter of anxiety rolls through me from where we’re standing behind the stage.

Assistants and other staff move around us quickly, adjusting equipment, talking to one another through their headsets, and tapping on their tablets.

Backstage smells like leather and fine cologne, and I shift from side to side, surprised at how quickly I was able to let go of the hat.

It’s a good thing I finally set it down tonight—I wouldn’t want my hall of fame pictures to feature an accessory like that. But, still, it’s a leap to go from wearing it everyday to showing off the silver on national television.

But then I think about the look on Elsie’s face, the gentle touch of her fingers against my hair, and the insecurity dies away. If she likes it, I don’t really have anything else to worry about.

“It’s exciting to sit down and watch the season opener,” the host goes on, holding his microphone in his hand, “and it’s exhilarating to watch these rookies play their best. But even as we forge ahead into the future of this league, it’s important that we take time to look back and remember.”

“Hey,” August Montgomery is standing behind me, and when his massive hand lands on my shoulder, I turn to him, eyebrows shooting up.

The man is from a generation of hockey players before mine, and it feels unreal that I’m being inducted at the same time as him.

August was truly a one-of-a-kind player, with a physicality and size that made him like a giant refrigerator out on the ice, slamming into guys without remorse.

Somehow, he managed to balance all that brute force with grace, and had the handling skills of a much smaller player.

“Hey,” I return to him, my stomach flipping.

“Just wanted to say that I’m proud of you,” he says, voice low, his small dark eyes shining in the dim light of the backstage area. “Doubt I need to run through the whole hurt her and I’ll kill you thing, right?”

“Oh, no,” I laugh, realizing he’s joking. “Right, yeah, that’s a given.”

“Great.”

“For the record, I have no intention of ever hurting her,” I say, and I know that maybe it’s a little too sappy for a bunch of guys about to get this kind of honor, but Montgomery just smiles.

“You will,” he says, winking, “it’s just about learning how to fess up and apologize. I trust you can do that.”

I nod and face forward, trying to ignore the way his words I’m proud of you roll through me as the host finishes up his opener.

“…and that we honor those of us who have worked their entire lives to elevate this sport and touch the hearts of Americans, Canadians, and truly, sports fans throughout the world.”

Cheering erupts again, and the host smiles, nodding and waiting, until the sound dies down enough that he can speak. “And now, please welcome onto the stage some of the finest men hockey has come to know!”

The hulking guys around me all shift, and I move with them, walking out onto the stage. I try not to think about the fact that this is televised, try not to think about all the eyes on me, and try not to think about the fact that the man to my right is the father of the woman I’m in love with.

And, more than anything, I’m desperately trying not to think too much about the fact that I’m going to be a dad. Because if I think about it, I’ll smile, and if I do that on national television, it will ruin my image.

Instantly, even through the impossible bright stage lights, my eyes track to the table I saw before, and I see Elsie sitting there next to Drew. Elsie must be crying already, because her mother has handed her a handkerchief and is rubbing her back.

I’m in love with her.

And, for the first time in my life, I’m pretty certain everything is going to be okay. For a long time, I moved through the world waiting for the other shoe to drop, but right now, all I feel is pure, irrepressible joy. Maybe Elsie’s constant optimism finally got to me.

The host goes on, his voice ringing out through the space, his head turned to address one of the cameras.

“To see such a spectacular group of athletes is a privilege indeed. This is our class of 2025, NHL Hall of Fame!”

Cheers ring out through the building, and the nervous guy in the suit comes walking through, handing each of us a jersey to hold up. I only realize my hands are shaking when my fingers wrap around the edges, and I hold it up for the camera that swings around.

I did it.

For the first time tonight, it hits me that this is something momentous. Obviously, being inducted to any hall of fame would be incredible, but here I am, being recognized as one of the most memorable hockey players in the game.

When I look out into the crowd, I think about myself as a little boy, learning about hockey and starting to love it.

How my interest, and fanaticism around it, had pushed my family away from me.

The total disinterest from my father, who would have rather I got into football instead.

The dismay from my mother when she found out I’d be leaving town instead of working in the family business.

And now here I am, inducted into the hall of fame, and it hadn’t really crossed my mind to invite them. I wonder if they have any clue that I’m here right now. That one of their sons is a hall-of-famer.

Maybe now is a good time to revisit that. With Elsie pregnant, it might be a good idea for me to reach out to them.

After all, that’s what I told Elsie. To make first contact, to reach out. To give the other person the chance of rising to the occasion.

I can’t go back in time and ask them to be here for me, or even see if they’ll end up coming. But I can give my kid the opportunity to have another set of grandparents.

They may not be here, but I don’t feel alone. Because I have her, and even August Montgomery standing at my side, telling me he’s proud.

They hand each of us a small medal and go through the rounds of more picture taking. Then, just as quickly as it began, the ceremony is over, and we’re shuffling off the stage again.

“Wolfe!” a familiar voice calls, and I blink when I come off the stage and realize it’s Bernie standing there, looking every bit the proud father himself. “Congratulations, man.”

“Bernie? What are you doing here?”

“Are you kidding? Of course we came to see your induction.” Bernie steps forward and puts a hand on my shoulder. “You look great without the hat, by the way.”

I step forward and hug him, and the action must catch him by surprise, because he lets out a little oomph before patting me on the back. “Thanks man,” I say, pulling back. “Means more than you know.”

“Congrats,” someone says, somewhat half-heartedly, and I realize with a start that Fincher has been standing here the whole time. I was so preoccupied with seeing Bernie that I didn’t register his presence.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” I manage, because he’s the last person I want to see right now. In fact, my hand twitches at my side, and even amongst all this joy and happiness, I’m still itching to knock the motherfucker out.

“Listen,” Fincher says, as Bernie drifts away, saying congrats to some of the other guys. The last thing I want to do is listen to this fucker, but I hold still, curiosity winning out. “I’m resigning.”

That’s surprising.

“You are?”

Fincher nods, running a hand over the back of his neck and looking up at the ceiling, before returning his gaze to me.

“I haven’t been myself. This whole head coach situation has turned me into someone I don’t recognize.

I used to be here for the love of the game, and I’ve had some, uh, revelations recently.

That fighting with you and sneaking around—”

“—and taking videos of people without their consent?—”

“—isn’t good for me.” He pauses, not admitting to sharing that video, but having the good sense to look somewhat guilty. “Plus, my daughter just had her first kid. My wife wants to move out to be close to them. I think it will be good for me to take some time away.”

It’s a weird feeling to know that all this time, while I’ve been dealing with my demons, other people have also been dealing with theirs.

“Well, I’m not going to lie to you and say I forgive you,” I say, mostly because his shit affected Elsie, too, and I’ll never forgive him for that. “But I…wish you all the best.”

Fincher nods, like that response is about what he expected, and claps me on the shoulder. “Thanks man, you too.”

And with that, the biggest pain in my ass for the past year is gone, disappearing into the crowd. In the next moment, a body launches into mine, a set of arms circling around my neck.

“You looked so good up on stage,” Elsie whispers into my ear, and when I loop my arms around her body, it feels like coming home. “Love the hair.”

There are a lot of things we need to talk about. Discussions to be had about our future. In fact, there are celebrations going on all around us, people talking about an after party. If I cared more about networking, I’d make sure to go.

But right now, I can only think of one thing.

“Hey,” I whisper back, finding her ear and reveling in her shiver at the sound of my voice. “I’ve got this nice hotel room, just down the street—”

She grabs the front of my shirt, pulling me closer with a laugh. “I’m there, Wolfe, but you might have to carry me.”

“Deal.”