Chapter 8
eight
ASHER
Ihad to drag my ass out of bed the next morning for my first official day as the Hammerheads’ assistant coach.
My eyes were full of gravel from the hours I’d spent staring at my new eleven-foot ceilings, after the way last night’s conversation between Cade and me had ended.
The way he’d jumped when I’d been about to simply pat his shoulder gnawed at my conscience all night. I hadn’t meant to cross any lines where Cade was concerned, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease around it.
What would make him react that way?
The last thing I wanted was Cade feeling uncomfortable around me. Even though we’d only spent a short time together, I couldn’t help but want to know more about him.
Not like you’re still thinking about the fact that he was hot as fuck with all that lean muscle on display under the bright lights of the arena.
And you’re definitely not obsessed with his picture-perfect face and those bright green eyes that practically fucking sparkled when you managed to get a smile out of him, right?
I scrubbed my hands over my face as if I could forcibly remove all the snapshots of Cade my brain had inadvertently taken last night.
A second later, the sharp smack of a paw hit one of my still-closed eyes.
It must be 7:02 a.m. I felt around for my phone on the bedside table, turning my face away from my impatient roommate.
I opened my eyes a sliver to check the time on my phone that I’d brought within reading distance. Sure enough, my guess was bang on.
“Ugh. Poe, really? I’m coming. It’s not like you’re starving or anything,” I groaned.
Turning back to the feline in question, I risked opening my eyes fully.
Poe sat licking his front paw, his yellow eyes not revealing a hint of guilt. He paused with his paw in midair as if to say, “What? It wasn’t me who just smacked you in the face a minute ago?” before resuming his morning grooming routine.
I pulled myself out of bed, the sheer discipline of a decade in professional hockey giving me the push I needed to get my ass in gear.
I set my sights on the kitchen to get the furry black overlord fed and off my back.
“Come on, buddy. Let’s get your breakfast. Since you waited so patiently.”
The sarcasm in my last few words was lost on Poe. But he knew our routine well, so with a disgruntled meow, he raced ahead of me to our new kitchen.
I needed to get last night out of my head if I was going to have a chance in hell at pretending like I knew what I was doing in this assistant coaching job.
Spoiler alert: I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.
It’d been more than a decade since I was on this side of the clipboard, not having coached in any real capacity since working at some local hockey clinics in Niagara Falls when I was a teen.
Second spoiler alert: there wasn’t a single goddamn piece of paper attached to the clipboard I hugged to my chest.
I stood beside Zane as he took stock of the twenty-nine players currently skating the warmup he’d had us all show up for at flipping 8:00 a.m. The rest of the teams in the league had practices that were mid-morning—a.k.a. they were humanely scheduled.
“If we’re just going to watch them skate in circles, why the hell couldn’t we have done that at ten? You know, like every other damn hockey team on the continent?” I muttered at Zane out of the side of my mouth.
I kept my voice barely above a whisper. Just because I’d woken up with a paw in my face, and hadn’t had a chance to gulp down enough coffee to face the fact that I had no idea what I was doing, didn’t mean I wanted to undermine my best friend and his head coach status.
Zane had gone from a career-ending knee injury to head coach of one of the most promising AHL teams in under two years.
Could you have made something like this happen for yourself if you were in Zane’s position?
My shoulder twinged with that uncomfortable thought. I gave it a quick roll to attempt to loosen the tight muscles that felt tighter each day.
“I saw that,” Zane chuckled, eyes locked on the ice in front of us. “Shoulder not as ‘ready to go’ as you’ve been telling the trainers and medical staff at the Titans?”
“You didn’t see a fucking thing,” I snapped, my frustration letting my volume get the better of me. “You didn’t even look in this direction.”
“Just because my knee is fucking shot doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with my peripheral vision,” he countered.
“Can we just get back to why the hell we’re here at the crack of dawn watching grown men skate aimlessly around the rink? Is there going to be some coaching happening at some point, or can I go back across the street and nap until you’ve got a plan?”
My tone had an aggravated edge that had nothing to do with Zane’s coaching and everything to do with him zeroing in on my shoulder pain.
“Someone’s crabby as fuck. I’d forgotten about your grumpy-as-fuck attitude before eleven a.m. Maybe I should get you out on the ice with the guys. You know, skate off some of that old man ‘get off my lawn’ energy.” Zane let out a sharp whistle.
He rotated on his skates so that he was half-facing me and brought his hand up to my shoulder to give it a squeeze.
“Serious, Ace. You okay to do this?”
He kept his hand where it was as he focused his gaze on mine.
I rolled my good shoulder to dislodge his hand.
“I’m fine. I already said that. I just can’t stand standing here and doing nothing.” I held his gaze as I dropped my voice. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take it out on you. I’m just on edge with everything. And feeling out of my depth here, if I’m honest.”
I reached up behind my head with my non-injured arm to rub my neck, no longer making eye contact with Zane.
“Ash, listen,” he started. My stare flew back to his face when he used my first name. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that. He’d always used “Ace” in a teasing tone when addressing me.
“I’ll tell you a secret. Most of us. . .
” He raised a hand and gestured to the entirety of the space around us.
“Haven’t got a fucking clue what we’re doing.
You’ve become so good at the captain thing with the Titans that you’ve forgotten how to be shit at something.
Well, here’s your chance. All you can do is channel those great coaches we had over the years and try to emulate them. ”
Something warm settled in my chest at his reassurance. I’d forgotten how good it was to be part of a team with Zane. He was the perfect mix of humor and knowledge of the game. And it appeared coaching was now part of his repertoire.
“Yeah, I get that,” I agreed, as I thought about the most standout coach we’d had in our years together. “I’ll just channel my inner Coach Grant, and I guess I can’t screw up too bad.”
Fuck. I’d forgotten again. “Shit. Sorry, bud.”
His expression morphed quickly. The skin around Zane’s eyes wrinkled as his jaw tightened, teeth clenching together briefly before the look was gone again.
“No worries,” he said roughly. “Time to get this show on the road.”
Before I could question him further about his strange reaction to our former coach, my best friend scooped up a pile of jerseys from where they lay on the board beside us and skated away to center ice.
“Hammerheads! Look alive and get over here. Playtime is over, guys.” Zane’s voice echoed to all the corners of the rink.
Deciding that holding a dumb clipboard wasn’t making me feel any more like I belonged here, I tossed it into the players bench area before skating over to Zane’s side.
He gave me a quick nod before turning back to the team.
“Good to see everyone was on time for this extra special practice time. Now, if you were here last season, you know what we’re about to do.
But unlike last year, we have a new face off the ice.
So, before we welcome our new teammates, let me introduce this guy beside me.
The very few fans he has”—Zane rolled his eyes—“call him Asher ‘The Ace’ Landry, but this season, you get to call him Coach.”
There were a few whispers and elbows knocking into neighboring teammates at Zane’s announcement. He continued without acknowledging the murmurs.
I couldn’t resist a brief glance at Cade, wanting to see his reaction. His eyes widened minutely when they made contact with mine, his lips curving slightly on one side.
Tension I didn’t know I was holding drained out of my muscles when his face looked guileless as he stared back at me. The momentary weird vibes at the end of our conversation the night before were nowhere in sight.
It took all of my self-restraint not to throw him a knowing wink in response to the reserved half smile he sent my way.
“I just convinced him to come on staff a few days ago. So, the career gossips on this team. . .” Zane threw a pointed look at Nate Hawkins, the team captain and first -line right winger. “Haven’t had a chance to spread the word that Coach Landry was joining us.”
“Hey, Coach!” Hawkins called from the back of the group. “It’s not gossiping. It’s sharing valuable, pertinent information with my teammates.”
“Yeah, yeah. Can it. First of all, you’re supposed to be setting an example for the rookies. Secondly, you couldn’t keep that mouth shut if the GM paid you. Wait! He does pay you—to play hockey. So, let’s get back to that.” Zane’s ribbing was met with good-natured laughter from the team.
He selected one of the jerseys from the pile he had cradled in his arm and turned to face me.
“For you, Coach.” Zane extended the dark blue and white jersey in my direction. “Welcome to the team.”
A loud cheer of agreement went up amongst the players.
Whether it was nerves or surprise that had my fingers unsteady as I took the jersey from him, I wasn’t sure. I opened the garment with both hands and held it up for the team to see.
The well-loved, not at all fierce-looking hammerhead shark logo was on the front, and “Coach Landry” was stitched across the back.
“How did you?” I rested the jersey over my arm as I shook Zane’s hand and nodded to the rest of the team to thank them for the welcome.
“Listen, when everyone adores you, you can get anything done at a moment’s notice.” Zane’s tone was thick with conceit.
“Oh, well. . .” It was my turn to roll my eyes at him. “Thanks just the same.”
“Now, let’s welcome our newest Hammerheads!”
Zane skated forward to the two newly signed defensive players, Hudson Anders and Greyson Romero. Both had signed two-way contracts with the Hammerheads, so I was sure they’d get called up a time or two over the season.
The team gave the two men the same enthusiastic cheer I’d received. My esteem for the group of men rose for treating their new teammates the same way they did a veteran hockey player.
After patting Anders and Romero on their backs, Zane glided back to me with one remaining jersey in his outstretched hand.
“And for our final rookie welcome, I’ll let Coach Landry here do the honors.”
He turned his head so that the shit-stirring grin he shot me couldn’t be seen by the rest of the players.
There was only one other new addition to the team: Caden Kelly.
“What are you doing?” I hissed, conscious of the semi-tenuous connection I had with the rookie.
“Just seems appropriate that you give it to Kelly. He’s a center, just like you. Plus, you’ll be working exclusively with the offensive lines this season. And, well.” His words dropped off as he nodded toward the jersey in my hand, eyes full of mirth.
Zane found his own antics entirely too funny.
I glanced down at the jersey, taking in the number on the back.
Goddamn, Cade was number seventeen—my jersey number for my entire hockey career.
I quickly schooled my features. Now, I knew Zane’s teasing was all in good fun, but Cade had struck me as a guy majorly on the shy side.
Sure enough, when I raised my eyes to look over at where he stood, a red flush had made its way up his neck and reached his ears.
He’d look damn good flushed for another reason.
I slammed the door shut on that thought as soon as it crossed my mind. There was no way I could entertain even a whisper of a thought of that nature about a player.
Instead, I turned my mind to taking the attention off Cade in this moment, as I skated the dozen or so feet between us.
Cade was looking everywhere but my face when I reached him.
“I appreciate you throwing a washed-up old player like me a bone, Rookie.” I smiled so he could see that I was going for funny here.
“After last season, I could use all the shout-outs to my glory days I can get,” I explained, referring to the shoulder injury that took me out just before the playoffs last season.
The players drew in a collective breath before giving into surprised-sounding chuckles and clearing of throats, followed by the same applause the other rookies received.
I had no doubts that the team was shocked I would call out such a serious injury with levity.
I gave him the jersey and shook his hand, offering him an encouraging nod before returning to Zane’s side.
“Now, if Coach’s fun is over, maybe he can let us know what else he has planned for us on this early morning?” I asked irreverently.
Zane didn’t miss a beat. “All right, Hammerheads, gather round!” he called.
While he launched into a set of drills that had the players groaning, I couldn’t resist another look at Cade to make sure he was okay.
Still holding himself slightly apart from his huddled-up teammates, he met my gaze, giving me a nod of thanks and another one of his small smiles.
Watch out, Landry. You could get addicted to those.
My plan was simple—when I wasn’t working with him during practice, I’d keep my distance from Caden Kelly.