Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
How not to chirp when you can’t grow a playoff beard
Logan
“Harder! You think last week’s win means shit? Move your asses!”
I dig in, legs burning as we run yet another set of battle drills barked at us by Coach Benson. My stick knocks a puck loose, Chase nearly eats it trying to scoop it up, and Ryan’s already there to clean the play. My lungs are fire, but my head’s sharper than it’s been in months.
Chase glides by and thumps my hip with his stick. “Jesus, Pookie, you’re skating like somebody promised you a blowjob.”
I grunt, shoulder-checking him just hard enough to send him wobbling into the boards. “Fuck off, Walton.”
Jake skates by. “Don’t encourage him. He’ll actually start taking bets.”
“Already started,” Chase calls back, earning himself a fresh blast of Benson’s whistle.
Ryan snorts, reliable as ever, the voice of reason. “How about we focus on not puking during drills, yeah?”
“Again!” Benson’s whistle punishes the air. “Small-area battle, five-on-five, go!”
We grind. Jake chirps, Chase yaps, Ryan’s a steady hum beside me, and Eli’s a shadow on the far half-wall, quiet and coiled. Benson finally gives us mercy with a long, blessed blast. The guys coast in, heaving.
I yank off my helmet, guzzle my water, and try not to notice Eli’s eyes tracking me or to feel as guilty as I do.
He doesn’t know shit. But the guilt and fear bubble up anyway, not dissimilar to when you’re being scanned through TSA and you know you have nothing to hide, but feel like a criminal anyway.
Except, I kinda do have something to hide.
“Miller.”
My spine tightens. I turn, and he’s a picture of casual—one knee on the bench and resting his elbow on it, mouth a flat line—but his eyes are knives.
“Yeah?”
His brow arches, voice deceptively casual. “Why’d Lulu text me you’re covering her school’s Career Day?”
The bench stills just enough for me to feel it. Chase perks up, Jake side-eyes me, Ryan goes statue-still. Reid continues taping his hand down the end, silent but too damn attentive.
I clear my throat. “Because I am.”
The silence stretches, and Eli’s jaw works. “Since when do you volunteer for elementary school gigs?”
Chase’s grin turns feral. “Ohhh, story time—”
“Shut up, Walton,” Eli and I snap in unison.
For a second, it’s just tension simmering between us, my pulse hammering.
He doesn’t blink. “Miller?”
My pulse ticks hard. Do not fidget. Do not look like a man with a secret who left a wet patch on his sheets last night.
I open my mouth, grasping at fucking straws, no idea how to explain this away, until Reid’s voice cuts through, flat as stone.
“Relax, Parnell. I’m going too.”
Eli’s focus snaps. “You?”
“Yeah,” Reid mutters, as if it’s no big deal.
“He’s not kidnapping a damn classroom. We were on the bus, he checked in about Dusty, and Lulu mentioned her principal breathing down her neck.
Since you couldn’t swing it, he said he’d go, and I’m going too.
Kids should meet a real goalie anyway.” His eyes move to me, dark and unreadable. “Right, Miller?”
My mouth is dry. “Right.”
He knows something’s going on. Maybe not everything, but enough. And this majestic bastard is covering for me.
Eli exhales, suspicion softening into something else—distraction, worry, whatever’s been riding him these past few weeks. “Fine. Both of you. Maybe that’ll shut up her principal for once.”
Chase claps his hands together, delighted. “Hutchy at Career Day? I’m buying a ticket.”
“Fuck off,” Reid says without looking up.
Jake leans back and smirks. “Hope someone warns the kindergarten.”
Ryan shakes his head, the ghost of a smile there. “Wear a cup. Those kids are dangerous.”
Benson stomps past and smacks the back of my shoulder pads with his clipboard. “Save the stand-up routine for after video. Stretch, showers, then meeting. Miller, good edge today. Keep it.”
Good edge.
If only he knew. That edge has a name, a laugh, and the kind of smile I’d burn down my career for.
And yeah, I want to keep it. Keep her.
“Yep,” I reply, but my attention snags on Reid. He’s not smiling. He’s not anything. His eyes are on me, as immovable as a netminder reading the ice. And it’s worse than Eli’s suspicion, because Reid’s not distracted. He’s watching. And he doesn’t miss a damn thing.
Back in the locker room, Chase flops onto the bench beside me, hair dripping, towel precariously low. “So, Miller. Big fan of education now? Gonna show up to Career Day with flash cards and a pointer stick?”
I snort, tugging at my laces. “Yeah, first lesson’s gonna be how not to chirp when you can’t grow a playoff beard.”
The boys howl.
Jake leans around from his stall, deadpan as ever. “Don’t knock it. Imagine him diagramming forechecks on a whiteboard for a bunch of middle schoolers.”
Ryan smirks. “Nah. He’ll just tell them the secret to a good breakout is to body check your classmates.”
Chase cackles. “Detention Day with Coach Miller. Sign me the hell up.”
“Christ,” I mutter, laughing as I shove my gear into my bag.
But Chase doesn’t stop. “Please. If Miller’s showing up to Career Day, it’s not for the kids, it’s for the hot teacher.”
My head jerks up, pulse spiking. “Shut the fuck up, Walton.”
“Jesus, relax,” Chase says, clearly delighted he got a rise out of me. “Didn’t know you were this sensitive about PTA moms.”
Across the room, Eli’s thankfully not listening, too busy scrolling his phone, brow furrowed. Distracted. He barks out the occasional laugh when Chase says something especially dumb, but his head’s not here. His jaw’s too tight, his gaze flicking to nothing.
It should ease me that he’s not drilling down on me anymore, but it doesn’t.
Because when I glance up, Reid’s there. Sitting back against the wall, tape in hand, calm as you like. His eyes track from me to Eli to Chase, then back to me. Reading the room the way he reads the crease. Composed and patient, waiting for a tell.
Chase throws an arm across my shoulders. “You know what we should do, boys? We should all volunteer. Storm takes over Career Day. We’ll blow their tiny little minds.”
Jake snorts. “Yeah, because nothing screams child development like you teaching eleven-year-olds how to shotgun a beer.”
“Educational!” Chase protests. “It’s basically science—all about pressure and gravity.”
I shake my head, smirk tugging despite myself. It’s easy with them. Easier than it should be, considering how fucked my head is.
But then Reid’s knowing gaze cuts across me again, and it lands heavier than all of Chase’s chirps combined.
I keep my head down and tug on my hoodie, but the itch under my skin won’t quit. By the time I shove my bag into my locker and fish my phone out, I’m already strung tight.
And then I see them.
A whole string of notifications, one after another.
First pic: Flamingo Lagoon 2.0. Except now there’s a goddamn unicorn float shoved in the mix, rainbow mane and all.
Second: an inflatable pizza slice floating happily on the surface, complete with plastic pepperoni.
Third: an army of rubber ducks lined up along the pool’s edge, in Storm colors. She’s actually taken a Sharpie to them—jersey numbers scrawled across their chests, captain’s “C” on one, an “A” on two more. My number’s right there, glaring at me from the beak of a bright yellow duck.
Fourth: a flamingo drink holder with a garish, umbrella-stuck cocktail. She’s scrawled a note on a napkin next to it that says Hydration is important, Coach.
I’m grinning like an idiot as I shuffle through them, but by the fifth, I’m choking on air.
Because it’s her.
Sprawled across the giant flamingo, one leg kicked lazily over the side, yellow bikini tied high enough to bare the smooth skin of her hip. I want to undo those ties with my teeth.
Her sunglasses are crooked, her blonde hair piled on top of her head, and Dusty is passed out in the grass behind her as the world’s happiest bodyguard.
Lulu: See you soon, Coach.
My grip tightens on the phone. Heat crawls up my neck, pounding low and heavy.
I’m fucked. Fully and completely.
Across the room, Chase is hollering about dinner, Jake is chirping him back, Eli’s still distracted with his phone—thank Christ. But when I glance up, Reid’s eyes are already on me, watching me grin like an idiot at my screen.
I force my mouth back into something neutral and shove my hood up over my head, but the damage is done. Reid doesn’t say a word, but the crease of knowing between his brows makes my stomach twist. He’s clocked something, and if he has, Eli won’t be far behind.
I thumb out a reply before I can stop myself.
Me: You think you’re funny, don’t you?
Me: Don’t get too comfortable. Those ducks are dead the second I get home.
Three dots appear instantly.
Lulu: Oh no. Not the ducks. How will I ever recover?
Me: You’ll survive
Lulu: Don’t worry, Pookie. I’ll save you a floatie.
My jaw flexes, but the corner of my mouth betrays me, tugging upward again, because all I can see is Lulu in the sun, skin glowing, smile wicked.
Waiting for me.