Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
CONNOR
I fucked up massively, I know that much before I’ve even left the apartment.
I was raised better than bailing on a beautiful girl in my bed, but waking up with Daisy’s perfect face buried in the crook of my neck and her wild hair hanging all around her like a halo on my pillow, had my heart spiking in a way I wasn’t ready for.
It had me wanting to pull her closer and test my grip on her curves. To feel her soft skin give away to small goosebumps the way it did when I trailed my thumb across her hip bone last night.
The little whimpers that had left her mouth were enough to set my world ablaze. It had me wanting to throw all of my plans out the window. So, I panicked, and I ran.
I groan, dropping my head in my hands and resting my elbows against the peeling reception desk at the Southbay Rink. Little glimpses of last night flit through my mind like gameday highlights on a loop.
Yeah, I definitely fucked up, because instead of dealing with my emotions like a grownup, I decided to hide away across town on a half-baked lie. I deserve a beating or two at practice tonight for that alone.
I push off the desk and grab the list of repairs I’ve been working on all morning and head for the old merchandise stand to assess the damage there. It’s all I can do to distract myself from the guilt roiling in me.
That’s where Coach Anderson finds me an hour later, on the floor, trying to figure out how much of the flooring would need replacing when the full back panel is rotting away. It’s not looking great, but at least I’ve managed to stop thinking about last night for more than half a second.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you this hard at work off the ice.” He’s leaning against the door to the merchandise stand, arms crossed and looking all too amused at finding me on the floor on a Sunday morning.
I drop the pen onto my checklist and straighten. “It had to happen at some point.”
He snorts a laugh. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have practice?”
“I’ve got a few hours to kill.” I shrug and push to standing. My knees feel tight from the prolonged position, but I push through it. I’m sure I’ll pay for it tonight. I drop the repair list back on the sales counter and lean against it to face him. “I thought I would put my time to good use.”
“Are you planning on taking up carpentry?” he asks, one brow raised when he scans the list. It’s scary long, and I’ve only just started.
I shrug, feeling a little like a kid that got caught stealing candy. I stuff my hands in the pockets of my jeans to keep from fidgeting. “It’s just a list.”
He lifts the ballcap off his head and runs a hand through the graying hair underneath.
I’ve seen him do it often enough to know he only does it when the game gets really tough, and he doesn’t know what comes next.
It makes me feel a little uneasy to see it now.
He sighs, seemingly deciding to just come straight out with it.
“You’re wasting your time. They’re not going to save it. ”
“The least we can do is try.”
“You’re a good kid.”
I laugh. “I haven’t been a kid for a while now, Coach.”
He shakes his head, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. He used to scare the living shit out of me when I was a kid, but I’ve come to realize he’s a big softie on the inside. “You’ll always be a kid. Give it a few years and you’ll know what I mean when you see your own players grow up.”
“They’re going to be trouble.”
“Just like you were, and you turned out okay in the end.”
“Thanks, Coach,” I mumble, scratching the back of my head, when what I really want is to rub at the tight spot in my chest. I’m not sure he would be saying that if he knew what I did this morning.
He leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “You still haven’t given me an answer.”
I groan. “I don’t have one for you.”
“You don’t have to make up your mind now, just give it a thought.”
“Yeah, well, there’s not much point in becoming a coach if there’s no rink to play on.”
“There are plenty of rinks. Plenty of teams out there in need of a good coach too.”
“It’s not the same.”
“The people make the place, Connor. But at the end of the day, it’s just a place.
” He runs a hand over the counter. The paint is chipped, and a little bit flakes off with his brush.
“There’s no point in holding on to a past that’s long gone.
This rink is a lost cause, but closing it down won’t erase your memory of it. ”
I swallow hard and blink back tears, turning back to my list and pretending that I’m not falling apart beside him. He’s always had a way of getting under my skin when no one else could.
He claps a hand on my shoulder, squeezing the same way Dad used to do that when I got nervous before a game. I close my eyes and revel in the feeling of it. It’s enough to ground me in a way I haven’t felt since I was a kid. “Just think about it.”
I nod once, still not able to look at him. “I will.”
He hovers for a second. Then I hear him retreat toward his office in the back hallway. I keep my eyes firmly locked on the long list in front of me, while I wait for the words to stop blurring together.
I’m distracted and it shows when Finn pins me against the boards for the second time in as many minutes.
“Seriously?” I grumble at him.
The asshole just laughs, taking off with the puck in tow.
I’m left chasing after him for the third time tonight. My mood darkens when I miss another pass and Luke trips me behind the goal a few minutes later. I take a sloppy way out, leaving my left side open and the next thing I know, I have him pushing in on me again.
I’m playing like shit, and I don’t even care.
It doesn’t help that Coach calls me into his office and gives me a lashing the second we hit the locker room. My muscles are sore, my guilty conscious eating at me, and all I want to do is collapse on my bed and not have to deal with another person for the next the forty-eight hours.
“You’re distracted” are the first words out of Coach Reid’s mouth when I pull his office door closed behind me. “If you had your eyes on the puck where they were supposed to be, you would’ve seen that asshole coming from a mile away.”
I grit my teeth, trying to get my mood under control before I say something I’ll regret. “Sorry, Coach. Got a lot going on.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck, McKibben. Next time I see you, you better have pulled your head out of your ass.” He dismisses me with a pointed glare, and I step back out into the locker room, relieved that he at least waited for me to close the door before calling me out.
Half the team have already showered and headed out for the evening, too strung-out from last night’s celebration to hang around longer than necessary.
Luke is pulling a T-shirt over his head when I park my ass on the bench next to him. My head tips back against the wall while I will my headache to go away. I just need five seconds of silence from my own thoughts to regain some of my own sanity.
“Coach says scouts are coming on Friday.” He kicks my skate with his sneaker, saying my name when I don’t immediately react. I sigh, forcing my eyes back open. There goes my silence.
“What?”
“This could be your chance.”
I sigh and bend over to undo my laces. I’ve been avoiding this conversation for weeks. I know it’s inevitable, but I’m not in the mood tonight.
“Thanks for the heads-up” is all I can think to say as I tug off one skate and dump it on the floor beside me.
He nods, as if to say it’s no bother. Then he digs out his jacket from his locker. “What happened to you last night anyway? You disappeared out of the blue.”
I still. How the hell am I supposed to answer that? “I was tired,” I lie, turning my attention to my other skate.
Finn snickers from three lockers down, tossing his towel onto the bench next to me. I’m pretty sure he meant to hit me in the face with it. “Is that what they call it now?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I’m not sure why I deny it when there’s a chance half the team saw us at the bar last night, and I’ve never cared if they’ve known about my hookups in the past.
Maybe it was the vulnerability in her eyes when she watched me get dressed this morning or maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t been able to get her out of my head all day, but I feel protective.
“So that little showdown at the bar was nothing?”
“Definitely nothing,” I grumble, pulling my practice jersey over my head and dropping it to the floor.
The sooner I can hit the showers, the sooner I can get away from this conversation.
“Mm, sure.” Finn snorts, clearly thinking I’m full of shit, but at least he lets the topic go.
Here’s to small miracles.