Chapter 4 Bates #2
When you play against him every single practice, you pick up on things that other teams can’t. We see his weaknesses and openings better than anyone else, and we use them against him.
He applauds us every time we score on him, knowing that we’re pushing him to be better and better, just like he’s doing for us.
We all set back up at center ice for face-off, and as I bend at my knees and hips, leaning forward and down, the air shifts.
A humming sounds in my ears, and the hairs on the back of my sweat-soaked neck stands on end.
I’m being watched.
The puck drops to the ice, and I sweep it behind me to one of our defensemen, Emil Barkov. Only when the puck is secured on his stick do I glance up and over at the bench.
Standing at Coach Rafferty’s side is the culprit, eyeing me questioningly, carefully. Her dark auburn hair is pulled up into a tight, high ponytail, slicked back without a hair out of place.
She’s never looked like a coach’s kid, not until now. But I can see the way she’s analyzing us, the same way Coach does, and I’m sure he’s taught her just what to look for.
Her usual soft beauty seems sharp now, her jaw tight, arms crossed, and lips sealed—-a drastic difference from how she looked a few nights ago with her chest rising and falling, lips parted with anticipation.
I love seeing new sides of her, and this is one that hasn’t come out to play until now.
Emil is feet in front of me. He passes it off to Kol. I move through the motions, skating toward the blue line without tearing my gaze from hers.
She blinks slowly, her head tilted to the side. Does she recognize me somehow?
Coach shouts something but I don’t hear a word.
There’s absolutely no way she knows I’m the one stalking her. No, I think she’s feeling the same thing she did that night at the dinner. She’s attracted to me and convincing herself she’s not. That she can’t because of who she is and who I play for.
It’s okay, baby; I’ll resolve that problem soon enough.
Her gaze travels in front of me, and I follow it, refocusing on the puck and task at hand. What does she think of our team? Of me? Do I live up to my reputation?
Maybe I should give her something to be impressed by.
Kol sends the puck over to me, drawing the defenders as he gets into position near the wall.
I pass it back to him and he brings it into the zone.
I skate into the left wing, Cas into the right.
Defenders Emil and Rurik Barkov—brothers—are positioned at our rear, guarding the inside of the blue line.
Kol passes it to me, and the opponents shift in response. I pass it up to Rurik, who continues it to the other side. To Emil and then to Cas. Kol has skated behind the net, but the opening he’s hoping for isn’t there, so he moves toward me, and I adjust, shifting toward our defensemen.
My body reacts before my mind can fully comprehend the action, knowing where the play is waiting to unfold, and I make it happen.
I flick the puck through two of their players’ legs, and it lands perfectly on Cas’s stick. The defenders can’t correct themselves in time before Cas flicks his wrist, drilling the puck into the top-left corner of the net, right over the goalie’s shoulder.
“Fuck yeah!” I shout at him, skating his way. “That was sick!”
“Good, Casy,” Emil praises him, his Russian accent thick as he nods his head in respect.
“It was one hell of a shot,” Kol agrees, patting Cas on the back.
Coach blows his whistle, signaling the end of the short scrimmage, which means the end of practice. We skate over to the bench to grab some water while he wraps up.
I can feel her eyes on me nearly the entire time, but I don’t glance her way.
We’re less than ten feet apart, and I’m nervous that she’ll be able to read how hungry I am right now for another taste of her.
While her dad is speaking to us, all I can think about is where the nearest room or closet is, where I could pull her inside.
Kol nudges my hip, and I pull my gaze from her. Shit, I didn’t even realize I’d been staring at her. When did she steal my gaze without my notice?
Nodding ever so slightly at Kol, I glue my eyes on to Coach Rafferty, having not heard a single word he’s said. But thankfully, seconds later, Kol lifts his hand into the air, and all of us follow suit as he counts us down from three.
In unison, we all shout, “Sinners.”
The word sinners feels accurate, given the deranged thoughts floating through my mind about all the things I want to do to my coach’s daughter right now.
Hockey and Serena are separate in my mind, however obviously asinine that may be, considering who she is. But I never expected her to show up at practice. She’s never been to one before. Trust me, I would have definitely noticed had she been.
She bends down behind the board and picks something up. As she rights herself, I suck in a sharp breath.
My boy.
Freddie sits happily in her arms, wearing a cute winter sweater. Thankfully, some of the other guys are excited to see him, too, covering up my gasp as mere happiness and not recognition.
My four-legged son looks at me, and my blood runs cold. Shit. Fearing her recognizing me is one thing, but Freddie will be able to tell better than she ever would. He’s seen me without my mask. We’ve napped together. We’ve played with toys together. My scent probably sticks out like a sore thumb.
The guys start filing off of the ice, passing Serena and Freddie with smiles and nods until Kol, Cas, and I are the only three left.
Coach Rafferty doesn’t seem to notice my staring problem with his daughter as he leads her and Freddie down the tunnel, more than likely heading to his office, followed by the other coaches.
My skates guide me forward, pulling me toward the gap in the boards that leads to the bench and closer to her. I shouldn’t follow them. I should head straight to the locker room.
But as my skate touches the rubber on the other side of the ice, I know fighting with my own desire is a winless battle. But I have a plan. If they catch me snooping, I’ll just say I’m heading to the trainers’ room, which is nearby.
Kol and Cas follow me as I walk past the locker room entrance.
“What are you two doing?” I turn back and face them, finding humor in their eyes.
“We just want to watch the show.” Cas smiles, and Kol chuckles.
There’s no point in telling them to leave. They’re as stubborn as I am, and if they want to get caught up in this game even more, then so be it.
Coach Rafferty’s door is slightly ajar as I approach the frame, resting an inch away from the opening, listening intently.
“We should call you Coach Rafferty from that breakdown.” Assistant Coach Mack scoffs, awe in his voice.
“No, no. I’ll leave that all to my dad,” she says proudly, the smoothness of her voice relaxing my tense shoulders.
She has no idea how easily she affects me. If suffocation is my curse, she is my cure. My masked persona may be the one in control in our relationship, but beneath that is a very willing Serena who likes it when I’m a bit of an ass and who loves it when I’m controlling.
Someone asks a question, but I can’t hear it clearly.
She must be closer to the door, or maybe I’m just more in tune with her frequency because I hear her clear as day.
“I think you guys look great. I think your first line seems a bit …” She trails off, searching for the word, and I hang onto the empty air for dear life, waiting for what she’ll say. “Confident.”
Accurate. I can’t argue with that.
“Number fourteen,” she continues, “comes across as arrogant, like he’s better than everyone else out there. He’s risky. That pass to number thirty-one was clean but also bold. He had easier, smarter options.”
“That sums up Finnegan pretty damn well. Arrogant and risky,” Coach Rafferty agrees with her. “But as long as his choices pay off, I’m not putting him on a leash.”
“Maybe someone should,” she utters, and the guys bark out laughing.
What does she have against me? Aside from our one run-in, she has no clue who I really am.
Maybe she’s angry about the chemistry she feels between us.
Although I can’t tell if I should be overjoyed that she might or angry that she feels it with anyone else besides my masked persona, even if we are one and the same.
Feet shuffle inside the office.
I turn, shoving the other two guys down the hallway toward the locker room, and we round the corner just as I hear the office door open, the chatter following the footsteps down the hall in the opposite direction.
We sigh and exhale, and I feel like we’re kids again, running from the cops after … never mind.
I can’t resist the urge to peek around the corner, and I suck in a breath when I do, finding Serena’s ponytail swishing across her back, her hips shifting tantalizingly with each step.
Her spine straightens and shoulders drop. Just before she turns her head, I slip back into the shadows and move into the locker room to shower and change.
I wonder if she’ll be here when I’m done. I know damn well I should go straight home and not look for her. The problem is that when it comes to Serena, I seem to do the exact opposite of what I should.