Chapter 25 #2
Beside her, Gina’s hand flew to her mouth, and Nettie mimicked the movement without realizing it.
Several of the Coyotes’ wives mirrored them, their wide eyes fixed on the fight.
Around them, though, Coyotes fans were on their feet, shouting, fists pumping the air, voices thick with approval.
The energy was electric, frenzied—half shock, half exhilaration.
Then came the gasp.
“That’s why we’re Coyotes!” Aimee yelled proudly, her voice piercing above the din. It was enough to rally part of the crowd into thunderous cheers, as if her declaration alone had given them permission to revel in what had just happened.
The wall of Coyotes players shifted, pulling back slightly.
Nettie’s breath caught.
There was Tate, gripping the Kodiak player by the front of his jersey, his knuckles raw, his chest heaving with fury. Blood dripped from the other man’s lip. And yet, Tate wasn’t finished.
The referee parted the dark jerseys like a prophet cutting through a sea of bodies. Overhead, a microphone dangled down, catching every word in a silence that seemed impossible after the riotous noise a moment ago.
“… If you ever take a dirty shot like that at one of my teammates again, you’ll never play again,” Tate snarled, his voice low, dangerous, every word vibrating with venom.
His finger jabbed toward the Kodiak player’s face, commanding attention.
“You’re lucky that my brother is okay… and that I don’t finish the job now. ”
“We’re better than this, better than you…” Batiste screamed at him, puffing up his chest angrily as he began mouthing off now that he wasn’t dazed from the impact. He spat blood onto the ice as several players tried to grab him, pulling him away.
The referee’s call came sharp, final, and merciless. “Intentional slew foot and unsportsmanlike conduct!”
The crowd erupted into cheers as the Kodiak was removed from the game. Nettie blinked, startled at the term.
“What’s ‘slew foot’?” she asked, her voice pitched higher than normal as she turned to Gina.
“He kicked Batiste on the back of the legs, knocking them out from under him on the ice. That’s why he went sprawling—and honestly, I’m surprised Tate didn’t beat him up worse,” Gina replied distractedly, her gaze glued to the ice as the players began lining up again, adrenaline still humming through the arena.
“He’s got an image to uphold,” Nettie replied, her voice proud with understanding as she watched Tate. Her eyes tracked Tate as he barked orders, steadying the team like nothing had happened, his voice cutting through the fray.
When the referee reached for him, Tate shook his hand firmly. It was a silent exchange of respect that sent another thrill through her chest. He wasn’t just brute force—he was discipline, control, a leader who knew when to draw the line.
And Nettie… Nettie couldn’t look away.
She felt her heart stumble, then race, spiraling out of control in ways she hadn’t been ready for.
The more she saw of him—the man behind the still reserve, that grumpiness he showed everyone, and the fire beneath the armor—the harder she was falling.
Her amazement mixed with admiration, and that melted into something warmer, sweeter, more dangerous.
Something within her was spiraling out of control and she felt it. Oh that fear of being hurt by Tate once again was still there, but her heart?
Her heart was falling.
Again.
The game was over.
The adrenaline from the crowd had thinned into the low, steady hum of voices filtering through the arena walls, but Nettie still felt the echo of it reverberating inside her chest. Once again, she found herself in the waiting lounge where the players’ families and friends gathered.
The first time she’d stepped foot in this room, she’d felt like an outsider—hovering at the edge, unsure where to stand, how to act, what to say.
Tonight felt different.
Tonight, she belonged.
Smiles greeted her now, heads lifted in recognition.
People waved her over, folded her into their circles, included her in their chatter without hesitation.
It wasn’t just politeness anymore; it was familiarity.
Nettie realized with a soft swell of wonder that this was what it felt like when life began to shift and mold around something unexpected.
It was almost like a new shoe she hadn’t tried on before, wasn’t sure she needed… and surprisingly?
It fit.
“Oh my gosh, Theo is going to be so mad someone got him,” Aimee chuckled, rubbing her stomach as though to soothe both herself and the baby she carried. Her expression softened, though her eyes twinkled. “I’m glad he’s all right, but boy is he going to be in a mood.”
“I bet,” Becca replied with a grin, her hands folded neatly over her lap. “I’m just glad it wasn’t Travis—no offense…”
“None taken,” Aimee assured quickly.
Becca lowered her voice a little, glancing around before continuing. “His knees were really bothering him yesterday after practice, and this might be his last season.” She paused, chewing her bottom lip, then added in a conspiratorial whisper, “You did not hear me say that.”
“Never heard a thing,” Nettie and Gina said at the same time, exchanging a surprised look. They all understood the unspoken rule: complaining behind closed doors was one thing. Doing it here, where the wrong ears could twist words into rumors, was entirely another.
Time to change the subject, she thought.
“Your brother did good tonight,” Nettie smoothed her hands over her knees and nervously tossed that out casually to Gina beside her, pride warming her cheeks with a blush.
The words had tumbled out before she could stop them, and she immediately felt self-conscious.
Why was she gushing about Tate to his sister?
Still, it was true—he had been incredible, and Nettie was so proud of his accomplishments that she couldn’t hold it in.
“His ego isn’t gonna fit through the door,” Gina smirked, rolling her eyes in exasperation. That drew laughter from several of the other women nearby. “But yeah, he did amazing. I couldn’t believe he didn’t finish beating that guy to a pulp.”
“Families were watching,” Nettie offered carefully, though her lips tugged upward.
“His team was watching,” Becca corrected with pointed emphasis, her smile sharp with knowing.
“Amen,” Aimee agreed, nodding firmly. “That is not something my husband will forget. Tate made a friend for life by pounding that Kodiak for Theo while he was pulling himself together.”
As if summoned by her words, the door opened with a rush of noise and cold air. Theo appeared first, battered but victorious, with a split lip and a blossoming bruise darkening around his eye. And yet he wore a cocky grin that said the win more than made up for it.
“Ma chérie,” he murmured to his wife, voice rich with exhaustion and affection. “Allons-y… Let’s go. I’m tired.”
Other players filed in behind him, trailing laughter and half-muttered conversations that floated across the lounge.
“That was such a good game…”
“Cassidy actually gave us a pep talk…”
“I thought he was going to chew us out…”
“I like this side of him…”
“Better than Thierry…”
“No kidding…”
The shift in tone was subtle but unmistakable.
Nettie noticed it in the sidelong glances exchanged at the table, the murmurs hushed a beat too late.
A current of unease threaded through the words.
Tate had stepped into a leadership role tonight, and from the sound of it, the team liked him in it.
Maybe too much. What would happen when Thierry returned?
Would Tate willingly step back? Or would his angry, unyielding nature make that impossible?
Nettie felt it settle in her stomach like a weight. Whatever storms the players faced always found a way to spill into the lives of their families. It was only a matter of time.
Then the door opened again.
Tate strode in, his hair still damp from the shower, dark waves brushing against his forehead.
He wore a deep brown cable-knit sweater that clung to his shoulders and chest, paired with black jeans that looked almost indecently good on him.
He seemed to carry himself with pride and a larger-than-life presence.
Nettie swallowed, biting back a sigh.
Honestly, Tate looked stunning.
Without hesitation, he made his way toward them, tugging playfully at a curl of Gina’s permed hair. She batted at his hand with a scowl, but when he leaned close to whisper something in his sister’s ear, her expression shifted. Gina’s eyes widened, her lips parted, and then softened with gratitude.
“Thank you,” Gina breathed. Tate only nodded, then turned his attention to Nettie.
He extended his hand. Her heart gave a little stutter.
Sliding her fingertips against his, she rose in a single, smooth motion, her gaze caught and held by his.
The world around them blurred until it was only the two of them standing in the bustle.
His eyes flicked to her shoulder, to the sequined ‘C’ she had so proudly worn.
“Nice job,” he said simply.
“I wanted it to catch the light,” she replied, shy but pleased.
“It did. Are you ready?”
“Yep.” Nettie glanced guiltily at the plate she hadn’t yet finished eating or cleaned up, but Gina waved her off with a smirk.
“Go. I’m waiting for ‘Round Two’ tonight…”
“What?” Nettie whispered, confusion lacing her voice, but Tate was already steering her toward the exit.
The hallway outside buzzed with people streaming toward the garage.
Nettie followed Tate through the crowd, her pulse thrumming.
This time, though, something new caught her eye.
A sleek Porsche sat gleaming under the fluorescent lights, parked in the captain’s designated spot beside the coach’s car.
She darted a glance at Tate. His lips curved into a faint, satisfied smile.