Chapter 24
“You trying to steal my position, bro?” Colton jabs me with his stick as I walk ahead of him. Practice just ended. “It’s clear that I need to get laid more because damn, you’re like fucking Elsa out there.”
Chase joins in, “Wilder could easily take any of our spots if his dad would let him.”
“Hey, now,” I warn. “He doesn’t control everything I do.”
“Right,” Chase laughs. “He’s only pushed you in the direction he wants to go.”
“I love being goalie, but don’t think I won’t try to take your positions in the future.”
Colton starts laughing. “Abusing your power much?”
I pat his back with my mitt. “I’m messing with you. Life is just good. I’m happy.”
He pats my chest. “Happy to hear it.”
Chase agrees.
“Wilder,” my dad barks appearing in the doorway, hands on hips as he surveys the team.
For a second, I’m thirteen years old again, shaking in my skates at the sound of my father’s disappointment.
His eyes lighten when they meet mine, so the nerves leave my body.
I don’t think I’m in trouble. “My office.”
I nod, setting my gear on the bench in front of my locker. The guys shoot me curious looks as I make my way across the room, a few eyebrows raised in silent question. I shrug, equally clueless.
Chase claps me on the shoulder as I pass, his expression sympathetic. “Godspeed, bro. If you're not back in ten, we'll assume he's finally snapped and sacrificed you to the hockey gods for a playoff berth.”
“If I'm not back in ten, avenge my death,” I deadpan. “And make sure Baddie knows I love her.”
That gets a few snickers.
Colton says, “I’ll make sure that woman’s still cooking even after you’re gone. We’ll sit on your grave and eat her homemade meals in honor of you.”
Andrew laughs at that one. The visual makes me laugh too.
I enter my dad's office. He's already sitting behind his desk, hands folded in front of him, but his posture is relaxed. Open.
“Have a seat, son,” he says, gesturing to the chair across from him.
I sink down, trying to read his expression. He looks a little uncertain. It's not a look I'm used to seeing on Coach Wilder's face and it throws me.
“What's up, Coach? If this is about practice today, I know I let myself get lost in helping the guys, but I swear I'm locked in for the next game. No distractions.”
He waves a hand dismissively. “This isn't about hockey, Ryan. Or, well, not directly anyway.”
“Okay. So, what's on your mind?”
“I wanted to apologize. For the way I acted, and for what I said about Addison. At your spring party.”
Of all the things I was expecting him to say, that wasn't even in the top hundred. I stare at him, momentarily speechless.
“I was out of line,” he continues, holding my gaze. “I let my own baggage color the way I treated your relationship and that wasn't fair to you. Or to her.”
“Dad,” I start, but he holds up a hand.
“Let me finish. I need to say this.” He clears his throat.
“When I was your age, I had a situation. With a woman I cared about. She was a good friend. It ended badly and it messed with me for a long time. It turns out she was a narcissist, charming her way to get me. Then when she had me, everything went to shit, son. I don’t want that to happen to you.
I talked to your mom, and she pointed out that I’m projecting a lot of my problems on you boys.
Sometimes even on Madison. I don’t mean to, but I want you to know that it’s because I care. I do.”
I nod slowly, processing. My dad has always been a closed book when it comes to his personal life BC (Before Coach), so this glimpse into his past is both illuminating and a little unsettling.
He scrubs a hand over his face, suddenly looking every one of his fifty-odd years. “So, I'm sorry. And I'm happy for you, son. Truly.”
I swallow around the sudden lump in my throat. “Thanks, Dad. That means a lot.”
And it does. More than I can possibly express. I value his opinion because he’s not a bad man. If I could be like him as a father, a hockey player, and a coach, I would be lucky.
He nods. “I heard through the grapevine that you two have taken the next step. Living together. That's big.”
“Grapevine?” I chuckle. “You mean the locker room, Coach?”
He chuckles. “Yes, son. Everything echoes in this place.”
“But yeah,” I confirm, unable to keep the grin off my face. “Rumors are true. It's been really good.”
My dad’s smile widens. “I can see that. You light up when you talk about her.”
“She's it for me, Dad. The real deal.”
“Then I'm glad you have her,” he says simply, standing up and coming around the desk.
I stand too and before I can overthink it, he’s pulling me into a hug. I stiffen for a second, surprised, but then I hug him back.
“I'm proud of you,” he murmurs gruffly. “You’re a good kid. She’s lucky to have you, and so is the Seven Devils. It’s an honor to be your Coach.”
I pull back, happy to hear it from the horse’s mouth. For most of my life, it’s been my mom convincing me that my father is proud of me and loves me. He shows Madison the most love out of all of us.
Coach Wilder is back in place as he claps me on the shoulder, all business once again.
“Alright, enough of this sappy shit, son,” he says with a laugh. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” I say with a crisp nod, already mentally shifting gears. “Coach,” I correct myself.
He winks with a glint of pride in his eye. “That’s my boy. Now go, before Chase starts planning your funeral.”
I snort, heading for the door.
“And Colton steals my girl,” I joke.
My dad nods as I exit.
I give him a salute and slip out of his office, feeling lighter than I have in a while. The guys all look up when I rejoin them, curiosity and concern written on their faces.
“Well?” Chase demands. “What was that all about? You were gone for nine minutes. We were about to send in a search party.”
“Nah,” Colton says. “If Coach was gonna off him, he'd wait until after playoffs for sure. Ry's his ticket to the promised land.”
I roll my eyes, picking up my gear to clean and put away. “Coach and I were just having a nice father-son chat, that's all. Clearing the air.”
That gets me a few skeptical looks, but they can tell from my demeanor that it's the truth.
“About time,” Andrew says, nodding in approval. “I was starting to get carpal tunnel from crossing my fingers so hard for you two to get your shit together.”
“Yeah well, consider your metacarpals saved,” I drawl. “We're good. Better than good, actually.”
“Glad to hear it, man,” Colton says, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “But uh, next time you and Coach decide to have a heart-to-heart? Maybe give us a heads up so we don't have to start divvying up your worldly possessions. I called dibs on your puck collection, by the way.”
“You would,” I joke. I push him off me.
“Guess you'd better stick around and protect it then, huh?” Chase jokes.
I grin, shaking my head.
A comfortable silence falls as we finish cleaning up. And now I’m thinking about how a year ago, I was floundering. Lost. Hockey was the only thing that made sense, the only constant in a sea of uncertainty. But now? Now I have so much more and I’m thriving. I am exactly where I'm meant to be.
When I get home, Addie is on my couch with paperwork sprawled out in piles. I could really get used to this view. I kiss her on the head, and then I sit by her side, asking what she needs help with.
“I got most of it done,” she says, starting to clean up. She organizes the papers in a mini filing cabinet. “I just like to double-check things. I’m bored. Oh, look at what I found at your bedside.”
She flashes me Emma’s business card which I completely forgot about until this moment.
“She came into my coffee shop.” She chuckles while shaking her head. “That’s desperate,” I mutter.
“Don’t worry. I told her that you’re happily taken, so she can back off. I’m just kidding, but I did tell her that you have a girlfriend, and I have a boyfriend. She was really happy for us.”
I smile. “That’s good.”
She nods. “I think she’s in her young twenties, so I give her A+ for shooting her shot.”
“Well, I’m glad that the stalker will stop stalking. Let me know if she keeps coming around.”
Addie shrugs. “I think she will. They come into the bar often.”
“Okay.” I pat her on the shoulder. “I need to take a shower.”
She follows me into the bedroom where a pile of laundry sits on the bed. “I’ll be here doing laundry,” she says.
I kiss her on the cheek and put my phone on the charger. I leave the bathroom door open as I hop into the shower. I’m washing my hair with the correct amount of shampoo when my phone rings.
“Will you see who it is,” I call out as I start rinsing my head under the shower head.
“Yeah,” she says as I step out and dry my body.
“Who is it?” I ask.
As I walk around the corner, she holds the phone up and asks, “Uh, Ry?” She glances at me. “Why is my landlord calling you?”