Page 35

Chapter

Thirty

At the end of July, I stood at the edge of the ice under the Dome with a clipboard in my hand and only a small pit in my stomach. The lights buzzed overhead. I’d never seen the ice from this angle behind the bench.

The bleachers were mostly empty—just a handful of friends and volunteers—but the players were already trickling in, sticks in their hands, duffels, skates, and helmets slung over their shoulders.

I’d started with Douglas alumni, working from a list of emails and phone numbers Lamont provided. We had enough for two full rosters, and this was our first official scrimmage.

Crystal handed out name tags Sharpied onto pieces of masking tape. I was positive she’d offered to take this job specifically so she could check out all the players. It was a baller move.

Sharla and Rob couldn’t be there, but they’d contacted over a third of my initial list. To my surprise, Blakely and Kaplan both showed up tonight. I’d made it clear I didn’t expect them to coach, but having them here allowed me to stop wearing my shoulders as earrings.

At seven o’clock, I cleared my throat and stepped into the group of players near the benches.

“Alright, everyone, thanks for coming. You’re here because you love the game and don’t want it to end just because school or life or careers got in the way.

As I mentioned on the phone and over email, this league isn’t built yet.

Today’s a scrimmage, but my goal is to make this high level and competitive.

That said, we’re going to build it together, so whatever it becomes, it’ll reflect you.

Your needs, your voices, your goals. I have some basic logistics here—game dates, draft ideas, tiers depending on skill level.

But nothing is set in stone. If this works, it’s because we make it work. ”

A few heads nodded. One guy with long curls raised a hand. “Does the league have a name?”

I hesitated, glancing at Crystal. I hadn’t said these particular words out loud to anyone, not wanting to jinx it. “I was thinking the Elite League.”

The guys nodded, tapping their sticks on the concrete. The energy shifted. Excitement buzzed like static electricity. Guys slapping each other on the back, tapping sticks, pointing out old teammates across the room.

“Alright. Get changed. Let’s get on the ice.”

As the guys hustled to the locker rooms, I turned to Kaplan. I’d guzzled my entire bottle of water and hadn’t taken a second to use the washroom. “Scrimmage teams are posted by the east door. First face-off is in thirty. Can you get them warming up?.”

He nodded, and I jogged down the corridor toward the back hallway. I turned the corner and ran into something solid.

I gasped, stumbling back, but strong hands caught my elbows. “I’m so—” Every cell in my body stood on its head.

Chase.

His hair was longer than the last time I’d seen him, brushing the tops of his ears. His grey tee hugged his chest and shoulders. His eyes were warm, a little tired, but soft in a way that made me think of Clearwater.

My breath slipped. “You got my letter.”

Chase’s brows drew together. “I haven’t gotten a letter in a couple of weeks.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. How long ago had I sent it? Definitely not weeks ago. But if he hadn’t gotten it . . . “But you’re here.”

He nodded, looping his thumbs in his jeans pockets, then thinking better of it and crossing his arms. “I caught your speech.”

My eyes widened. “You were here?”

He nodded. “In the stands.”

My cheeks flushed. “It wasn’t really a speech. Just logistics.”

There was the exhale followed by the eye drop. My heart fluttered, waiting for the smile that came next.

“This is amazing, Maddie. I’m so proud of you.” He glanced up, peering at me through his dark lashes.

“Is that why you came back? To tell me that?” My hands tingled.

I didn’t want to seem impatient, but not knowing why Chase was standing in front of me gave me heart palpitations.

He hadn’t gotten my letter, which meant he didn’t know how I felt.

Writing it was one thing, but I didn’t think I had the courage to say it to his face. Especially when I didn’t know if?—

“I moved back,” Chase said in a rush.

The words sank into me in layers. “You—what?”

Chase smiled, a little crooked, a little unsure. “I’m back in Calgary. I’m coming back to coach.”

My eyes flooded without warning. I blinked to clear them, then pressed my lips together.

He was coming back? Relief and hesitation rushed through me in equal measures.

All I’d thought of was Chase coming back, but in every scenario I envisioned—I was becoming a master at fantasies—he and I were together.

But if he was coming back to coach . . .

We’d have to keep things professional, keep our distance.

The thought of that made my chest feel like it was caving in on itself.

And he didn’t know I’d decided against the Rhodes, so maybe him coming back had nothing to do with me in the first place.

Maybe he was here because of Blakely and Kaplan.

Chase’s smile faltered. “Maddie, I thought you’d be happy. I hoped—” He took a step closer and pulled me to him. “What the hell was in that letter?”

I shook my head, lifting a hand to his chest. “I don’t think I can do that again. I’m so glad you’re back, but if you’re going to be working here—I have one year left?—”

“One year? I thought you only had six months.”

The tears came faster. He wasn’t here because of me. My heart split at the seams, and I couldn’t stop my shoulders from shaking.

“Hey. I’m not coming back to Douglas. Is that what you’re upset about?” He pulled back and lifted his hand to my face. His thumb brushed the tear that slipped past my cheekbone.

“What?”

“I’m not coaching here.”

“But you just said?—”

“I said I was coming back to coach. I didn’t say where. ” He reached into his back pocket, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to me.

I took it with shaking fingers and opened the flap. A single-page letter, printed on official letterhead.

Calgary Hitmen Hockey Club

Dear Coach Wilson,

We are pleased to formally offer you a position as an assistant coach with the Calgary Hitmen organization. Your experience as a player, your track record mentoring young athletes, and your recent work with the Douglas University Outlaws make you an exceptional candidate . . .

I stared at the letter, then at him.

He cleared his throat. “You once asked me what I wanted.”

I stood, stunned, waiting for him to continue.

It took him a moment to gather his thoughts.

“I thought I wanted to never hurt again. To never put my eggs in any basket so I couldn’t be disappointed.

What I didn’t realize was that holding my eggs didn’t save me from pain or disappointment.

” He winced. “That metaphor didn’t sound as good out loud as it did inside my head. ”

I laughed, swiping another tear from my cheek, making sure that it didn’t land on the letter.

“Trying to accept my life without you in it or sitting back and waiting to see if it works out is making me miserable. So maybe you’ll tell me you don’t want this thing between us, or maybe you’ll go off to England and find someone or something better, but?—”

“I’m not going to England.”

Chase frowned. “You’ve already heard back? I thought applications just opened.”

I folded the letter and handed it back to him. “I’m not going because I’m not submitting my application.”

Chase’s frown deepened. “Maddie, I didn’t come here to convince you?—”

“If you would’ve read my damn letter you’d know that I let go of that dream before you ever showed up.”

Chase returned the letter to his back pocket. “Okay.”

“I was able to get this project approved through Lamont. It’s for credit, and I want to see it through.

But this is all beside the point because you’re here and you’re not a faculty member anymore, and I think what you’re saying is that you came back because of me, which I’m really hoping is true because the other bit of info I gave in that letter is that I love you.

” I sucked in a breath, my head spinning. I couldn’t believe I just said it.

A muscle in Chase’s jaw jumped. His breathing quickened as he looked over my shoulder, then reached out and grabbed my wrist as he walked, pulling me with him. He pushed through the visiting team’s locker room door, and the second it clicked shut behind us, Chase spun and kissed me.

I melted into him like ice cream on a hot day as he eased me back against the first bank of lockers, one hand around my waist, the other bracing himself against the metal.

"What about Vancouver?” I breathed against his mouth.

“I never officially accepted. Went out for a tour and declined,” he rasped, already hunting for my jaw, my neck. “I never let go of my lease here. Couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

Warmth bubbled through me. “You wanted to stay.”

He smiled, his teeth brushing my collarbone. “I was in denial.”

I thought about the weeks that my Rhodes application had sat on my nightstand. I knew a thing or two about that.

His mouth found mine again, his fingers tangling in my hair. I tugged him closer by the front of his shirt. “While I would love to stay here all night, I do have to get back to the league at some point.”

He sighed, his lips slowing. “How late will it go?”

“Two hours max.”

Chase lifted his arm and checked his watch. “We’re already twenty-five minutes in.” He breathed heavily, still clutching me against him. “Meet me in the lobby after?”

My heart skipped a beat. “Sure.”

His nostrils flared. “Yes, please.”