Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Noel
I’ve been ... handling my attraction to Jules in the shower every morning. And sometimes again before bed. I thought it would clear her from my system. But as I watch her talking to Silas in the locker room before our opening home game of the regular season, I want her more than ever.
That goddamn hair. It’s thick and looks soft, and she wears it up in loose styles.
Small pieces brush her cheeks and sometimes her long, perfect neck.
It makes me think about how she’d look in my kitchen on a lazy Saturday morning.
Wearing nothing but one of my shirts and still smiling from a late night in bed.
It’s not much better when she wears it down. Because then I imagine her naked. Her lips parting as I wrap my hand around her hair, pulling it. Slowly raising her chin so I can kiss her neck.
It’s a problem. I’m permanently steering clear of women and relationships, because both end up causing me headaches and a hell of a lot of money. And now I’m perennially worked up over a front office staffer, right at the start of a big season.
I had the hard conversations. Cut and kept the right players. I’d put our current roster up against any other team’s. We had a couple years of building, but now we’re in a great position to win it all.
It’s not a given. We’re going to have to work our asses off for it every day. But I’ve got strong players in every position, and I feel better about our chances than I ever have.
I won two championships as a player, and I want more as a coach.
This career is a privilege, but it also requires sacrifice.
I missed my kids’ birthdays and some of their sporting events for hockey.
My body has taken many beatings. It takes relentless ambition to make it to a championship, and I’ve got it.
I’ve never had to split my fiery hunger between hockey and anything.
I didn’t cheat in relationships, but I also didn’t go out of my way to show love and affection.
Despite missing some things when my kids were growing up, I know I’ve always been a good dad.
My free time has always gone to my family.
The burn of desire I feel for Jules grows stronger every time I see her.
It’s like a fucking barometer. She’ll be talking to someone and I’ll hear that sexy, throaty laugh, or I’ll see her letting her hair down and running a hand through it, and the mercury—or in this case, my dick -- rises in response.
“Do you have a sec?”
I’m pulled from my fantasy about Jules by the woman herself. And even though it’s irrational and not her fault in any way, I’m aggravated by how much she distracts me.
“Yeah, if it’s quick,” I say, not looking at her.
“Why don’t more people talk about how amazing farting feels?” Isaac says from nearby.
I glare at him. He just grins back. He’s lucky he has so much natural talent, because that guy doesn’t take anything seriously.
“In your office?” Jules asks.
“No,” I bite back.
I can’t be alone in my office with her without getting hard and fantasizing. The damn woman is a siren.
“Tunnel?” she asks, unfazed. “So we don’t have Isaac monologuing about farts in the background?”
“Yeah.”
I follow her toward the locker room door, my chest tight as I use every ounce of my strength to avoid looking at her ass. One of my players, Anson, openly ogles her as she passes.
“Hey,” I snap, dropping my brows in disapproval.
He turns away from her but doesn’t look sorry. I’ve told the guys a thousand times that we treat women with the same respect as men, but some of them still need one-on-one ass chewings from time to time.
Perfect. I’m in an ideal mood for giving an ass chewing.
Once outside the locker room, I wait in front of the concrete block wall while Jules gets her phone ready to record. She smiles at me and something stirs in my chest.
Heartburn, probably. It’s going to be a long fucking season with her unknowingly leading me around by my very hard dick while I try to focus on my job.
“How are you feeling about tonight’s game?” she asks.
“I’m feeling good. We had a great preseason, worked out a few kinks, and we’re looking good. This is one game of eighty-three, and we just have to take it one game at a time.”
“Nashville’s goalie Dmitri Kozlov only allowed one goal in the preseason. How do you approach him offensively?”
She did her research. I like that. “We come at him hard and don’t hold back on shooting.”
“Last question, Coach. It’s Romance on Ice night, and we’re having on-ice photo ops for couples after the game and triple the usual kiss cam time. Do you think a hockey game is a great idea for a romantic date night?”
I furrow my brow, stunned for a second, but then I recover. “Sure, why not? Hockey is for everyone. What’s more romantic than hot dogs, beer, and a good game?”
She stops recording and puts her phone in her pocket. “Thanks ...”
I think she doesn’t know whether to call me Coach or Noel, so she decided on neither.
“Did that come off tongue in cheek?” I ask. “I don’t want women coming after me with pitchforks.”
She laughs lightly. “I think the tone was just right. There are lots of women who love hockey games.”
I’ve never been a romantic guy, but if I could, I’d take her out to dinner at the French restaurant one of my buddies owns in downtown Cleveland. It would be sweet agony to watch and listen to her across from me at a cozy candlelit table, nothing distracting us.
“Good luck,” she says lightly.
She breezes away, mercifully leaving the locker room. But now, instead of being able to see who’s eye fucking her, I’m left to imagine it, which might be even worse.
I exchange a quick look with Shawn, our offensive coordinator. After eight years working together, we don’t need words to communicate.
We were right about Magnus Lundgren. He’s still a stud, beating twenty-year-olds to the puck and shooting more accurately than most of them. We’re up 3–1, and two of our goals are his.
I clap him on the shoulder as he sits on the bench, catching his breath after an intense shift.
Isaac is in the zone, his goofiness tucked away for the duration of the game. The goal that slipped past him was impossible to save, but he did everything he could to try.
The crowd is electric tonight, spirits high over the start of a new season. My son, Chase, is watching from one of the VIP boxes. Angie made it back from her trip and she asked Chase to ask me if I could also get box seats for her and her boyfriend.
Fuck no. I considered it for a few seconds, but she has no idea how openly hostile people here would be to her and whatever the hell his name is.
They all know what happened, and they saw the toll it took on me.
Our marriage hadn’t been great for a long time, but I thought we had an unspoken understanding that we’d tough it out until the kids were out of the house.
Apparently not. It wasn’t the loss of the marriage that raked me over the coals, it was moving out of the home where two of my kids still live. I’ve already been down that road once, with Talia and Audra’s mom.
In this case, it’s two strikes and you’re out. I’m clearly drawn to women who will eventually blow up my life. Even now, I could date a divorcée my age, but no. I’m lusting after Jules, who’s much younger than me and completely off-limits.
The team video staffers who make content for the Jumbotron are using clips from Jules’s videos tonight. She’s good at what she does. The guys all seem to be at ease around her.
She made a funny bit with the two team mascots before tonight’s game. Our mascot, Sam, is supposed to be a tough, surly fisherman, and the guy in the costume kept putting his arm around Jules’s shoulders. She handled it like a pro.
“No. Get up, man,” Silas mumbles.
He’s sitting in front of me on the bench, and I shift my attention from the fight for the puck to what he’s looking at.
Fuck. It’s Carter, who hasn’t gotten up from the ice since being knocked down around fifteen seconds ago. He pushes himself up on his elbows so he can turn his face to the bench, and his expression makes my brows sink with worry.
Play stops, and Melina flies out to the ice to look at him, Talia and Caroline close behind. But I already know it’s bad. I’ve never seen Carter stay down after a hit. Even when he’s hurt, he pops back up and waits until the game is over to tell us he’s injured.
The arena has gone from vibrating with sound and energy to nearly silent. Even the staffers who run the video and sound know not to put on some dumbass Baby Shark shit right now.
Carter is the heart of this team. He’s more than just our captain and leading scorer.
Since he got custody of his three nieces after his sister’s death and married his wife Suki, he’s grown into a true leader.
He makes sure every player is included in activities outside of work, and he prioritizes events where their families can be included.
I’m the coach of this team, but he’s the head of the team family.
I think it’s one of his arms. He’s in a lot of pain—I can tell from his grimace. Our bench is still and quiet. It’s our first regular-season game, and none of the players can believe this is happening.
Caroline calls for a stretcher to be brought onto the ice. Isaac’s mask is off, his concerned gaze fixed on his teammate. I know every player has the same pit in their stomach I have right now.
Paramedics go onto the ice to help get Carter onto the stretcher. He’s clutching one arm to his chest, so it could be his arm or his shoulder.
The crowd roars its approval when he holds up his good arm and gives a thumbs-up as he’s rolled away.
“Heads in the game, boys,” I say, even though I know how hard it is to see a teammate taken from the ice during a game. “We still have a job to do.”
I’ve seen career-ending head injuries and skate-blade wounds in games. Whatever happened to Carter, it’s fixable. The big unknown is how long it will take out our star player.