14. Matt
MATT
I’m totally not jealous at all, but Shay has been helping Huang all practice, and I feel like I’m losing my mind. Am I doing so great that I don’t need her focus? Am I doing so poorly that she doesn’t want to waste her time? I just need her to tell me how I’m doing.
To be frank, I know I’m killing it. Only Costy has gotten a goal by me, but that’s because he’s the best forward on the team and he knows how to work me. And he had luck at his side.
Honestly, putting my childish jealousy aside, I’m so goddamn proud of her. She is a coach. She doesn’t just look the part. She’s not faking it until she makes it; she’s already there. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
Coach Carrington, our hands-on head coach, blows his whistle for a three-minute water break, and I waste no time skating over toward the bench, where Andy has his head buried in his iPad, studying film.
“No notes for me, Ave?” I chuckle, leaning over the board to talk to him.
A smirk forms on his lips before his eyes flick up to mine. “Perfection, MacArthur. As always.”
A haughty laugh I know well sounds on the other end of the bench, and I turn just in time to see Huang skating over and Shay walking across the rubber to sit next to Andy.
“Do you have notes for me, Rooney? Always happy for feedback when it’s needed.” I smirk, and Huang shakes his head, laughing before gliding to the bench and walking through, probably off to take a piss.
Shay crosses her arms, and my eyes take a mental photograph, committing her to memory.
Her long auburn locks are pulled up in a high ponytail that swishes across her shoulder blades.
She’s wearing black joggers and a Nighthawks collared zip-up.
She’s seriously the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. No matter what she’s wearing.
She raises her hands in defeat. “You’re doing great.” I can practically hear the silent but. “But if it were me, I wouldn’t have let Costy’s goal in.”
Andy snorts loudly, clearly not planning it. He cough-laughs, trying to cover it up, but it’s too late for that, and besides, when I look back at Shay, she’s standing as tall as ever, confident in her statement.
All right, prove me wrong.
“It was a good shot. I took his bait.”
She nods sharply. “Like a starving fish.”
I click my tongue against my teeth. “Damn, Rooney. Tell me what I did wrong. What the great Shay Rooney would’ve done.”
She shrugs, her lips turning down into the cutest pout, like whatever she’s about to say is the most obvious thing in the world.
“Personally, I wouldn’t have let the goal in.
He was clearly hungry for the shot. You misread his hips and let your version of the play direct your reactions versus actively watching and reacting. ”
Okay, what the fuck? That’s … fair.
Tucking my bottom lip between my teeth, I stow away any snarky come back. My gaze flickers over to Andy, who’s sitting with his jaw on the floor, staring at Shay, shocked that she just said that to me. I would be equally aghast, but the thing is, she’s right.
I followed the play I assumed was happening instead of reacting to what was actually in front of my eyes.
Nodding slowly, I cock my head to the side and blow out a breath. “Damn, Rooney. You got me.”
Proudly, she grins, sticking her nose up. “Told you.”
That sass of hers—goddamn, what has gotten into her today? More confidence? Did something good happen with her arm? Regardless, I love seeing this energy on her. It’s refreshing.
“You got me.” I lift my hands, palms facing her. “Seriously though, great call. Thanks.”
A pulse of vulnerability gleams in her eyes, like she wasn’t expecting a real compliment from me. Her cheeks warm, and her shoulders soften slightly. She has so much armor around her all the time, and seeing her shed a single plate has my heart doing backflips in my chest.
“Of course. That’s what I’m here for,” she mutters.
I hang on her words, immediately replaying them in my mind because it feels like there’s more than one meaning in her tone.
She’s here to be my coach. She’s here for the team. And I can’t stop thinking about how much I’m falling for her.
Jesus, Matt, get it together.
A thousand words hang on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t form a single sentence, especially with Andy watching and Huang approaching.
Carrington blows his whistle, and I breathe out, letting the possibilities drift into the air. It’s time to get back to my crease.
“Thanks, Coach.” I two-finger salute Shay, meaning what I said with absolution.
She rightfully called me out, and it’s going to make me reevaluate my game this second round of scrimmaging.
There’s a line between predictability and using it as a crutch, and sometimes, goalies can get stuck in the latter.
But I won’t any longer today, and that’s because of Shay.
Andy—granted, he was studying film—didn’t say shit to me about it.
She’s a good coach, and we really are so goddamn lucky to have her.
The rest of practice goes by in a breeze, and I immediately implement Shay’s recommendation. Kos manages to score on me, but that’s because our boys were playing like one fluid man, their passes and moves in perfect alignment.
Huang did incredible today, too, and I don’t know how we got lucky enough to snag him in last-minute trades before the deadline last season, but we are better off. He’s young, but he’s a quick learner. It doesn’t hurt that the bastard is six foot five before adding skates on his feet.
After a quick huddle and practice recap by Carrington, we’re dismissed. I can almost feel the warm water hitting my back, the locker room showers shouting my name.
But when we get to the locker room and I take a quick peek at my phone, my heart drops. I have four missed calls from my mom and a slew of texts.
Fuck.
I read them as fast as I can, skipping over words to grasp the most important parts.
Long story short, my dad had a fall, and they’re at the hospital right now.
On top of it, he’s confused and fighting with the nurses.
Thankfully, nothing’s broken, but he’s bruised up and having a hard time accepting what happened.
And my mom is all alone to deal with this by herself. Fuck. All because I want to play my fun, stupid sport. I know without a doubt that I should be at her side, holding her hand through this.
“You good?” Kos’s voice cuts through the noise in my head.
I nod, tightening my grip on my phone and hiding it from view. “Yeah. I’ll be right back. I forgot something out there.”
I doubt he believes me. He’s a smart guy, and that was a dumbass excuse. But he lets me go anyway, and for that, I’m thankful.
I’m not heading to the ice but to the one room in here that everyone else seems to forget about. My secret place. Even though Shay knows about it too.
Thankfully, she’s not occupying it when I burst inside, sealing the door behind me. I don’t want to be near anyone right now—at least not for a moment. I need this place to myself, to my swirling thoughts and relentless fears.
He fell? He fucking fell.
I know he’s okay and that, fortunately, he didn’t break anything, but this just feels like one of those milestones that you dread in an older loved one.
My parents weren’t young when they had me.
They had long given up on conceiving, after years and years of treatment.
But then, a year after they stopped dreaming of having a baby, they had me.
Their lucky charm. Their miracle. It’s a story I’ve heard a million times over.
I surprised them when hope had vanished.
But now it’s like hope is vanishing for me, and I don’t know how to grasp watching him fade away right in front of my eyes.
I don’t know how to live this life without him or without my mom.
They’ve been my rocks through everything.
I might be thirty years old, but I’m still their little boy, and I feel like that all the time.
I reread her messages a thousand times over before finally giving her a call back. As much as it’ll hurt to hear how he’s doing, I need to be there for her. Sliding down the mirror wall across from some equipment, I bend my knees up and rest my elbow on one, holding my face with my hand.
“Matty. Hi, sweetie. I’m sorry to spam your phone at practice—”
“It’s okay, Mom. What’s going on?” I interrupt her, not wanting to hear her apology for doing exactly what she should’ve.
She sighs, a deep-rooted heaviness in her voice.
“He’s doing okay. He fell out of his chair.
Technically, he was sitting up and lost his balance and fell over.
I couldn’t get him up by myself, and he wasn’t trying real hard to help me.
” She forces a giggle to try to lighten the mood.
“So, I called the ambulance, and they wanted to bring him to the hospital just to be safe, given his age and condition. But everything’s going to be just fine. ”
It wasn’t down a flight of stairs or on hard concrete. It was on thick carpet in our living room, which likely softened the blow.
“Thank God he’s okay,” I murmur, closing my eyes and intentionally taking slow and steady breaths. “But how are you doing?”
I can practically see her waving away my concern.
“No. No. I’m just fine, Matty. I’m healthy and able. I’m doing great.”
The words are heavy in my throat, even heavier on my tongue, and damn near impossible to say. “I should be there.”
“No,” she retorts immediately. “No, you shouldn’t.”
My throat tightens, nostrils flaring as my eyes catch fire. “How can you say that?”
She exhales, sadness in her sigh. “Matt, you are exactly where you need to be.”
I scoff, my words crackling with disgust and agony. “I should be with you, helping you. Helping Dad. You shouldn’t have to go through this alone.” I take a shuddering breath. “You’re suffering through this alone while I’m here, playing a stupid fucking game.”
Tears roll down my cheeks, and it’s probably a good thing I’m sitting because my fist has a sudden urge to go through a wall.