Chapter 9
KNOX
Normally, I look forward to dinner with Coach, but tonight is shaping up to be a gong show, and I’m not sure I can take another hit.
Which is why I need to send the text before things get any worse.
Me: Coach has a daughter. Her name is Ava and she works for the team now. He said if anyone so much as looks at her, he’ll break their damn fingers. Consider this your first and only warning.
Coach has a daughter.
Talk about a mindfuck.
I slip my phone back into my pocket, not wanting to be rude.
I’ve known Coach since I was a kid. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be the man—or the player—I am today. He’s like a father to me.
Aside from Dvorak, he’s the only family I have. We may not be family by blood, but when I needed support most, he was there for me. And how did I thank him? By fucking his daughter.
You also took her out on the best date of her life.
Somehow I don’t think Coach will see it that way.
I didn’t know who Ava was when I had sex with her, but that doesn’t change the fact that I betrayed a man I admire.
My phone vibrates in my pocket—probably one of the guys—but I ignore it.
It’s been less than twenty-four hours since I promised Ava I wouldn’t let her go, and now I don’t know which way is up.
Fate is a real asshole sometimes.
It doesn’t matter. I’m going to figure this out. I just need to talk to Ava—privately.
But first, I have to get through this meal.
“Is something wrong with your filet?” Coach asks, eyeing my half-eaten steak.
“Nah. Perfect as usual.” I slice off a bit of meat and pop it into my mouth, chewing enthusiastically, despite the fact that it hurts like a motherfucker.
I tore my frenulum eating Ava’s pussy last night. The pain is exhilarating. It’s the perfect reminder of just how fortunate I was to spend the night in her bed.
As if sensing my thoughts, she turns to me, her wineglass dangling from her fingers. “So how do you two know each other so well?”
It’s a fair question. I doubt there are too many coaches in the league who have a standing dinner date with the team captain.
“I met Coach when I was playing in the USHL. I was sixteen. I had just lost my parents, and I was in a bad way.” Those were dark fucking days.
I’m not sure I would have survived them without him.
“Coach was scouting talent for Waverly University, and despite the fact that I was making all the wrong choices, he saw my potential. While everyone else was betting on my failure, he helped me turn things around.”
It’s a debt I’ll never be able to repay.
“They were fools,” Coach interjects. “Anyone with eyeballs could see you were going to be great.”
I snort. “I don’t think it was my on-ice performance that concerned them.”
He waves me off with a grin. “They lacked faith.”
I raise my glass in a silent toast.
What I don’t tell Ava is that Coach and I are the same, both of us nearly ruined by grief. For Coach, it was a career-ending injury. For me, it was losing my parents.
We may not share DNA, but our experiences have forged an unbreakable bond between us, and I’d do anything for him.
Including cutting ties with Ava?
My gut hardens. Anything but that.
My phone vibrates again. This time it’s harder to ignore. My fingers itch to reach for it.
Instead, I force myself to take a sip of my wine, not really tasting it, and continue. “Coach and I kept in touch, and eventually he recruited me to play at Waverly.”
“Best damn college player I had the pleasure of coaching, too.”
Pride swells in my chest. “Since I didn’t have any family to protect my interests, Coach also helped me navigate the draft process. He must’ve hyped me up to every scout in the league. The man was relentless.”
Ava laughs, and it’s clear she’s experienced his persistence firsthand.
“I just told them the truth.” Coach turns to her. “I said, this kid’s the real deal. Waverly’s going to bring home a national title, or I’ll eat a bucket of pucks.” He turns back to me. “And I was right, wasn’t I?”
My phone vibrates with another notification, and though I want nothing more than to look at the message, I force myself to remain present. “It was a team effort. No one wins the Frozen Four on their own.”
It’s the mindset I’ve carried throughout my whole career: team first.
“Yeah, well, if those clowns had listened, you’d have gone first in the draft. Or maybe second.” He drums his fingers on the table. “But even I have to admit San Jose was a good fit.”
Ava’s brows knit together. “If San Jose was such a good fit, how did you end up in Atlanta?”
“A nasty wrist injury, combined with the salary cap, left me exposed during the expansion draft.” I shrug.
Those are the breaks. Just one of the many inglorious realities of being a professional athlete.
“It all worked out for the best. Despite last season’s challenges, I’m excited to be home and playing for Coach again.
I want to be part of something great, and I believe in what he’s trying to build here in Atlanta. ”
Ava nods. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Now if only my teammates and I could get our shit together. On paper, we should be competitive, but in reality, we can’t get out of our own damn way.
It’s frustrating as hell, especially when Coach is counting on me to get this team into the playoffs. It’s the least I can do after all he’s done for me.
Coach pushes his empty plate away and leans back in his chair, his gaze swinging from me to Ava. “I just might be the luckiest son of a bitch in the NHL, getting to work with my two favorite people every day.”
Which reminds me…
“You’re a mental performance coach?” I furrow my brow, arranging my features into a mask of confusion. “Is that similar to a mental health consultant?”
If I remember correctly, that was the title she used when telling me about her job. Now the nine-month contract makes sense. Her contract ends when the season ends.
“It’s quite similar.” Her fingers tighten around the stem of her wineglass, but otherwise she appears unfazed. “My specialization just happens to be athletic performance.”
The team already has a sports psychologist on the payroll. He’s a dick, but I’m not sure admin has realized it yet. “I’ve never worked with a mental performance coach. What does your job entail?”
“I help athletes—and teams—enhance performance through mental skills training.” She taps a finger against her temple. “Most athletes focus on the physical aspects of training, but mental strength is just as vital. The mind and body have to be balanced to reach peak performance.”
I get what she’s saying. If a player can’t handle the pressure, he’s going to fall apart on the ice, but that doesn’t mean I can’t razz her a little bit.
A slow smile curves my lips and I meet her gaze head-on. “Do you think you can get me to peak performance?”
A crimson flush spreads up her neck and over her cheeks. She darts a glance at Coach, but the innuendo went right over his head.
“With enough time and training, I can get any athlete to peak performance.” She shoots me a pointed look, but her eyes dance with mischief. “But the peak is different for everyone. The goal is to unlock your personal best.”
I gave the little vixen everything I had last night, but I’m all for breaking records. “I’m up to the challenge if you are.”
“That’s the spirit,” Coach says. “I want to see the same level of enthusiasm and commitment from every member of the team.”
Yeah, that’s not going to happen.
Not when it comes to Ava, anyway.
The game is a different story. I’m not the only one feeling the pressure to deliver a winning season.
The Gliders gambled when they hired Adam, a former NHL player whose only coaching experience was at the collegiate level.
If it doesn’t pay off, there’s a good chance this season will be his last as head coach.
I can’t allow that to happen.
“Consider the tickets punched, Coach. The guys on the team want to win as badly as you do, myself included.” My phone vibrates twice more in quick succession, blowing up in my pocket just like my life is blowing up over this dinner.
I make a show of checking my watch. “I should probably head out. I don’t want to be dragging ass at practice tomorrow. ”
His brows shoot up in surprise, but he doesn’t protest.
Ava and I help him clear the table in silence. When Coach starts loading the dishwasher, I pull out my phone, unable to ignore the insistent vibrations for another second.
As expected, all the notifications are for the team chat.
Forey: The fuck you say?
Hardy: ??
Right there with you, buddy. It feels like some Twilight Zone shit.
Smitty: I need details. You can’t just drop a bomb like that and run.
McGinnis: Okay, but on a scale of 1-10, how serious is he about those fingers? ??
My grip instantly tightens on the phone. I swear to god, I might break the kid’s fingers myself.
Chromiak: JFC, Ginny. Could you be a bigger asshole?
Not likely. A muscle in my jaw ticks as I type my response, thumbs flying over the screen.
Me: Whatever you’re thinking Ginny, NO THE FUCK YOU’RE NOT!
Irritated, I put my phone away, and Coach walks us out.
“You know,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You two should swap house keys. Just in case one of you gets locked out or there’s an emergency. It never hurts to have a trusted neighbor close by, especially when the leasing office is closed.”
Ava’s eyes nearly bug out of her head, and it’s all I can do to stifle a laugh. “That’s a good idea, Coach. We’ll have a think on it.”
It’s noncommittal, but he seems mollified. For now, anyway.
We say our goodbyes, and Coach disappears inside, clearly trusting me to ensure his daughter gets into her car safely.
That’s got to count for something, right?
It’s the bare minimum, but I’ll take what I can get.
Ava opens the door to her SUV, clearly intending to make a run for it.
“Can we talk?”
Her eyes are wary as she checks to confirm her father is nowhere in sight.