Chapter 10
CHAPTER
TEN
WILDER
The inside of the arena is vibrating with energy, and as I stand in the players’ box with my clipboard in hand, gazing around the room, an assault of memories hits me square in the chest.
The days that I played on this same ice, in the same arena, come flooding back, and even though it feels like a lifetime ago, I can still remember the way it felt standing there in a jersey that I had just begun to fill out, wearing skates that properly fit for the first time in my life.
I felt in over my head and like I would never measure up to the guys on my team.
I was a rookie freshman, a poor kid who had worked his entire life to have a chance to be on the ice.
I never wanted anything more.
I would’ve given up anything to make it to the college leagues so I could make it out of here and go pro.
Funny how life fucks you like that. I had it all, and somehow, I still ended up back in this shithole town in the place I only ever wanted to leave.
Fuck your ten-year plan. If nothing else, life and all those best-laid plans will humble you, and you learn quickly just how fast everything can change. In the blink of an eye.
I was fucked from the start.
“Wilder.”
I blink, clearing the shit running through my head, and look over to find Coach Taylor walking into the box.
I nod. “Coach.”
“You ready for this?” he says as he comes to a stop beside me, his shoulder ghosting mine as we stare out onto the ice.
“Not the first game I’ve had here.”
He chuckles lowly and shrugs. “Yeah, but it is your first as a coach. Whole different playing field.”
Yeah, he’s right about that.
“Bet you never thought you’d be back here, did you?” he adds, and I stiffen slightly.
I hate that fucking reminder. Yet I can’t stop hearing it.
“I didn’t,” I finally say as I lift my clipboard and scan the page before looking back at him. “But then again, I didn’t anticipate half the shit happening in my life that did. Learned to roll with it.”
Coach nods, and his eyes soften.
He’s been where I’m at right now, a new coach fresh out of the NHL. But his story is different. He had a much longer, successful career with the Blackhawks, and it didn’t end the way mine did. His didn’t end on someone else’s terms.
“It might not be what you imagined, Wilder, but something tells me that this is where you were meant to end up. You’re a damn good coach, you know that?”
“Not sure I’d say that.”
He shakes his head as he angles his body toward me. We’re similarly built, and he might have fifteen years on me, but he’s still got the athleticism of when he played.
“I will. Not everyone can step into this role. They might be incredible on the ice, but that doesn’t mean they’ll be an incredible coach.
A leader. But even in the short time that I’ve seen you interacting with these kids, teaching them…
I can tell that you’re one of the people who have what it takes.
I know it might not be where you want to be, or it didn’t happen the way you wanted it to, but I think you could learn something from them as well. ”
I want to scoff and tell him that there’s nothing these fucking kids can give me except a headache, but I keep my commentary to myself, nodding instead.
He reaches over, clapping me on the shoulder. “Enough of the mushy shit. I just wanted you to know that. Guys will be out here any minute for warm-up. Let’s do this.”
Even after he’s gone, I’m still thinking about the conversation. I don’t think I’m at all equipped to be even a fraction of a coach that he is, and honestly, it’s not what I’m here for anyway.
I’m here to play nice and get out.
That’s it.
After pulling Savoy aside and having a word with him about what we went over at practice on Tuesday, reminding him to predict and not react, I walk back to the boards. Propping my elbows on the top, I scan the ice, my gaze moving over every single guy on the ice and what he’s doing to warm up.
Most are stretching, doing a few laps around the ice, shooting pucks back and forth.
But then I spot Bennett fucking Legros leaning against the boards, a cocky smirk hanging on his lips as he reaches up and tucks a piece of hair behind the ear of a blonde standing on the other side.
It doesn’t take me long to figure out who that blonde is.
The one who always seems to appear at the most inconvenient times and makes my blood pressure sail through the roof, questioning every single ounce of self-control that I possess, which admittedly is not much.
Clearly. Or I wouldn’t be in this nightmare of a clusterfuck I’m in now.
She swats his hand away, but he winks, leaning in even closer as if it’s an invitation.
My fingers tighten around the tops of the boards, my knuckles flashing white beneath the dark ink on my hands, the wood creaking loudly.
Faintly, the edges of my vision turn hazy when she tosses back her head and laughs, the sound so fucking beautiful, so goddamn sweet, at whatever dumb shit he’s said to her.
Watching the two of them flirting, making eyes at each other like they’re in high school, makes me want to lose my shit.
Right now, I don’t give a damn if I have the right to feel the way I do. I don’t give a single fuck that seeing Maisie with him causes my stomach to coil, burning hotly beneath the surface.
Goddamnit.
She’s not mine, yet seeing him touch her, make her laugh, flirt with her, it pisses me off.
I let go of the wood before I splinter it and make my way down the boards toward them. As I get closer, I can hear him throw weak line after weak line at her, truly expecting her to bite.
Christ.
He’s got as much game as a fucking puppy who just got his balls snipped.
I clear my throat, and Legros’s eyes dart to mine, that smug smirk falling off his lips so comically fast I have to suppress a laugh.
He looks a little scared, if I’m being honest.
Good.
“Legros. Shouldn’t you be out there warming up for the game that starts in…” I lift my arm, pulling back the cuff of my suit to look at the time on my watch. “Fifteen minutes?”
“Yes. I mean, yes, sir,” he says, shifting on his skates with an expression that’s a mixture of guilt and irritation. “Sorry, Coach Hawthorne. I was just catching up with my girl.”
His girl?
What the fuck? How did I not know this?
My attention moves to Maisie, and a flush moves to her cheeks.
“You’re here to play hockey, Legros, not talk to your girlfriend,” I say. “Take some laps. Go.”
He mutters a quick apology to her and then darts off in the opposite direction down the boards.
Maisie turns to face me, and I force my gaze to remain on her face. My jaw feels so tense, so fucking tight, it might snap from the weight of gritting my teeth together.
She reaches up and tucks a stray piece of golden hair behind her ear, the same loose piece stupid fucking Legros was messing with. “We’re n—”
I cut her off. “In the future, please refrain from flirting with my players while they should be playing hockey.”
Her eyes widen into big, blue saucers, surprise written on her features at the harsh bite in my tone, her mouth falling open, forming the perfect O.
She quickly recovers, the space between her blonde brows pinching tight, eyes narrowing and lips pursed. “I was not flirting with him. We’re just friends. Not that it’s any of your business.”
I step closer, even though I shouldn’t, and she straightens her spine. “Becomes my business when you’re distracting my players from what they’re here to do… while wearing…”
I drop my gaze pointedly down her body, over the pink dress that stops mid-thigh.
A dick fucking move on my part, and I know it, but I’m pissed, and hitting her wherever the hell I can is the only goal I have right now.
This is what I do best. I get pissed, I let that anger consume me, and I lash the fuck out.
Her eyes flare first with hurt, then with anger, when my lip tugs into a smug smirk, but before she can say anything, the lights begin to dim, signaling the start of the game.
“Enjoy the game,” I say dismissively, not even glancing at her as I walk away.
I sure will, knowing I’m going to have Bennett Legros skate till he pukes just because I fucking can.
Might be the only goddamn perk to being called Coach.