Chapter 6
Chapter Six
DELANEY
It’s late. Too late.
And I’m lying on the hardwood floor in my empty house.
Not a single piece of furniture or box. I landed in Toronto the day before the press conference and stayed in a hotel until the moving company got everything here. I was told they’d be here three hours ago. Checking my phone, I see no pending notifications.
Nothing.
“Am I just expected to stay in an empty house?” I shout in frustration, my voice echoing around the living room. At this point, it’s just a room. Who would want to live in here with nothing in it?
Standing, I start pacing the first floor.
I bought this house after doing a virtual tour.
Natural hardwood floors. Big windows that overlook the main road.
The living room, complete with a fireplace that will be perfect for Toronto winters, flows into the modern kitchen.
My favorite part is the walk-out patio with backyard.
I can’t believe I found something this perfect so close to the rink.
With the primary bedroom upstairs with a large walk-in closet and bathroom any person would dream of having, it was the perfect place.
If only it had furniture.
My phone buzzes in my hand. Sliding my thumb across the screen, I only glance at the caller ID before answering.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Charles?” the older male voice asks on the other end of the line.
“This is she.”
“This is Andy from Movers International. I hate to tell you that your truck is delayed.”
“How delayed?” I ask.
I know it’s delayed, but I don’t point that out to him. They were supposed to drop it off earlier. I have practice starting in two days. The last thing I need to be worrying about is getting my house in order.
“It should be here in two days.”
“Two days. Is that as soon as it can get here? I have practice on Monday and can’t get away to meet the movers.”
Fuck. This is not how I want to start my time here in Toronto.
“Sorry, ma’am. But Monday is the earliest it’ll be here.”
I scrub a hand over my forehead, walking toward the back of my house and opening the sliding glass door.
Darkness is already starting to settle over the city. A cold breeze hits my face, blowing my short, dark hair against my cheeks.
I take a deep breath, trying not to take my anger out on this person. It’s not their fault there’s a delay.
“Can we at least schedule it for later in the day?”
I mentally walk through my schedule, knowing exactly what time practice will be over. We have just over two weeks of practice and camps before the season starts.
That should be my only focus. Now I’m going to be stressing about making sure my house is livable.
“What time works best for you?” he asks.
“Can we say six?”
“Sure. Seven is the latest we can deliver, so that should be enough time.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your help.”
“Have a nice evening.”
He ends the call and I pocket my phone.
I suck in a deep breath and hold it for a few seconds. The only thing I have in my house is two suitcases worth of clothes and a bag containing my hockey skates.
I guess I’ll do the one thing that will calm my head.
Skating.
I grab the black bag and my car keys and head to the rink. The GM and owner have made the ice and workout facilities available to the team whenever they need. A perk of the job I love.
While I don’t live far from the rink, the trip takes almost twice the amount of time it should because of traffic. Something I miss about Vermont. Even on the busy days, it didn’t take long to get anywhere.
There are a few stray cars still in the lot by the time I get to the rink.
My new home away from home.
Given that it’s after usual hours, it’s quiet as I enter in my code to the side door and head down the long, cement tunnel behind the ice.
Harsh overhead lights glare off the ice as it comes into view.
Breathing in the cold air, I step out of my tennis shoes and into my skates. The ice crunches beneath my skates as I push off, circling the rink. A gleaming sheet of ice just for me.
It doesn’t matter what’s going on in my life. Being on the ice is the one thing that always seems to calm me down.
No furniture? No problem.
Stress about the first practice? It’ll be okay.
Worry about the team winning?
Nothing that being on the ice can’t fix.
Ever since I accepted the position, all I’ve been thinking about is doing a good job for these women.
It’s not like they asked to be traded from their old teams. They had relationships with them.
A shorthand while out on the ice with their old teammates.
Hell, some are even brand-new to the league.
I feel like I have to prove myself to them.
I mean, does any man feel like they have to prove themselves when they get a head coaching job or is it only me?
No. They can be mediocre and be in that position for years. Hell, that was what happened at my old college before he finally got fired and I got promoted. After that, the pressure was on.
It’s self-added pressure, but I want to do my best for everyone around me. To let them know that I’m a good coach and will help them win.
“I shouldn’t be surprised you’re out here.”
Spinning on my skates, stumbling a fraction, I take a look at the woman now skating toward me.
Of fucking course.
Lydia is here.
Skating toward me in her white skates—the same ones she loves wearing when she’s not at practice or a game—a bright smile sits on her face. There’s no trace of any makeup.
This is how I always liked her best.
Happy and carefree.
“I could say the same thing of you.”
Now that I’m standing still, the cool air feels good against my warm cheeks. Deep grooves line the ice. I wonder how long I’ve been out here.
“Would you believe I’m working on my form?” Lydia spins in a circle, leaning against the boards in front of me.
“You? Really?” I fight the urge to take in her body. The tight leggings. The black top that clings to her.
Nope. I do not need to be focusing on those things.
“Fine.” Lydia pushes off the boards and glides around the ice. I’m helpless to follow her. “I’m getting excited for practice to start so figured I’d come work out some nerves.”
Long, blonde hair flows down her back as she moves around the ice with the grace of an angel.
“You were always hard to peel off the ice,” I tell her, blowing by her. “I guess some things haven’t changed.”
Lydia moves around me, spinning to skate backward, staring me down. “You still remember things about me?”
Her words feel like a test. Am I supposed to remember these things about her? Probably not. Yet, I remember everything about this woman. More than I should.
How easy she was to give me a smile.
To make laugh.
How good she felt under me.
But Lydia is against the rules. No fraternization flashes in big red lights in my brain.
“You were always the first person in the door for practice and the last one out. It seems like nothing’s changed.”
She shrugs her shoulder. “What can I say? I like being the best student in class.”
“You always did.”
“I’ve got a lot of competition this year though. Toronto put together a good team,” she says.
“They did.”
I skate past her again, an awkward silence falling between us.
“Are we ever going to talk about what happened between us?”
I fight the groan. “Lydia, it was five years ago. Do we—”
“Have to? Yes.”
She stops in front of me and I nearly barrel over her. Lydia catches me, holding on to my elbows to steady me.
This close, her blue eyes are staring up at me. Questioning. Searching.
The last thing I want to do is talk about me ditching her. It’s not something I’m proud of. But I didn’t have it in me to focus on anything except myself and my recovery.
I told myself we weren’t serious. That Lydia wouldn’t care and we were just using each other as a means to an end. Mutual orgasms and all.
“What’s there to discuss?” I ask casually, not wanting to have this discussion tonight. The very last thing I need is for Lydia to get into my head.
“I mean, I’d love to know why you decided to ghost me. The last time I saw you, you were injured. After that? You were gone.”
“We were never serious,” I retort.
“I know that,” she tells me. “But we still had something. A phone call would have been nice.”
It was not my finest moment; I know that.
Looking down, I pick at one of my nails, not wanting to look her in the eye.
That might be a little too hard. I remember seeing her in the hospital after my injury and the look of panic on her face.
That told me all I needed to know right there.
And after that, it was just too much for me.
I went home and kept to my little bubble.
“Look, Lydia, I’m sorry. Was it the best way to handle things? No. But it was all I could do to focus on myself.”
Don’t be rattled, Delaney. It’s fine. You’re having the conversation. It needed to happen. We can’t let the past fester and stew between us until it explodes. Having it now is better than on the ice in front of other people.
“Thank you.”
“Thank you?” I question.
I couldn’t have heard her right. Thank you?
“Yeah. Thank you.” She holds out her hand. “That’s all I wanted. An apology.”
I take her hand and ignore the way it feels. “Then if you’re good, I’m good.”
“Good.”
“Great,” I tell her, ripping my hand away and starting to move around the ice again.
God damn it, Delaney. Stop feeling these things.
Lydia is not your future. She’s your past. Sure, what we had was explosive and fiery at the time, but that was only because we were a lot younger and had our whole lives in front of us.
Now we have jobs and responsibilities. People to think about.
Hell, the only thing I’m going to be thinking about for the next couple of years is my job.
I mean all I want—all I’ve ever wanted—is to lead this team.
And now that I finally got it, I don’t want to lose it.
This is not how I pictured my evening going. A glass of wine while unpacking my house? Yes. A conversation with Lydia about our past? No.
“Listen. I’m going to head out,” Lydia tells me. “I’ll see you at practice on Monday, Coach.”
I give her a small smile. “See you Monday.”
My eyes trail after her as she leaves the ice, focusing on the generous curve of her ass. I blow out a breath. So much for calming my thoughts.
I need to shift my priorities back to what they should be.
Drills. Film. Lines. Assessing players. That’s the only thing I need to be focusing on. The only thing that matters. This team and winning.
You can do this. You’ve got this.
You’ve done harder things than this.
Like getting over Lydia the first time.