Chapter 20
Beckett
“It’s not about getting the puck, Li,” Finley—Coach Blake—yells from where she’s skating at the center of the ice. “You can’t give up your defensive positioning. Do it again!”
“Yeah, Li! Culture of accountability!” Larsen chirps from where he’s standing off to the side, waiting for his turn. “Your mistake. Now, fix it.”
We run through the drill once more, the defense working through PK scenarios while our offensive team focuses on exploiting the extra manpower to score.
Skill-work practices used to bore me, but now that I’m with the Yeti, I’m starting to appreciate them. I’m sure it has nothing to do with these practices being the ones that Finley is most likely to join.
Almost everything I do with the Yeti feels more enjoyable than when I was in Florida. It’s like I have my old spark back. The one that told me I was one of the luckiest motherfuckers in the world, getting to play hockey for my career rather than work some boring desk job.
If it weren’t for my damn body reminding me how old I am, I would swear I have another decade left to play.
I’m excited to come to the gym each morning.
It’s no longer solely about my routine and making sure I make it through the next game.
I’m excited about the future and the things I can achieve here.
Unfortunately, during the game last week, I took a hit that has made my hip a constant reminder of my age.
When practice is over, we make our way into the locker room, the team surprisingly quiet as they shuffle in. Too quiet. I glance around, taking in the way the guys seem to be watching me out of the corner of their eyes. Except Larsen. He’s just staring at me and my locker.
Crap on a cracker. What does this buffoon have planned?
Not willing to ruin his fun, I cautiously approach my locker. I snort out a laugh when I see what’s inside.
“Rookie, did you get this made just for me?” I ask, holding up the apron with a female yeti body clad in a black-and-blue Yeti bikini.
The room breaks out into raucous laughter, Larsen the loudest of all.
“Just a reminder, you might want to practice before the next competition,” he gets out through gasps of laughter.
I slip the apron over my head, letting it hang instead of trying to tie it around my pads. I look down. “Is it just me, or do I look damn good as a yeti?”
The men laugh again, some catcalling as I put my hands on my hips, jutting one to the side in my best impression of a runway model.
“Get it, Kane!” Lefevre hollers.
“Show him the best part,” Li encourages Larsen.
“Oh, you’re right!” Larsen exclaims, scrambling to pull off his gear so he can dig through his bag. With a flair of drama that only Larsen can pull off, he unfurls another apron, this one with a male yeti in Yeti swim trunks. “For Coach Blake.”
The boys are at it again, laughing and causing a scene.
“I can’t wait for you to give it to her,” I say, one eyebrow raised.
Larsen shakes his head as he sits down to start working on his skates. “Nope. I’m just going to sneak it into her office. She’ll never know it was me.”
I snort. “She’ll know it was from you the second she opens it.”
Larsen glances from me to the apron and back before nodding once. “Worth it.”
I can imagine Finley’s face. She’ll pretend to be annoyed, but there will be a little crinkle at the corner of her eye that means she secretly finds it hilarious.
I’m going to miss that crinkle when this competition is over. It’s been nice having a friend I can spend time with who gets it… gets me. She wants to watch film. Wants to talk hockey. Is on the road with me rather than complaining I can’t join some activity or another.
But I also know she thinks it’s crossing a line to be friends with her players—and maybe it is. This competition gives us a team-mandated reason to spend time together, but once that’s done… I know she’s going to put a stop to it.
Even if she doesn’t want to.
Finley lives by a rigid moral code, and I know she won’t break it. Asking her to would only make it worse. And I care about her way too much to ever ask that of her.
“Team dinner at my place tonight!” J.D. yells as the first wave of guys start to leave the locker room. “Gloria will be pissed if she cooks all this food and no one is there to eat it.”
“You going to be able to make it tonight, Kane?” J.D. asks. “Gloria mentioned you haven’t made it to one of our dinners yet, and she’d really like to meet you.”
Luckily, having a wife or girlfriend committed to the team is not a prerequisite for being the team captain, but there is a strong correlation between the two.
I consider telling him no. Giving my usual excuse of needing to cool down. To stretch. To eat my dietitian-approved meal. But, at the same time, I know I should go. Hell, I want to go.
“Yeah. I’m going to try to make it,” I say, hoping that will be enough of a commitment for him.
The double knock at the door announces Coach’s arrival. “Larsen!” she yells, striding in, a small smile on her face when she realizes it’s only J.D. and me. “Did you all see my new apron?” she asks, holding it out.
I grab mine out of my locker. “Matches mine.”
She laughs, her eyes sparkling with mirth.
J.D. looks between us before knocking once on the locker next to mine. “Well, I’m going to head out. I’ll text you the address, okay?”
“Thanks, man.” I give him a fist bump.
“Team dinner?” Finley asks as soon as J.D. is gone. “That’s new for you. Did you confirm there will be steamed broccoli?”
“Haha. You’re so funny,” I grumble. “I’m sure Gloria will have something that fits my diet. She does know she’s feeding a team of professional athletes, right?”
Finley shrugs. “I’d assume so.”
“You’ve never been to a team dinner?” I ask, not really that surprised.
“No.”
“Want to come with me?”
Finley considers it before shaking her head. “No. Team dinners are for the team.”
“And you’re not part of the team?”
“I am, but also, I’m not.”
“Sounds tough,” I say, truly meaning my words.
Being Finley sounds hard. The pressure of being the first female head coach is nothing compared to the pressure she puts on herself.
And she’s right. She’s not a part of the team.
But she also is part of the team. “Do you and the other coaches ever do dinners?”
“We eat together when we’re on the road,” she replies, her head tilted slightly. “Sometimes when we’re working late, we’ll call in food. So we end up eating together at least a couple of times a week. But, no. We don’t go out to a restaurant or each other’s houses.”
“Not really friends?” I ask, sitting down to pull on my shoes.
“Rob is almost a father figure to me, if that makes any sense. He’s the only one I talk to about anything remotely personal.
Sutton and I have worked together since I came to the Yeti, so we’re work friends.
Nyquist is, well, Nyquist. Goalie coaches are just as isolated as goalies tend to be.
And Shaw… wants my job. He’s never hidden the fact he’s waiting in the wings for me to fail.
He’s a great coach, but not a candidate for friendship. ”
I place my elbows on my knees, not interested in ending our conversation, even though I’m done changing. “Do you use an application process to sort through all your friend candidates?” I ask.
“Oh yes. It’s very rigorous. Double blind and everything. Cuts down on bias.”
“I’d expect no less from you. I can’t imagine when you find the time to sort through the hundreds of applications you must get each week.”
A wistful smile crosses Finley’s face. “I think Charlotte is the only one who has ever stuck around long enough to make it through the process. And I’m pretty sure that’s because she’s too stubborn to quit.”
“I’d be interested in applying, you know,” I say solemnly. “If you should ever open the pool again.”
Finley blinks slowly. Once. Twice. “I… I, unfortunately, can’t accept applications from players.”
“Maybe in a few years, then.” I slowly get to my feet.
Finley’s eyes flash with interest as she watches me stand, but I hide the slight pain in my hip well because she doesn’t say anything as I make my way past her.
“I’m going to miss spending time with you when the Challenge is over,” I admit softly.
I rub my chest gently to try to dispel the ache at the thought of not spending time with this interesting, intelligent woman. Of knowing she’s just across the hall but might as well be miles away.
“Me, too,” she replies, almost so quiet I don’t hear it.
But I do.