Chapter 22 - Reese
Reese
The coach’s office was quiet except for the shuffle of papers and the occasional scratch of a pen. McAvoy leaned back in his chair, flipping through the folder I’d brought him, while Holly sat beside him and craned her neck to see.
I kept my hands folded in my lap, forcing my shoulders to relax even as my chest pinched. Too tense, but carefully hidden.
“Thanks for taking point on this,” McAvoy said, glancing at me from under his brows. “God knows, admin hates me almost as much as I hate admin. Having you take point on all this? Saved my ass.” He grinned, a little crooked, but I just forced a tight smile in return.
Holly leaned over a sheet, scanning the numbers and notes. “Oh, wow, this is great news,” she said, eyes flicking toward me with something in them that made my throat tight. “Really, great news.”
I swallowed, knowing they’d finally reached Theo’s report. “I know, right? I couldn’t believe it either.”
McAvoy looked closer. “Well, shit, Hopper. I knew taking over for van der Berg was the right move. You got the kid ready to play.”
“This is amazing,” Holly said, although I wished she’d move on already. “Report looks clean. Says he’s fine to play.”
I kept my hands folded tightly in my lap. “Yeah. Healing well,” I said, letting the words hang. Fine, I thought, feeling the weight of that word settle in my stomach. Always fine.
Holly’s grin widened, excitement spilling into her words. “The fans are going to love this. They get their ironman back for finals.”
“Well, maybe from game two or three,” McAvoy corrected. “The boy hasn’t seen a practice in weeks. He’ll need to limber up.”
I nodded, the pull of guilt curling tightly under my ribs.
The truth: Theo had a partial labrum tear. Surgery optional, recovery long, months he couldn’t afford to be off the ice. Finals? Probably gone. But the world didn’t need to know that. And neither did he. Not yet. Not if I could keep him moving, safe, and focused.
McAvoy looked at me, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Better get your interview boots ready, Hopper. With work like this? You’ve been doing outstanding work, and the evidence is right here.”
I glanced down at the report he waved—Theo’s fake report— and the word burned into my mind.
Yes. That was evidence, alright. Evidence that I’d shredded the original and replaced it with one that said Theo’s injury was just a minor thing.
Like the tweak in Mason’s knee, or Tucker’s constant wrist niggle.
Nothing that could stop him from showing up for the team.
Sure, the thought had occurred to me to let the results speak for themselves. But he’d be crushed if he missed the last round. Missed his shot at making things right. I couldn’t let that happen.
“I was right to trust you,” McAvoy said, tapping the folder. “This is just the news I needed. The fire to make sure the guys seal Round 3 tonight.”
Those words, the whole meeting, hung over me all day like a dark cloak I couldn’t shrug off.
Theo hung around during practice, and was annoyingly chipper all through our rehab session. I almost asked about his pain level, but didn’t want to open a can of worms I couldn’t put back. Thankfully, it was game day, and there was enough to keep me busy so I could avoid any confrontations.
Pre-game check and prep went smoothly, and the guys were on their best behavior, clamoring to get out there and seal the deal against Colorado Avalanche.
“You said your blade needed adjusting,” I called to Hunter on his way out of the locker room.
He shook his head. “It’s fine now, thanks.”
“And your thigh?” He turned back, looking a little irritated by me holding him back while the rest of the team had already filtered out. “Are you avoiding me?”
“Just have my head in the game.” He cracked a smile. “I’m good to go, promise.”
I followed him out, and wasn’t surprised to find Theo waiting there.
“You’re actually catching the game in person?”
He and Hunter shared a look, then he replied, “Big one tonight. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
We moved down the tunnel, Theo just a step ahead of me, the team flanking us like a buffer. My palms were sticky under the gear I carried, stomach knotted in a mix of adrenaline and apprehension. Even with him walking beside me, calm and charming as ever, I felt the heat rise along my neck.
The press had stationed themselves at the mouth of the tunnel, cameras angled, microphones thrust forward, voices droning like bees in a jar.
“Theo! Theo! How’s the shoulder?”
“Will you be back for round four?”
“Game-ready, or still rehabbing?”
Theo didn’t flinch. In fact, he leaned into it, grin effortless, his tone teasing and precise. “I’ll be back. Don’t you worry about that. Round four? I’ll be right there on the ice, giving them hell.”
I mirrored his smile, but inside, every word he spoke was a knife edge. He believed it. He really believed it. And the truth of what I’d done, what I’d falsified in that report, was a weight churning in my stomach. I felt sick with it.
“Feeling confident about tonight?” a reporter asked, eyes darting to me.
I nodded, letting the enthusiasm I didn’t entirely feel shape my expression. “The guys are fit and ready to take the round.”
“And Bouchard?”
“Theo’s been pushing hard in rehab. He’s on track. He’s… ready.” My words were careful, measured in the way a lie has to be to survive scrutiny.
The cameras clicked and flashed, and the reporters scribbled, leaning in for the next tidbit. Theo kept the charm rolling, tossing quips over his shoulder, fielding questions like a pro, utterly unaware of the storm behind my smile.
The team moved around us, Mason bumping shoulders with Shawn, Grayson muttering about the first line rotation, Landon jogging out front to lap up the screams from fans.
And every time someone called Theo’s name, my chest contracted a little more.
Fine, the word echoed in my mind, bright and hollow.
He’s fine. He’ll be back. He’ll play. He has to.
A last microphone was thrust into my face right before we hit the stands. “There’s been a lot of talk about the scans. Anything to worry about?”
I squared my shoulders. “The team’s dedication is solid. Between that and my work, I’ll see to it there’s nothing to worry about.”
Theo glanced at me, eyebrow raised in that sly way that said he could read every inch of my face, but not the part that mattered. He smiled and tipped his head toward the reporter. “See? She’s got me covered.”
They laughed, seemingly satisfied with that. Their voices overlapped as we kept pushing forward, my eyes trained on the bench. My guaranteed sanctuary away from the noise, away from Theo, where I could focus on the game and nothing else.
He slid into the stands right behind me, keeping as close to the action as possible. His confidence, the team’s chatter, the music, and the swell of the crowd… each element layered on top of my own internal alarm.
I had to get him back on the ice. Had to make him strong. Had to make the lie stick until he could truly be okay.
The heat was on.
Not under the lights, not in front of the cameras, but in the quiet, calculated minutes between drills, treatments, and stretches—where my hands and my decisions carried more weight than anyone would ever know.
The puck dropped and the ice practically vibrated under the rush of skates.
Surge attacked early as Mason cut across the slot, and angled a shot toward the net, but the Avalanche defense was faster, closing him off before he could set his hips.
Grayson darted in for the rebound, and the real battle began.
“Stay sharp,” I murmured, though no one heard.
Theo’s voice carried down to me. “He’s a little late on that pass!”
“Quit coaching from the stands,” I shot back, not taking my eyes off the play.
Shawn barreled into a defender near the boards, both bouncing back like pinballs. He skated off with a grimace, arm hugging his ribs. I grabbed the ice spray before he reached the bench, quick hiss and rub, nodding at him. “You’re good.”
Not two seconds of him being back out there, and he got a break on the right, shot high. The goalie stretched, and snagged it. Colorado countered fast, puck slicing through the crease, and Theo’s voice floated down again.
“Whoa. That one’s coming right for us. Tighten up! Tighten up!”
Hunter planted, eyes following the puck like there was nothing else on the rink with him.
He acted fast, diving at the same moment the forward took his shot.
It was the right direction… and it was a save.
The arena breathed a collective sigh of relief which quickly morphed into a chant for the Surge guys. Theo remained tight-lipped in his seat.
Then another turnover came. Tucker wrestled the puck free and shot up the ice, Mason skating up to receive.
His slapshot zoomed past the net and ricocheted off the boards.
Colorado scrambled, but too slow to keep Grayson from picking up the wayward puck.
No time to think. Just shoot. The net bulged.
“Goal!” I called, grabbing the ice spray again for Mason who’d skidded off for a quick one. “Good work out there.”
“We miss you, sweet cheeks,” he called to Theo over my shoulder.
“I can tell,” he replied. “That defensive line is shocking.”
“Not what the scoreboard’s saying,” Mason said with an electric grin.
Which is when McAvoy came over and smacked his helmet. “This isn’t the time for a tea party, Calder. Get your ass out there.”
Colorado didn’t take it lying down. Their winger slashed across the crease, bounced off Grayson, then fired low. Hunter stretched, saved it with a kick, skidding sideways along the ice.
“Looks like you’re up again,” Theo muttered behind me.
Ace, the D-man who’d been standing in for him was hobbling toward the bench, holding his wrist.
“Try not to sound so happy about it.” I flashed him a warning look, but Theo didn’t even try to hide his amusement.