Chapter 9
Finley
“Thank you, sir,” I respond, shaking his outstretched hand. “The Phantoms are a tough team. It was a good win.”
“It was an impressive show the men put on out there. Our defensive line, especially, is looking good.”
Too good, in fact. I find myself tuning out everything other than Kane’s almost supernatural ability to know where the other players are going to be, rather than focusing on the bigger picture.
“Yes, sir,” I reply, waiting for him to continue with his recommendations for next game.
“Well,” he says, gesturing to his wife that he’s ready to leave, “keep up the good work.”
Wait. Does he not have any suggestions for what we should be working on?
What we need to be doing next? He’s fully ingrained himself in the ridiculous PR competition, but that’s all he has to say to me when the team is in the middle of a major rebuilding year and barely on the cusp of making it to the playoffs?
“Always,” I reply when I realize all he wanted to do was tell me, good game.
As he and his wife walk away, hand in hand, I feel flat.
Almost hollow. Definitely not the swell of pride I expected to feel from my boss telling me I’m doing a good job as the head coach, when I’ve worked my whole life to get here.
“Why does your face look like that, Coach?” Larsen asks as he, too, exits the media room. After scoring one of our goals tonight, he deserved to be in there. And the media love him.
“What does my face look like?” I ask, tipping my head to one side, attempting to bait the rookie into saying something dumb. It’s becoming my favorite pastime.
Larsen’s gaze flitters between my eyes and my mouth, clearly trying to figure out a way to describe what he sees there. “You know, like you took a drink of an old protein smoothie only to realize everything has separated and there’s a thick film of something gross on the top.”
“That’s—” I start, but Larsen cuts me off, “Oh! Did you hear about the name the public has given you and Kane’s team?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Like, they’re calling us L-squared. Yours isn’t as cool, but that’s not your fault. You two don’t have the same chemistry we do.”
“Fuck.” Li pauses mid-step as he walks by with the third-pair guys. “Are you talking about the stupid trending team names again?”
“Woah,” Larsen exclaims, looking slightly offended. “I wouldn’t go so far as to call theirs trending. And L-squared isn’t stupid.”
Li sighs. “If I hadn’t been with you the entire time after the bake-off competition ended, I would’ve sworn you started it yourself.”
“I consider that to be one of the greatest compliments you’ve ever given me, honey,” Larsen replies, fluttering his eyelashes and pretending to kiss Li.
Li shoves him, and the two start tussling there in the hallway.
“Oh, hey, Dr. Pearce,” I call, catching sight of Sutton’s dark brown hair from down the hall.
“Fuck,” Li groans as I speed away, desperate for any reason to escape that conversation.
“Coach,” Sutton replies, her eyes never leaving the tablet in her hands. “I don’t have my analysis yet.”
“Not a problem,” I say, falling into step next to her. “I just needed to escape those two.”
Sutton’s eyes momentarily flash to the two grown men still play-fighting as she shrugs. “Do you know the amount of adrenaline currently pumping through their bodies?”
“Do… you?” I ask, not sure whether she’s quizzing me or genuinely interested.
“The best guess I have based on sports physiology is it’s approximately twice—maybe even three times—what it should be at rest, even this long after a game.
During peak-play stress, such as a fight or last-second goal attempt, it would likely reach six to ten times their normal amounts,” Sutton answers as if she’s lecturing a class.
“If you would let me take blood samples pre- and post-game, I could get you a more precise answer.”
“Not necessary, Dr. Pearce.”
She sneaks one more glance over her shoulder before we turn the corner and leave the men. “The conclusion is they still have significantly elevated levels of adrenaline, which is known to cause disruptions to their emotional regulation.”
“Finley!” a chipper voice yells from down the hall.
I force a smile, mostly because I know it annoys Sabrina to no end when I do it. “Yes, Sabrina?” I ask.
“We need you to come to the post-game family area to meet a special guest.”
I try to avoid the family area whenever possible, but this is fine. This is what head coaches do. They shake hands and kiss future nepo babies.
At least I have something in common with the babies.
“Good game out there tonight, Queenie,” Kane says as we pass by him, a heaping plate of salmon and rice in front of him as he cools down on the stationary bike. “Your call to switch the pairs there at the end was just what we needed, even if Li and I would never admit to being tired that early.”
Damn it. Why is that swell of pride I couldn’t find earlier suddenly making an appearance now? Maybe it’s delayed pride? Obviously, I don’t care what Kane thinks, so it can’t be that.
I mentally shake it off. Not the point. “I don’t care how well you played tonight, Kane. I will make you do sprints if you continue to call me that.”
He smiles, and damn it, it makes me want to smile back, even though I know it means he’s going to keep calling me Queenie.
I’m not sure how Kane always seems to pick up on my teasing when no one else does, but it’s somewhat endearing.
And also irritating. Where’s the joy if I can’t make the players scared of me?
“Beckett,” Sabrina interrupts. “I could use you, too, actually. Just for a minute.”
Kane swings his leg over the bike, placing his weight on his right side a fraction too carefully. It’s a subtle hitch, but I catch it, nonetheless.
“I’m coming.” He falls into step beside me, plate of food still in hand.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Of course,” Kane replies, his eyes on his food.
“While I’ve got you two,” Sabrina interrupts, glancing over her shoulder at us as she continues down the hallway, never slowing her stride. “You are the only team that hasn’t submitted the nonprofit you’d like to work with if you win the competition. Do you know who you’d like to compete for?”
“I thought they weren’t due to you until end of day tomorrow,” I respond, worry beginning to gnaw at my stomach that I missed a deadline.
“They aren’t. I figured I’d ask since I have you both.”
I meet Kane’s gaze, and he offers a slight shrug. Guess it’s up to me, then.
“Who have the other teams picked?” I ask, pretending I don’t want to duplicate answers rather than needing inspiration.
“Rob and J.D. picked a nonprofit that supports veterans as they transition out of the military. Li and Larsen chose one that has something to do with sea lions—”
“Sea lions?” Kane interrupts. “But we’re nowhere near the ocean.”
I nod in agreement. What a weird choice for the two of them to make. Rob’s choice doesn’t surprise me at all—he has a lot of family who have seen active combat—but sea lions in Colorado?
“That doesn’t change the fact that they need help, Kane. They are an important species for ocean health and are essential to marine ecosystems,” Sabrina says, and I can practically hear Li telling her the exact same thing.
“We can do better than that,” Kane whispers. “Not that I’m against sea lions or anything. It’s just…”
“We don’t live anywhere near the sea?” I ask, conspiratorially.
“That.”
We follow Sabrina into the family area, and I put on my best meet-someone-important smile.
“Ah, it’s the fake smile,” Kane remarks, his tone almost sad.
I whip my head toward him. This is the smile Sabrina made me practice. It does not look fake. “This is my smile, Kane.”
“Okay,” he says, as if it doesn’t matter to him either way.
“I hear someone wanted to meet the first-ever female head coach,” Sabrina singsongs.
“Go get ’em, Queenie,” Kane jokes, stepping back as I step forward and run directly into… a girl wearing a soft beanie, mask, and a Kane jersey. After switching her stuffed yeti to her left hand, the girl sticks out her fist for a bump.
“Hi, Coach Blake. I’m Lilly.”
I tap my fist to hers before dropping into a squat in front of the young girl, surprised by the instinct to meet Lilly at her level. I glance at the two women standing on either side of her, trying to understand what this is.
Damn it, Sabrina. A heads-up would’ve been nice.
“Hi, Lilly. Did you get to see the game?” I ask.
Lilly nods, looking at the woman in a puffy jacket with the words Wishes and Wings embroidered on the left breast. “It was my Wings Wish.”
“That’s so cool.” I can feel everyone’s attention in the room focused on me. “Are you a hockey fan?”
“Yeah. I’d started learning to play when I was diagnosed. Now I’m in the hospital a lot, so I can’t go to the practices, but I still love it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I reply, glancing at the woman I assume is her mother, hoping for some kind of guidance here.
“But,” Lilly says, a smile on her face, “I watch almost every Yeti game with my dad.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, but he works nights, so we usually record them and watch together the next day. When I turned seven a few months ago, my parents put a TV in my room, so I could watch some of the games before I go to bed.”
I nod, searching the room for her dad. There doesn’t seem to be a man nearby, so I decide not to question it. “That’s a smart way to do it. What was your favorite part of the game tonight?”
Lilly bites her lip and looks at her mom, who shrugs. “She asked you.”
“When you yelled at the boys, and then they started playing better. Usually, Kane is the one doing the yelling, but tonight it was you. He’s my favorite player, but you’re my favorite coach in the whole world.”
“Well, gosh,” Kane mutters from behind me, as I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my emotions under control.
“How did you become a fan of Kane’s so quickly?” I ask the girl. “He’s barely been here long enough for the store to get his jersey in stock.”
“They had it in by his second game!” Lilly explains. “I always hated playing the Cyclones because Kane would make us lose. They were idiots for getting rid of him.”
“Lilly!” her mom scolds.
“What? Dad agrees with me.”
“Would you like Kane to sign your jersey?” I ask, clearing out of the way.
She nods, and Kane takes my spot, having Lilly turn around so he can sign her back. He jokes with her as he does it, and I can’t take my eyes off the pair of them. He’s gentle and kind. Not that I could imagine anyone being anything less to Lilly.
Lilly’s mom steps up next to me. “I really appreciate you both taking the time to do this. Lilly’s had”—her voice breaks with emotion—“a really rough year. You don’t know how much it means to her to get to meet you both like this.
She’s been using my phone to watch the videos from your cooking competition.
Even asked me to bake vanilla cupcakes with vanilla frosting last night. ”
“I’m so glad we were able to meet her. You should come back again sometime. Maybe bring her dad if he can get off work.”
A sad smile passes over her face. “I’m not sure when she’ll be well enough again.
We weren’t sure whether her doctor was going to clear her tonight.
It’s the first time she’s been out in… well, a long time.
You and the Yeti have really been a bright spot for us during her treatments.
” Her lower lip wobbles slightly as she pulls the corner of her lips into a forced smile. “We’re—”
Lilly’s loud yawn interrupts her mom.
“We’re way past bedtime,” Lilly’s mom announces instead of whatever she’d been saying. “Thank you both so much for your time.”
She and the woman from Wishes and Wings both thank us again before the group heads to the door.
Lilly follows her mom a few steps before yelling, “Wait!” and spinning back to face me.
“Can you please sign my jersey, too?” she asks.
“Me?” I ask. “But it’s Kane’s jersey.”
“It’ll be more special if it’s both of you,” Lilly says. “Especially when you win The Great Yeti Challenge.”
Kane hands me the permanent marker. “Definitely more special.”
I sign my name on the four on the sleeve, and with one last fist-bump for both of us, Lilly and her mom leave.
After waiting long enough to make sure they’re gone, I leave the family room, blinking fast as I force myself to maintain my composure. Kane catches up to me as I go.
“So, I guess we know which nonprofit we’re going to pick, huh?” he asks.
I look toward him to agree, but he interrupts me, “Oh, shit.” He reaches out to stop me, his touch sending shockwaves where it brushes against my arm. “You all right, Queenie?” His voice is so soft as he asks that it’s even harder for me to hold on to my emotions.
I swallow hard. Where’s my dad’s gruff “you’re fine” when I need it? Never let them see you cry. It’s literally the first rule of being a woman in a man’s field. As soon as they see you cry, you’re done. You’ve lost.
“Of course,” I reply, forcing myself to ignore both the puddle building in my lower right eyelid and Kane’s warm hand that’s now rubbing circles on my upper arm. “We should definitely go with Wishes and Wings for our pick.”
“Good.” Kane steps back with one last long look at me. “I agree.”