Page 4

FOUR

Clay

It’s game day, and I have a routine that I never break: greet the players, check in with the training staff, review any injuries. Later, there’ll be a pregame video session followed by a coach’s meeting to finalize the starting lineup.

That’s how it’s supposed to go. But today’s routine has gone to hell. I can’t function. I drive home in a daze, ignoring all my messages. I stare into my refrigerator, having no memory of what I bought for lunch.

I used to cook for him. He liked that a lot .

God, what is wrong with me? I grab the deli package of smoked ham and slap together a sandwich. I need to pull myself together. There’s two games left before our brief Christmas break. And right after that…

I take a deep breath and try not to panic.

After a hasty meal, I drive into Denver and lock myself away in the small office I use at the arena. I sit down at the desk and pull a 4x6 card and a pen from the drawer. I write down the date and Starting Lineup .

But then I stall out, unable to finish a single lucid thought, because Jethro Hale and I are in the same zip code. And I’m suddenly twenty-four years old again, and heartbroken.

Fifteen years ago, I fell hard for him, and I thought he felt the same. But then he ripped my heart out and threw it away. A lot of time has passed, but this ache in my chest says I never really got over it.

Now I’m supposed to be his coach ? If it weren’t so awful it would almost be funny. Whatever I did to piss off the universe, it must have been big.

There’s a quiet tap on the door.

“Yeah?” I say, knowing it’s my assistant Liana on the other side. I lift my chin as the door opens, trying to look calm.

Liana appears, looking impeccable as always. Her hair is wound into a soft knot. Her suit is Cougar blue, her shoes shiny. And she’s giving me one of her serious frowns. My assistant has the remarkable ability to say a lot with just one facial expression. Some of her serious frowns are thoughtful, some of them judgmental.

This one says, What the hell, Clay?

“Coach,” she says slowly. “Is something wrong?”

You have no idea . “No, why?”

Her frown shifts to reflect incredulity. “Murph has been trying to reach you for hours.”

“I had some things to take care of,” I lie, hoping she doesn’t ask what. “Anything I need to know?”

Her expression hardens, like she can’t believe I’d stoop so low as to blow off all my responsibilities and then pretend like it’s no big deal. And she’s right—this isn’t me. I always do what’s necessary for the team, no matter what.

“Jethro Hale has arrived at the arena. You need to introduce him.”

My stomach drops.

“And while we’re on the topic of Hale, we’re putting him up at the Four Seasons for a few days. But today I found him a rental in Rocky Bluffs that he can move into within the week.”

“Rocky Bluffs?” That’s the condo complex where I live. “Why there?”

Her frown returns in force. “Immediate availability of a three-bedroom, which he needs. And since I’ve been there to drop things off for you, I knew it had a playground. He has a kid.”

A kid? A family . Holy crap. He must be married, and somehow, I never heard about it. It’s not like I google him. But hockey is a small world.

Could this get any weirder? I’ll probably meet his wife at the next charity event. I’ll be standing there in my tux, a smile painted on my face, trying to forget how much her husband liked it when I used to get down on my knees…

“Coach?”

“Yeah?” I say, jerking back into the present.

“You look a little pale,” she says, concern in her voice. “Are you coming down with something?”

“Maybe,” I say, grasping at this excuse. “Haven’t felt quite right all day.”

“Oh hell,” she whispers, giving her pretty head a shake. “We don’t have time for you to get sick. I’ll grab you one of the trainer’s vitamin drinks.”

“Great idea,” I agree, as if my problems could be fixed by a little extra Vitamin C and zinc. “Thank you.”

“Now shake a leg,” she says. “Go greet the new guy. Half the front office heard your little shouting match this morning. It makes you look like a dick. And Coach?” She lifts her gaze to mine. “You’re not a dick. So fix it.”

“I will,” I say, because I know she’s right. “Then I’ll find Murph and apologize.”

She gives me a nod of approval, so I must be making more sense now. Then she disappears, closing my office door behind her.

I drop my head for a couple of seconds, allowing myself this one last moment to wallow. And then I push my chair back, lift my chin, and leave the room. I pace from the office into the rabbit warren of hallways winding through the arena’s underbelly.

It’s the usual game-night chaos—players and support staff everywhere. God only knows what I’m going to say to Hale when I find him. Probably a bunch of platitudes. Welcome to Colorado. Nice to see you again. Hope you’re settling in .

I give myself a little pep talk as I peer into the various rooms we use for game prep. Nobody ever died of awkwardness . It’s been fifteen years. You’re different people now .

My inner twenty-four-year-old is unconvinced.

I turn another corner and suddenly he’s in front of me—standing ramrod straight in a dark blue suit. He’s so tall that he looms over Murph, who’s talking fast and gesticulating wildly.

They both sense me at the same time. Murph shuts up and looks at me quizzically. But Hale’s expression guts me. His familiar green eyes go slitty with anger. His jaw tightens, and his mouth forms a grim line.

I’ve seen Hale angry before, but never at me. And it’s not fucking fair. But I’m the goddamn coach of this team, and I don’t have the luxury of being pissy about it. I clear my throat and greet him as neutrally as I can. “Evening, gentlemen.” I offer a hand to Hale. “Welcome to Colorado.”

He says nothing. But he grips my hand in a brief, bone-crushing press and then drops it again, like I might have a communicable disease.

So this is going well.

“Where’ve you been?” Murph asks unhelpfully.

“Tied up,” I say lamely. “Sorry about that. Mr. Hale, would you come with me a moment? We should talk.”

“I have to suit up,” he says gruffly. “So maybe some other time.”

Seriously? Murph’s jaw drops, right along with mine. “Now is a perfect time,” I say icily. “It will only take a moment. Follow me.”

I turn without looking to see if he’ll follow. I’m banking on the fact that he knows a player can’t just dismiss the head coach. Not ever.

Everything is weird and wrong. I want to go back home and start this whole day over—this time without Hale’s disastrous trade.

I hear footsteps behind me as I move down the corridor. My office suddenly feels too far away for this charade, so I step into an alcove that contains the rolling carts we use for toting gear, and I turn around to face him.

Looking at Jethro hasn’t gotten any easier in the last minute. It still makes me ache to catalog all the ways he looks the same. Those sandy eyelashes. That scruffy jaw. I used to run my knuckles across it.

Yet so much has changed. I’m looking at a champion now, not a broke minor-leaguer. He’s a damn legend, and under different circumstances, I’d be thrilled to work with him.

Neither of us is thrilled, though. He stands a few feet away from me, shoulders squared like a fighter in the ring. And the anger in his blazing, green eyes makes me wonder if he’s about to take a swing at me.

“Look,” I say, jumping in with my apology. “I’m sorry for whatever part of my bad reaction you heard this morning.”

“Which part?” he snaps. “The part where you called me a dinosaur? Or the part where you said that if your shaky team doesn’t do well in the playoffs, it’s probably my fault?”

“Hey—I didn’t mean that. I was just reacting badly to…” I take a breath and look directly into his eyes. “The shock. That’s all. I sincerely apologize.”

“ The shock ,” he repeats acidly. “Really? Was your life upended this morning? Did your team yank the rug out from under you?”

I blink. Because the answer to both those questions is yes . But it’s abundantly clear that Jethro can’t see it that way. He thinks he’s the only one with a reason to be upset.

And I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, because it’s the same problem all over again: he matters more to me than I ever mattered to him.

I’m the only fool who ever thought differently.