Chapter 15 Sean
Chapter fifteen
Sean
“Hey,” I answered Mel’s call.
“Hello, Mystery Guest.”
I chuckled as the gazebo chair creaked beneath me. “After last night, I’m not much of a mystery.”
“Not to my mom. She’s still starstruck, and not in the best way.”
“Accidental star, I’ll take it. I hear birds; are you outside?”
“Yes, by the fence.” She paused. “Is everything okay?”
“All good. Hoping to bring home a win this weekend.”
“You will.”
“You’ve got a lot of faith in me.”
“Of course,” she said easily. “The team’s in the top five, that doesn’t happen without you.”
That landed warm in my chest. “Thanks, Mel.”
“Sure thing. So… Sam got Cassy the stethoscope she promised.”
“No kidding. Pitou’s set for annual checkups.”
Mel laughed. “Sam passed it to me, but I told her she should give it to Cassy herself.”
“Cassy would love that. I’ll text you my sister Abby’s number… her husband is visiting this week, that might get in the way.”
Mel was quiet for a beat, wind rustling faintly on her end.
“I’m sure Sam and Abby can figure it out. Sam can even babysit now that she has more time.”
“Yeah, she already passed the ice-cream-truck test. That pretty much qualifies her for babysitting.”
Mel chuckled.
“You’re a solid fake girlfriend. You know that?”
“You mean I was… didn’t it end after the party?” she asked, sounding serious.
“That party was nothing more than a warm-up to perfect my acting.”
A pause.
“So you’ve taken a liking to the role.” Her voice was light; she wasn’t opposed.
“Call it a limited-series renewal.”
“I have boxes to check first.” A smile shaped her voice.
“Such as?”
“A dress that screams ‘taken’ and no ‘Bathroom Girl’ tags.”
I chuckled, liking how she didn’t take herself too seriously. “I can work with that, and I’m keeping the kisses.”
She laughed. “Of course you are.”
There was a softness in her voice that wrapped around me effortlessly. I texted Abby’s number while we were still on the line.
“Got it, thanks,” she said when her phone buzzed.
“Anytime.”
We lingered on the phone, neither of us saying goodbye right away. For two people calling this fake, we were getting awfully comfortable in the role. Eventually, we hung up.
Last night I’d been nervous walking into the party, but after seeing Vince’s face and the way her mom’s eyes flicked between us, I started to enjoy myself.
As the evening went on, it felt natural, being at Mel’s side, blending into her family and friends.
She’d loosened up too, by the way she leaned into me.
We’d played it too well. That goodnight kiss on the sidewalk was the cherry on top. It needed a repeat and maybe a sequel to last through next week.
Monday passed in a haze of replayed moments.
Tuesday morning, the sound of skates slicing across ice was as familiar as breathing. The crisp scrape echoed through the rink, sharp and rhythmic. Brent was out there taking tight turns, driving into stops, absorbing light contact as Rich tracked every movement.
I stood at the edge of the rink, nodding as Brent executed a full pivot and planted hard on that knee. No wince, no stutter, only fluid motion. That was what I wanted.
“Looks solid,” Rich said, skating over. His breath fogged slightly in the chill. “We ran a full set of drills yesterday and today. No issues.”
“Good. He’s back in tonight,” I confirmed.
Tahoe West was up 2–1 in the series against Vegas, but tonight’s game could tip the momentum and reset the playing field.
I was counting on the lineup to hold the defense: Paxton in goal, Sergei and Porter rotating mid-game with other defensemen.
Losing that last game still sat in my chest, heavy like a puck that never dropped.
Now we were back in our own building, and that was leverage we couldn’t afford to waste.
My eyes drifted to the bench out of habit, but Mel wasn’t there. She was off-ice this week, assigned to department rotation. Tonight she’d be in the stands instead, sitting in the family section.
That space was for relatives, but staff slipped into the back rows when seats opened. Low profile, but still enough for me to feel her presence. The anticipation tugged harder than I expected, even if we were somewhere in between fake and real.
Evie used to sit in those stands, too. She’d cheer and tease me about my scruff.
That was before things shifted in our marriage.
Between her career and mine, we managed a rhythm for a while.
Then the distance crept in slowly, until one night she admitted to a fling.
Hard stop. Since then, trust hasn’t come easy.
Tonight, it was Mel in the stands. She was here for the game and for me. Her being there might tilt the spotlight onto us, whether we wanted it or not, and that turned pre-game into tension I had no business feeling.
I snapped back to the moment, reviewed final pairings with Dane, and sent the lineup to the media.
Evening came fast. The arena lights flared, the ice gleamed under the boards. It was game time.
The second period started with a tie score, 1–1. I didn’t breathe. Every shift, every rotation had to be perfect. I stood near the board, arms folded, tapping two fingers along my bicep.
Logan shifted at the bench, rolling his shoulder in slow circles. My gut stiffened. Not another injury. He was one of our youngest, twenty-three, and sharp as a razor on and off the ice.
Brent was back in the lineup after resting his knee Friday. I’d told myself that loss wasn’t on his absence, that we had five capable guys to rotate into that position. But the mind doesn't do math when it’s replaying a loss.
“Columbus,” I called out.
Logan skated over. “Coach?”
“What’s up with the shoulder?”
“Nothing, just loosening it up.”
“You sure?” He nodded, but not convincingly. “Stay warm. Sit this one.”
“But Coach, it’s fine—”
“It’s a long series. I need you right until the end, not burned-out now.” My tone was flat.
He gave a tight nod, the kind that said I hate this, but I’ll live with it, and sat, jaw locked. I turned back to the ice.
This was the part the cameras never caught.
The in-between minutes where gut calls meant pulling a player early, even when the lineup was already patched together.
The crowd might call it strategy, but every decision in a playoff series rode on invisible threads.
You made the call alone, and when it backfired, you carried it alone.
That kind of solitude came with the job.
But tonight, my mind drifted to Mel, sitting somewhere up in the stands; that blurred the edges of the emptiness.
Sergei won a corner battle and sent the puck to Asher for a clean breakaway. No goal, but the transition was smooth. That gave me some relief.
My mind drifted to Mel sitting somewhere up in the stands.
No time to look. Ten minutes left.
Then Vegas scored. One minute to go. Final buzzer. 2–2 in the series.
Damn it.
I followed the guys to the locker room for a tight wrap-up before heading to the press. It was short, thankfully. I pulled my cap low and slipped through the back door, avoiding eye contact and postgame chatter. After a loss like that, I wanted to get home and prep for tomorrow.
I sat in my car, leaned back against the seat, and took a calming breath. The silence was thick. I reached for my phone and called Mel.
“Hi,” she breathed, barely lifting the word.
“Hey.”
“Are you alright? That was a tough, close one.”
“Yeah, like all NHL games.” I played down my disappointment.
“Hmm…maybe. But that’s not what I saw.”
“What did you see?”
“Your attitude, your adaptability post loss: slouched posture, visible frustration...”
A chuckle escaped me. “So, I’m found out. And what’s the cure for that? Because I’ve been suffering from it for decades.”
“How about disappearing in the bathroom for a quick breath and some self-talk?”
I waited. She didn’t elaborate.
“That’s all?” I asked.
“You can add imagery too—think of something that made you feel good.”
“That’s easy. Me picturing you in my arms on the sidewalk as I kiss you? A no-brainer.”
“And that’s where your brain landed?”
“Yep.”
“Just don’t mumble that daydream out loud.” She paused before adding, “It would be like you reading your diary in the locker room.”
I thought for a moment. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea after a loss like tonight. The guys would love you and me teaming up for stress relief therapy—a locker room rainbow-colored panties triage.”
“Really? And there it is, your brain in full color. You need sleep, or therapy, or a full-time filter.”
I grinned. “We already did it together when the patterned undies somersaulted across the parking lot. Others might benefit.”
“That was an accident! And no. Undies are not therapeutic.”
I pictured her neck flushing, her eyes narrowing like they did when I teased her. This side of Mel, fighting to stay composed, was fast becoming my favorite.
“I thought you should hear it here before it aired on a giant jumbotron during a game interview,” I added, unable to stop myself.
“You wouldn’t dare!”
I laughed, full-out, no filter. She was scandalized in the best way, deserving popcorn and a slow clap. And hell, I liked it. That kind of laughter after a loss was new. Normally, I’d shut down, bury myself in tape and self-critiques until two in the morning.
I’d built my whole reputation on outworking everyone, proving that becoming head coach as a thirty-seven-year-old hadn’t been a fluke but something I earned one brutal season at a time.
But with her, I found myself cracking open instead of closing down. She was bringing out a lighter, freer side of me, and I didn’t mind at all. In fact, I wanted more of it.
“Dinner tomorrow night after the game? It’ll be a late one, playoff style.”
“So that you can raid me with teases?”
I chuckled again. “Will tone it down, I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Her “yes” burned off the loss even more, which was ridiculous because we weren’t even dating. Hell, we were barely pretending.