The Secret Play (Pucking Daddies #3)

25. Casey

Chapter 25

Casey

B uzzing. That was the only word to describe the hum of adrenaline in the locker room. It was electric in a way that only happened before a playoff game. The players were loud, hyped up, and restless, their voices bouncing off the walls in a chaotic din. Normally, this was where I thrived—channeling their energy, sharpening it into focus—but today, the noise felt different.

Today, they weren’t listening to me.

It did more than bruise my ego. It worried me for the playoffs. They had to get their shit together so they could learn the new plays I’d come up with, but instead, they were screwing around while I talked. I stood by the whiteboard, marker in hand, trying to go over our game plan, but the guys weren’t paying attention. “Reilly, put your phone down. You’re at work, remember?”

He gave half a shrug and kept texting without even looking up.

Before I could reprimand him, Nico smacked the back of his head, which made Reilly’s hand curl instinctively into a fist. Until he saw who had done it. Then, his brow furrowed in confusion. Nico gestured for him to put his phone down and pointed at me, so Reilly muttered, “Oh. Sorry, Coach.”

Why had Nico gone from slamming me into the lockers to garnering some modicum of respect for me? I had no idea. But I’d take it where I could get it. The guys had been assholes for the past few days, and I’d had enough of that.

“Right. Reilly, you or the other centers will drive up the middle in this play, no risks on your part. When you get the puck this close to the goal, they’re gonna try you. They wanna fight? You don’t give it to them. Not this time. This is the playoffs. We’re not here to jerk each other off. Your only goal is to get primed for your winger to slap it to you, got it?”

The centers nodded along. All but Sorkin, though I wasn’t surprised.

Out of the lot of them, he had the worst habit of zoning out. His fingers were usually drumming on his knee when he spaced, and sure enough, right now he was playing some piece on his knee again, likely from his old days.

Before he’d joined the team, he was a drummer in a local band that had a loyal following until the lead singer got a record deal and left them all behind. Sorkin had turned to professional hockey as his backup plan. He had played through high school in Canada. He had almost been recruited back then, but music was his stronger calling. Too many talents.

It was a pity that paying attention wasn’t also one of his talents.

“Sorkin—”

Nico nudged his knee and snapped his fingers in the big guys’ face. “Sore, you in there today?”

“What? Huh?” He blinked himself back into the locker room, like he was coming out of a haze. I didn’t know if he had smoked too much weed when he played at dive bars or what, but the kid always appeared perma-baked until he was on the ice. Then muscle memory took over.

Nico firmly said, “Coach is talking to you.”

“Oh,” he said stiffly. A slight curl to his lip said enough of what he thought of me. “Yeah, well, sorry.”

I ran through the play again, this time with more attention paid to me. But the moment I stopped talking, they were at it again. Some of them were cracking jokes, others were fiddling with their gear, and a few were having their own conversations like I wasn’t even there. It was infuriating.

“Nico,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.

He looked up from where he was leaning against the bench, arms crossed. “Yeah, Coach?”

If I wasn’t a professional, it would have grated my nerves to admit I needed his help. After the locker room attack, maybe I shouldn’t have turned to him for help, but I didn’t have much choice. He was the only person they were listening to today. “Get them in line.”

Nico hesitated, and for a moment, I thought he might push back. But then he clapped and let out a sharp whistle, the sound cutting through the noise like a warm knife through butter. He barked, “Atlanta Fire! Shut the fuck up and listen!”

The guys quieted down, their attention shifting to Nico instead of me. He had their respect and their trust, in a way that reminded me what I’d lost. It stung.

Right then, I realized just how much the team’s loyalty had shifted. I took a step back, letting Nico have the floor. If they weren’t going to listen to me, fine. I’d use every tool in the toolbox to get the job done. He was the senior-most center these days, so I knew he’d have pull with the others. But would the whole team hear him out?

He looked around the room, his eyes narrowing as he took in the group. “I get it,” he said, his voice steady. “I know some of you are pissed. Some of you think Coach let us down. But let me tell you something—he didn’t.”

There were murmurs of surprise, a few skeptical looks, but Nico pressed on. Hell, even I was surprised. Not that he said that, but that he knew, and that he understood about me and Gemma. I didn’t deserve that grace, but I sure as hell appreciated it.

“Yeah, the circumstances suck,” he said, his tone blunt. “Yeah, it’s weird. But you know what’s not weird? Winning. We’re good at winning. And the only reason we’re here, the only reason we’ve got a shot at that trophy, is because of Coach.”

The room fell silent.

“He’s helped us win in the past. This year, he’s gotten us this far again,” Nico continued, his voice rising. “And if I can look past the situation, so can you. Respect the man who got us here. Respect the work he’s put in, and give him everything you’ve got in here when he coaches and out there on the ice. We owe him that much and more.”

The tension in the room shifted. To my surprise, I felt a little better after hearing Nico talk about the weirdness between us. It was a pretty good speech. One by one, the players nodded, their expressions serious as they turned their attention back to me.

I stepped forward, meeting their eyes as I spoke. “All right, let’s get to it. Here’s the plan.”

This time, they listened.

I ran through our strategies, breaking down the opposing team’s weaknesses and emphasizing our strengths. The players nodded along, asking questions, making suggestions, and falling back into the rhythm we’d built all season. Not a cell phone in sight. Even Sorkin paid attention.

By the time we hit the ice, the energy in the locker room had given way to what I always liked during these sessions. Hope.

Once the team was on the ice to run drills, I grabbed Nico by the arm, pulling him aside. “Got a minute?”

“Sure,” he said. But he was stiff about it, enough to tell me there was still something about this that he didn’t like. Maybe we weren’t good yet. But I had hope that we would be.

I led him to a quieter corner of the arena, away from the noise and activity, and turned to face him. “I just want to say thanks for what you did in there.”

“For what?”

“For getting the guys to listen to me,” I said. “For sticking up for me, even though I know you didn’t want to.”

Nico shrugged. “I did it for the team.”

“I know. But it still means a lot to me, and I believe in showing my appreciation, so thank you.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. “Are you okay with all of this?”

The question caught me off guard. “Okay with all of what?”

“Being with my sister,” he said, his voice careful. “Knowing what people are saying about you, knowing how it looks with you being so much older than her. Are you really okay with it? You’ve always been so careful about your reputation.”

I hesitated. To be honest, I didn’t know. If we somehow figured things out and tried to make this work, people would judge us. I was almost two decades older than Gemma. People were more likely to assume she was my daughter and not my girlfriend, and I’d have to find a way to live with that.

A small price to pay compared to what else it might cost me. “People will say what they’re going to say, no matter what I do. I could be a Boy Scout, and someone would complain.” I shrugged. “Some people won’t like us being together. So what? They aren’t the people I care about. But I care about Gemma. And I care about Winnie. They are what matters to me, Nico. Anyone else can fuck off.”

He snorted a laugh. “Who taught you that kind of language, Coach?”

“Been hanging around you criminals for too long.”

He smirked, but it faded fast into something else. Worry, maybe. “I’m not gonna lie, it’s still weird for me. I don’t love the idea of you and Gemma being together. Maybe I’m overprotective, but I’m her big brother, and that’s my right.” He took a beat, and as he did, his face relaxed. “But if this is what I think it is…”

He trailed off, letting out a long breath while I held my own.

“As it turns out,” he continued, “my niece has a great dad she hasn’t really met yet. And my sister seems happy with you. So I guess I’ll get over it. At some point.” The corners of his mouth twitched upward in a small, reluctant smile. “And maybe,” he added, “our family will be all the better for the weirdness. I don’t think anyone gets to have normal these days, and well, Gemma was never normal.”

I hacked a laugh, trying to hold myself together. His words hit me harder than I expected. I hadn’t thought he’d approve in any way, shape, or form. Not this soon, at least. My throat tightened, but I said, “Thanks, Nico.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. “We’ve got a game to win.”

As he skated out onto the ice, his confident stride and easy grin reminded me of why he was such a crucial part of this team. He wasn’t just a great player—he was a leader, someone the others trusted implicitly.

And now, he was giving me the biggest trust I could imagine. He approved of me being with his sister. Tacitly, but the approval was implied. I felt honored, and I didn’t know what to do with the emotions welling up inside of me.

Nico shouted from center ice. “You gonna run drills or what, Coach?”

I took a deep breath, stepping onto the ice to join the team. Hopefully, they’d come around like Nico had.