Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Lucien
Once we’re safely outside the bar and away from Turner’s fury, I look over at Carter.
“What the hell, man? Coach has another daughter?”
“Two more.” He stuffs his hands in his coat pockets to protect them from the bitter January wind. “That’s Talia, she’s twenty-five, I think. And Audra is like ... two or three years older.”
“Damn. He must’ve had them young.”
“You don’t know about all that?”
I give him a wide-eyed look. “If I knew, would I have just risked my life by touching his daughter?”
A smile tugs on his lips, now that it’s safe for him to be amused about what just happened.
“Coach was an eighteen-year-old rookie when he got his girlfriend pregnant. They got married as soon as they found out. That was Audra, and then they had Talia.”
His breath clouds in front of his face as we wait for a stoplight to change so we can cross over to the block we’re parked on.
“Even though Coach retired from the Mammoths, he played for the Blaze most of his career.”
“Yeah, I know that much.”
The light turns and we start crossing the street, Carter continuing with the story. “His wife at the time cheated on him with a guy who played for the Coyotes. It was a bad deal; he was the last to know. So they got divorced and he ended up getting remarried to Angie and having two more kids.”
“Holy shit. This would’ve been useful information.”
He scoffs. “Pay fucking attention, man. The rest of us all know.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve only been here for two years. You’re the team captain, you should make some kind of informational packet for the rookies.”
He rolls his eyes. “If you didn’t know Talia existed, you probably don’t know about her and Kyle Macintire, either.”
Just the mention of Macintire makes my muscles tense. That smarmy, mouthy fucker is my favorite to fight with during our games against Vancouver. But Carter already knows that.
“What about him?”
We’ve reached my Range Rover, and I unlock it as Carter talks.
“He and Talia were engaged. They met when Turner coached in Vancouver. Then, earlier this year, everything blew up when Kyle cheated on her with Audra.”
I gape at him. “Audra as in her sister? Coach’s other daughter?”
He nods.
“Jesus fuck, like sand through the hourglass.”
“Pfft. You know hockey’s like that.”
“Yeah, I know, but ... how did I not hear any of this?”
He huffs out a single note of laughter. “Shit, man. You think any of us are dumb enough to talk about any of it in front of Turner?”
“We hang out, though, outside of work. Like at Isaac’s birthday party last week.”
He buttons his coat, his nose bright red from the cold. “No one was keeping this from you, Luce. You can be oblivious sometimes.”
“Oblivious?”
“Yeah, it means—”
“I know what the fuck it means. I just don’t think it’s true.”
“You know now, so forget it. I haven’t seen Talia in years, so I was surprised to see her in there, too.”
I shake my head, still off balance from what just happened. One minute, I was securing a cute girl’s number, and then I was being cockblocked by my head coach’s daughter and reamed by Coach in front of a bar full of people.
The last thing I need is to be on his shit list. We’re in a slump, and trade rumors are swirling. I love this team, and surprisingly, I love living in Cleveland, so I need to prove my worth.
“He’ll forget about it by tomorrow,” Carter assures me, clapping me on the shoulder. “Go get some sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Are you going back in?”
“Yeah, Suki and the girls are in Sedona for a spa weekend, so it’s one of those rare nights I can go out after a game. I’m not drinking, just having a steak.”
“Yeah, I was doing the same.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll make sure yours doesn’t go to waste.” He grins. “Now get the fuck out of here, Lucy.”
“See you tomorrow.” I open the door of my car and get in, trying not to think about the medium-rare New York strip I’m about to miss out on.
Carter heads back and I start my car. It doesn’t need to warm up, because I haven’t even been here for thirty minutes.
It took me less than half an hour to dig myself a deep hole with Coach. I busted my balls in the game tonight—literally, I tweaked my groin—and then ruined it without even knowing what I was doing.
Hopefully Carter’s right, and by practice tomorrow morning, this encounter will be ancient history.
“Did I stutter, Beaumont? Get skating.”
Carter wasn’t right. Coach is bag skating me while the rest of the team watches film from last night’s game. My teammates are silent as I leave the group meeting room where we break down games.
“Don’t go easy on him,” I hear Coach tell our equipment manager, Trace.
Trace is my assigned babysitter while I skate laps as fast as I can. Pros rarely get bag skated unless we have a horrible game. Or talk to one of Coach Turner’s daughters, apparently.
Turner’s not an asshole, as long as you get him and do what he expects. That’s how I knew to humbly exit the meeting to change and skate. Reacting would have gotten me a much worse punishment.
It’s not about fairness. Life’s not fair. Turner says that all the time.
I actually feel for him. Since my drive home last night, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how hard it must be for one of his daughters to have stolen another daughter’s fiancé. He’s probably extra protective of Talia after all that.
Now I get why she was so angry over me hitting on Kelsey. She probably thinks all men are trash after what Macintire did to her. I don’t even know her, but it makes me hate Macintire just a little bit more.
I change into practice clothes, not bothering with pads since I’ll be alone on the ice. Trace is sitting on the home team bench at our practice rink when I take off my guards and skate out onto the ice.
It actually feels good to be out here by myself. My dad is a former minor league hockey player, and he got me started in hockey when I was four, making sure I learned skating fundamentals long before I ever touched a stick.
At the time, I hated it. I wanted to be on the ice chasing the puck like all the other kids. But he was right. After a year of just skating almost every day, it was a lot easier for me to execute drills.
He owns a construction business now, but he still drives the Zamboni and coaches youth hockey back home in Duluth, Minnesota.
I lean into a turn, thinking about Talia again. I didn’t get to see much of her with the hood of her hoodie pulled tight around her face, but she’s pretty clearly still not over what happened with Kyle and her sister.
I wouldn’t be over it either. That’s some shady shit, doing that to your own sister. Coach doesn’t talk about his personal life, but I need to keep up on the high points of it in the future. What a fucking mess I made when I was just trying to prevent a bar fight.
That brunette’s shitty comment set Talia off, and she was ready for a fight. No fear at all. I’m known for starting fights over nothing during games. It’s a great way to break up the momentum a team may have going.
I like to shift their focus onto me, so at least some of them are thinking more about getting back at me than about scoring. Silas is more of an enforcer, but I hit opponents back sometimes.
Mostly though, I bring chaotic Loki energy into games. I’m a disrupter when I need to be.
It was boxing, which my dad had me train in as a teenager, that taught me not to fear fighting.
Years of taking and throwing punches and several broken noses later, I see fighting as a skill. It’s an asset I bring to my team, just like skating.
About thirty minutes into skating, I’m covered in sweat. I take off the hoodie I’m wearing as a top layer and set it on the half wall in front of our bench as I pass.
“Pick it up, Beaumont,” Trace yells, trying to sound authoritative.
“Suck my dick,” I call over my shoulder.
He’s a good guy, but he’s not one of my coaches and I’m not letting him treat me like he is. There’s a team hierarchy, and he’s not close to the top.
An hour into skating, I’m gassed. I’ve sweated through the front and back of my T-shirt and I’ve got swamp ass. We’re leaving for a road trip tomorrow—surely Turner doesn’t want his top blueliner exhausted.
I won’t puke. Some guys puke during bag skates, but I never have. If Turner wants to push me that hard, he’s going to wear me down to nothing and I won’t be able to play tomorrow.
It’s been almost an hour and a half, and I’m fucking wiped and in desperate need of water when Turner walks onto the ice and motions with his hand for me to come over.
Thank fuck. I dig in and skate my fastest to him, making sure the snow my blades throw up doesn’t go in his direction.
He passes me a water bottle. I take it, breathing so hard I can’t take a drink yet.
“This was mostly about my daughter,” he says. “Never, ever touch her again.”
I nod. “I understand, Coach.”
He pinches his brows together and frowns—my cue to shut the fuck up.
“It’s also about the other women you were talking to.
Goddammit, Beaumont, you’re not some nineteen-year-old minor leaguer trying to jump into bed with every woman who’s willing.
You’re a twenty-seven-year-old pro who gets paid a hell of a lot of money to be on this team.
Don’t fucking embarrass me and the city you represent like that again.
Women shouldn’t be getting into bar fights over you. ”
“Yes, Coach.”
They weren’t fighting over me, but Turner has a short list of what he calls “the last bad idea you’ll ever have as a player for me”, and one of them is arguing with him. Occasionally, he’ll give us permission to challenge him, but it’s rare.
“Go watch your film,” he says. “Then have Melina work on your legs and feet.”
I nod, lifting the water bottle to squirt water in my mouth. Melina’s our team trainer, and she’s great at massaging overworked legs and feet to keep us from getting too sore.
I take a long drink, downing half of the bottle of water. Sweat drips from my chin and hair onto the ice. I use my soaked T-shirt to wipe my face, and by the time I’m done, my teammates are skating onto the ice for drills.
My teammate Bash smirks at me as he passes.
“You’re one stupid motherfucker,” he says.
I flip him off, my quads burning with exertion.
“Coach’s daughter?” our goalie, Isaac, asks, holding back a laugh. “Really?”
“I didn’t know, asshole,” I bark. “I’ll stick with your mom from now on. Is it weird for you that she calls me daddy?”
“Fuck you, Beaumont.”
I skate away from him, too tired for any more verbal sparring. I’ll need a nap as soon as I get home today, because our departure time is early tomorrow. Today is my back and shoulders training day, which is a small win. I couldn’t do leg day today.
My legs are a little shaky as I leave the ice. Melina will have me switching between the cold plunge pool and the hot tub while I watch my film from last night’s game.
Lesson learned, though. I’ll never so much as look at one of Turner’s daughters again.