Chapter 17 Sean #2
That cracked me up. Abby laughed hard, and Cassy’s confused giggle joined in.
“That account I set up for sass collection is filling up nicely,” I said, catching my breath.
Mel tilted her head toward Abby. “You see what I put up with?”
Abby grinned. “Oh, I see it. And I like you already.”
Before I could respond, Cassy piped up, giggling through a mouthful of bread. “Mom doesn’t like it when Uncle Sean steals the bread.”
Abby and Mel laughed. I shot Cassy a mock glare. “Traitor.”
The rhythm between the three of them took me by surprise. Abby teasing, Cassy chiming in, and Mel holding her own as if she’d sat at this table a hundred times. Something in my chest loosened. It seemed I’d been waiting for this and didn’t know it until now.
After dessert of fruits and chocolate truffles, Cassy curled up with her coloring book, and Mel sat beside me on the couch, our thighs against each other.
I passed her the remote, but neither of us cared what was on.
I rested my arm on the couch behind her, and she naturally leaned in while we pretended to watch a movie. This felt good.
Abby peeked in from the kitchen and passed through to carry a sleeping Cassy to bed.
Mel sat up, smoothing her dress. I stood and offered her a hand, she took it.
We walked out to the back gazebo, the night air cooler now, crickets loud in the grass.
My chest was tight, half from nerves, half from not wanting the night to end.
She looked up at me, porch light catching her dress which glowed against the dark. My heart pounded as I pulled her into my arms. No more words needed. Her smile said she felt it too.
I brushed a curl from her cheek, leaned in, and felt her breath hitch. Then I kissed her. Slow at first, then deeper when she leaned into me, arms circling my shoulders. When we pulled apart, breathless, I knew walking her to the car would be the hardest part of my night.
Tuesday arrived with the kind of energy that only follows a game like Saturday’s—gritty and earned.
I’d let the guys rest Sunday, keep Monday light with optional lifts and treatment.
Today, we were back to the grind. Dallas was in town tomorrow, and I wasn’t about to let the height from that win turn into complacency.
I walked to the arena early, coffee still hot. The tunnel was quiet, the hum of the facility slowly coming alive. My favorite part of the day—the calm before the sticks started clapping and the chirps filled the space.
“Morning, Sean,” Rich called from the trainers’ room.
“Morning. Logan cleared?”
“He’s cleared for full contact, but I still want eyes on those shoulder rotations.”
I checked my notes. “He’s skating second pairing tomorrow. Keep me posted.”
“You got it,” Rich said and walked away.
I headed to the locker room next, where the guys were getting ready. Some were tapping sticks, others zoned out with headphones, and Porter Macneal chewed his protein bar as if he hadn’t eaten in days.
“Coach, can we still sit Logan out? We were glad for some peace and quiet,” Sergei called out loud for the whole room.
Laughter burst out.
“Shut up,” Logan said, flashing his cocky grin. “Hello, Coach.”
“Glad you’re back. Don’t make me regret it,” I told him.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. It feels good.” He knocked his fist lightly on his shoulder.
“Good. Dallas doesn’t leave much room for excuses.”
“None here. I want Melanie to cheer for me like she did Saturday. She got my best fan trophy from that entire bar.”
My jaw clenched so fast I probably chipped a tooth. Mel. At a bar. My calm evaporated faster than spilled water on a hot rink. Logan’s grin was harmless enough, but the sting of his words wasn’t.
He knew. That meant they all knew, and the way the room hushed slightly, confirmed it. Great. My entire team was now privy to my head full of Mel this or Mel that. They might not know the details, but they knew enough to joke about bar cheers in a subtle warning.
Damn it. ‘Watching the game’ had always been my old man’s code for getting wasted, drowning crap he never dealt with. I’d steered clear of bars unless it was work-related. And now the woman I wanted—yeah, wanted—was watching hockey with other guys in one.
The thought of her there, laughing, animated, with anyone but me, was a hot, prickly knot in my gut. Rational? Probably not. Human? Absolutely.
I didn’t want to control her, but I sure as hell didn’t want her meeting other guys while I was halfway across the country. What was she doing? Asking me to play fake boyfriend, then acting as if we weren’t already past that?
From that moment on, I was all business. No jokes. No banter. Just the game. Partly because they all knew now and that made me feel exposed. Mostly because of the knot tightening in my gut. I kept my eyes on the ice, but my chest was a damn fire alarm on repeat.
The guys noticed my mood. Even Paxton didn’t bother asking if I was okay.
The goalie was chronically tardy but had the biggest heart, always making sure everyone was sound.
And Rich handed me the updated training notes and stepped back like he was approaching a bear out of hibernation.
Logan kept his distance, smart kid. He’d landed his hit and knew it.
After practice, I sat alone in the office, gear still damp, heart still loud. I stared at my phone for a long minute. Then I texted Mel.
Me: Hey, let’s meet. 6 p.m. Across the street at that park by the ice cream truck.
The sun was low by the time I got there, stretching long shadows across the grass. That truck, the same one from the ice cream afternoon, was parked not far from the same bench, the hum of its generator blending with the distant laughter. I bought two ice cream cups and waited.
Then Mel stepped off the curb, her hair loose and flirting with the breeze, for a moment I forgot what I had rehearsed. Her stride was slow, deliberate, hips swaying with that quiet confidence.
She was a heartbreaker, and that was the problem.
I’d always been the one in control on the ice and off it. Lipsticks and ponytails never got to me like this before. Until her. She’d flipped my script, and now she was the one calling the plays.
Her steps slowed when she saw me. I didn’t look away. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. After the thoughts running in my head all day, I was pretty sure my life depended on this meeting.
She walked up, close enough to touch, but she didn’t. She sat beside me.
“Hi,” she said softly.
“Hey.” I exhaled, letting the moment settle between us.
I stared out at the grass for a beat. “Didn’t realize I had competition. When you texted about the game, I had no idea you were at a bar with Logan.”
Her brows lifted slightly. “Oh—yes. That wasn’t planned. I needed to get out of the house, so Sam and I found a sports bar downtown to watch the game. Logan ran into us there. He asked to join, but it wasn’t a setup or anything.”
I nodded, but the knot in my chest didn’t loosen. It wasn’t only about Logan. Imagining her at that bar cracked something open—bars have never been neutral for me.
“It opened a door I didn’t expect.” My jaw tightened.
“I’ve been in hundreds of bars—team nights, media events, celebrations.
But my dad used to say he was going to watch games at the bar, and then he’d drink until he forgot we existed.
He’s in rehab again. For the freaking umpteenth time.
I’m not proud of paying for it; he didn’t earn that.
But if he slips, it drags me and the whole family down. ”
Her lips parted, surprised. Her hand found my knee, her thumb brushed against it warm and steady. The touch said more than words ever could.
So much for being chill. Nothing like emotional wreckage at a public park to kill the mood yet still hoping to pass for a dazzling coach.
She closed her eyes and reopened them. “Sean… that’s a lot to carry. I didn’t know.” Her voice was careful. “The beautiful part is that—you can’t make yourself stop caring. You’re the one keeping it all from falling apart.”
“Hopefully it stays put and doesn’t fall apart in public the way it did before.”
She went still for a moment, absorbing that.
“Back then, my dad could still hold a conversation. He wanted to be part of who I was becoming. When a couple of sports blogs sniffed his drinking, my mentor convinced him to keep it under wraps. He kept it at home, so nothing major came out that stuck.”
“It was a brilliant move from your mentor,” Mel said, appreciative.
“Yeah, it was. But I remember how it felt—waiting for the phone to ring with bad news, wondering if the bottom was about to drop out.”
Mel considered me. “Your life as a public figure is not a walk in the park.”
I nodded.
“And your mom?”
“She passed when I was fifteen.”
“I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard.”
I shrugged. “We made it through. I think that’s when my dad started slipping. The drinking didn’t spiral right away, but…that hole doesn’t stay empty unless you fill it with something.”
“And he chose the bad thing,” she said, gazing at me. “It makes sense now, why you thought I was in denial that night after the team celebration. You were not wrong. Trying to hold it together with the booze wasn’t my best.”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t fair. You’re not him, and this isn’t about the bar. You matter.” I held her gaze. “We said we’d fake-date, half-date, whatever. So let’s be clear… I’m only in for one version: I’m dating you.”
Her face stilled. Then slowly, a smile bloomed. She exhaled, her hand slipping into mine. I curled my fingers around hers, holding a silent dating commitment.
She leaned her head against my shoulder, that smile lingering. “And you get to stake your claim with a park bench and an ice cream truck as witnesses.”
My heart did a little jig. “So far, the best romantic act this year.”
She laughed and the sound landed in my chest, hot, like one of her favorite flaming pinatas emojis. My pulse, which I hadn’t even realized was racing, slowed.
I reached down into the little truck bag beside me. “And for a champagne toast”—I handed her one of the two ice cream cups—“your flute.”
She laughed again. “You’re effectively earning your ‘dazzle’ adjective.”
“You found me out. Nothing says, ‘happy you’re my girlfriend’ like melted dessert on a park bench.”
“Cheers.” She tapped her cup against mine and took a bite.
A smear caught at the corner of her mouth, I grabbed a napkin and brushed it away, slow, careful.
Her lips curved as she let me, her eyes catching mine and holding.
For a second, the ice cream didn’t matter, only her leaning into the small gesture.
We finished slowly, neither of us in a rush. The silence between us settled in, easy and bone deep. We sat back, people-watching, the same as that time in Alberta a few weeks ago. Only this time, there was no confusion about what this was.
I was sitting wonderfully here with her—as mine.
The park wasn’t nearly as crowded as Saturdays were. Tuesday evening meant fewer families, fewer joggers. One by one, people trickled out, and eventually the ice cream truck packed up and rolled away.
I stood, brushing my hands on my jersey pants, then reached out to her. “Come on.”
She took my hand. We walked slowly, our steps in sync in a lazy lap around the park. I wasn’t ready to call it a night, not when her hand fit so perfectly in mine.
“What do you say we hit the theater?” I asked.
She laughed. “You don’t even know if anything good is playing.”
“That’s part of the thrill.” I gave her hand a teasing squeeze.
She shook her head. “You’re impossible tonight.”
I smirked. “Only in the most irresistible way. You’re welcome.”