Chapter 26 Beckett
Beckett
Knocking on my coach’s door at five in the morning is a terrible idea, particularly after getting approximately six minutes of sleep.
But I have to be here. I have to apologize to my friend, the one I hurt.
She didn’t deserve that, especially not after she was the only one who noticed I’ve been compensating.
It took me a while to calm down enough to realize I’m not mad at Finley, and about that time, overwhelming regret hit me. I can still see it: her shoulders squaring. Her face freezing into professional coach mode. A wall sliding up between us.
And I deserved it. I treated her like a complete and total ass.
It was unprofessional, and it was uncalled for.
But what I realized at about three this morning is that I’m not even mad—I’m scared.
Of what is going to happen, what the doctors might find.
Because the truth is, the pain in my hip has gotten worse.
And I’m not sure how much longer I can play through it.
It’s slowing me down when I’m on the ice, and I’m terrified of what that means for my future and my ability to play the game I love so much.
And I took that fear out on Finley when she was just doing her job.
At eight, I’ll apologize to my coach for being a hothead. But it’s two very different apologies.
The breakfast burrito and coffee from the shop four miles from here—the only one open at this time—are just so I have something to do with my hands. I know food and a warm beverage aren’t going to dig me out of this hole, and I feel like shit about it.
About thirty minutes after leaving Finley’s office, the full weight of what I’d done hit me square in the chest, knocking all air from my lungs.
It was inexcusable behavior. It wouldn’t have been okay with any coach, even if they deal with dumbass outbursts on a regular basis.
But throwing our friendship into the mix, like it gave me the right to speak to her like that?
I’m fully prepared for her to slam the door in my face.
My heart aches at the thought, and I use my hand holding the sandwich to rub the ache.
“Do you have a heart problem I need to know about, too?” Finley’s voice comes from behind me, and I startle, whirling toward her as hot coffee splatters across my hand and shoes.
“Fuck. If I didn’t have heart issues before, I sure as shit do now,” I say, wiping my coffee-covered hand across my shirt.
I stare at Finley, clad in running shorts and a T-shirt, sweat beading along her brow. Her long legs are slightly red, her cheeks rosy.
“Were you running outside, Fin?”
She crosses her arms. “Why are you here, Kane?” The way she emphasizes my last name, as if telling me that we’re not on a first-name basis anymore, burns a hole in my stomach.
“I’m here to apologize.”
“You can come to my office at eight, like we planned.”
“No. I can’t. I mean, I can. I will be there. I will be there early, and I will say I’m sorry, and I will do what you tell me to, even if I don’t want to. But I need to apologize before that.”
She hasn’t moved, her stony glare making it impossible to guess what she might be thinking.
I try not to flinch when she finally moves, simply stepping past me to unlock her door. “Go home, Kane.”
“Fin—” The glare she sends over her shoulder stops me. “Queenie.” I refuse to call her Coach Blake right now. We’re not at the gym. She might always be Coach Blake to me, but when we’re here, in this space, she’s also something else. Something more.
It’s still less than I want, but I will be damned if I lose our friendship.
“Just let me come in. Please?”
“No.”
I sigh. “Fine. I guess the hallway works.” I take a deep breath, the words I’ve been mulling over and practicing since I last saw her suddenly fleeing, leaving me completely alone with a blank mind. “I, uh…”
“Wow. Thanks for that. All good, then.” Finley plucks the coffee cup from my hand. “See you at eight, Kane.”
Oh God. She’s going to leave. I’m not going to get to apologize. My chest tightens.
“I’m sorry!” I shout.
“Shhh. Jesus,” Finley chides, quickly scanning the hallway to make sure my sudden outburst hasn’t pulled any of our neighbors from their apartments. I haven’t met any of them yet, but I give zero fucks whether they hear me or not.
“Go home.”
I shake my head. “Not until you let me apologize. Can I please come in?” I was going for apologetic, but somehow the question came out desperate.
Hell. I am desperate for her to forgive me.
Nothing else could’ve kept me up all night, tossing and turning like I was.
Not even the anxiety about what the doctors are going to find when they start probing my hip was enough to push the worry from my mind that I have somehow, irrevocably, damaged what I had with her.
She purses her lips, considering.
“Please?” It’s so quiet I wonder if she heard it.
Her gaze continues to scan me before finally, she steps to the side, holding the door open. “Fine.”
I walk into her space, and my mind assaults me with memories here. Of us watching film together. Learning that her favorite ice cream flavor is strawberry. Laughing as she talks about what it was like playing on the boys’ hockey team in high school.
I can’t lose this.
“I’m sorry, Finley. I…” I pause. She doesn’t need a generic apology. She deserves the truth. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t give to keep her in my life.
“I told you how my dad played in the minors when I was growing up. He and my mom were high school sweethearts, and she wasn’t even twenty when she had me.
We lived close to my mom’s parents so she could have some support, and my dad would move around all the time as he got traded from team to team.
I’d see him when he could make it home. We’d talk on the phone once or twice a week, but you know how schedules are.
” I shrug, focusing my attention on the photo of Finley and her dad.
“By the time I was seven, Dad and I only talked about one thing—hockey. He’d run through what I should be working on, where I should be at with various skills.
He ended every call telling me he was sure I’d make it pro someday, just like he would.
That I’d get called up, and I’d wear a captain’s patch as I held the Cup over my head.
” I pause and run my hand through my hair.
“I’m not sure about the details, but I think he got into drugs.
I didn’t know it then, but I think by that time, he’d realized he wasn’t ever going to get the tap to move up.
He crashed his car one night. Wrapped it around a light pole.
It’d been six months since we last saw him.
” I scratch my fingers through my hair, remembering the stream of tears that had poured down my mom’s face for the first month after we got the call. The itchy suit I’d worn to his funeral.
“My mom was devastated. But she took over his dream. Hockey was life. For both of us. She would work all the time to afford to send me to all the camps and to replace my gear when I outgrew it every year. She passed away two years ago.”
I turn and meet Finley’s gaze. “If I’m not wearing the captain’s badge and holding the Cup, I’ve let them both down. And I’m old, Fin. We both know I have one season, two at most left, and that’s if I’m lucky. I have to get it next year.”
Her gaze searches my face like she’s trying to put it all together. “And you think if you admit you might be injured, you’ll get benched?”
I scoff. “Getting benched would literally be the least of my concerns. I’d be on IR.
You’d bring up a young guy. You’d end up trading me because you don’t need an old, hurt player on your bench, taking up salary you could be deploying elsewhere.
Even if you don’t, you’re not taking the captain’s badge away from J.D.
for someone who didn’t play half the season. ”
“You won the Cup with Nashville,” she says, like she’s confused.
I agree, warmth spreading through me as I tell myself she knows my career history because she was following it—me—closely. “Yeah. My sophomore season.”
“So, haven’t you achieved your dream?”
“Have you achieved yours?” I ask, knowing there’s always another piece of the dream to reach for.
I shake my head, not waiting for an answer.
“My dad was so proud of being the captain of his team. More than winning the championship, at least toward the end, he was just so certain I was going to follow in his footsteps and captain my team. When I finally earned it in high school, it felt good. In college, when they gave me the patch, it felt great. But I haven’t earned it at this level yet.
And I can’t be done until I do.” I roll my shoulders back. “I won’t be done until I do.”
“Sometimes, we don’t get a say in when one dream ends and another begins,” Finley replies softly as she stands in her kitchen, leaning against the countertop.
I shrug. “Maybe. But this, this I have a say in.” Rubbing my eyes with my pointer and forefinger, I realize I’ve veered off course.
“Look, this isn’t about me and my future.
You are the coach, and you have to do what you have to do.
But, you’re also—” I pause, not sure how to put into words what she is to me.
Sure, she’s my friend. Fuck, my best friend at the point. But, she’s also… “More.”
She quirks her eyebrow.
“And you don’t deserve to be treated that way.
So, I wanted to tell you I’m so sorry for the way I behaved and for questioning our friendship when I got angry.
It was inexcusable, but I saw my dad’s dream slipping away.
I heard my mom’s voice reminding me of it, telling me to do whatever it takes to make it happen.
” I take a deep breath. “I was scared. And I took it out on you. And I’m sorry. ”
“You’re not the first hockey player I’ve dealt with who was mad because I told him he had to be checked out by medical.”
Her right cheek moves just slightly, and I realize she’s biting it. It’s her tell—one that’s too damn easy to miss.
“You’re not just some hockey coach. You know you mean so much more to me. And I’m sorry I turned our friendship against you. It was wrong, and even if I don’t deserve it, I hope you forgive me.”
She nods once. “You’re forgiven.”
Relief floods through me, and I take three long strides to her, sweeping her into a tight bear hug. I pull her against me, breathing in her forgiveness.
Everything feels right.
After a moment, I realize what I’ve done. Oh, fucking shit. I’m hugging Finley. Aggressively hugging her. But I also can’t seem to let go.