Chapter 38
Mac
Practice was intense, everyone channeling their anger into aggressive precision on the ice.
Coach Davies had them running power play drills, working on entries into the offensive zone, cycling the puck, creating scoring chances. The kind of repetitive fundamentals that normally made everyone groan, but today the team attacked them with focused fury.
"Blue line! Hold the blue line!" Coach barked from the bench. "Tyler, you're cheating in too early! Stay patient!"
Tyler adjusted his position, stick on the ice, reading the play.
Jamie carried the puck into the zone with speed, his edges cutting sharp as he deked around Luke's defensive pressure. He dropped a pass back to Mac at the point. Mac one-timed it toward the net, a blistering slap shot that caught the top corner, ringing off the post and in.
The satisfying ping of puck on metal, then mesh.
"Beauty!" Luke called out, tapping his stick on the ice in appreciation.
Jamie skated by for a glove tap. "That's what I'm talking about! Keep that up for Sunday and we'll destroy Burlington in the training game."
"Sunday?" Mac asked, circling back to the blue line.
"Game day, remember? Burlington Blizzards. An expo game. Coach is a friend of their coach. Seven PM." Jamie grinned. "We're going to bury them. I can feel it."
"Speaking of Sunday," Mac called out loud enough for the team to hear. "Reminder that Saturday is moving day. Rachel's stuff. My place. You all promised to help."
A collective groan echoed across the ice.
"I didn't promise anything," Tyler said flatly. "I was volun-told."
"I'm excited," Luke announced. "I've never helped someone move in together before. It's like witnessing a milestone."
"It's lifting heavy boxes," Tyler countered. "That's not a milestone. That's manual labor."
"Manual labor for love!" Luke shot back.
"Manual labor is still manual labor regardless of motivation."
Jamie skated between them, pulling out his phone even though he was wearing gloves. "I have the spreadsheet ready. Color-coded. Categorized by weight, fragility, and priority. We'll be done in three hours max."
Coach blew his whistle. "Less talking, more skating! Let's run it again! This time, Luke, I want you pressuring the puck carrier harder at the blue line. Make them work for the entry!"
They reset. This time Cole joined the drill, his recovered shoulder holding up perfectly as he pivoted and drove the net. Jamie fed him a perfect saucer pass over Tyler's stick. Cole went backhand, top shelf.
Goal.
"THAT'S MY CAPTAIN!" Jamie shouted, rushing over for a celly. The team swarmed Cole, tapping helmets and gloves.
"Shoulder feels good?" Mac asked as they skated back to position.
"Feels perfect," Cole confirmed. "Which is exactly why Derek's article is such bullshit."
The energy on the ice shifted immediately, anger returning, focus sharpening.
"We're going to bury him Friday," Jamie said, his usual playfulness gone.
"And then we're going to bury Burlington on Sunday," Luke added. "Channel all this rage into goals."
They ran the drill six more times. Mac scored twice more, one wrist shot through traffic, one deflection off a Jamie feed. His hands felt good. His timing was sharp. Anger made him focused.
"MacKenzie!" Coach called. "Take five. Grab water."
Mac skated to the bench, pulling off his helmet and grabbing his water bottle. Cole had already headed to the locker room, probably needed to tape his stick or something.
Mac was chugging water when he spotted him.
A man in an expensive suit standing near the entrance to the rink, watching practice.
Derek-fucking-Matthews.
Mac was glad Cole had left. He'd been holding himself back around Derek, but Cole? After what that asshole had done to Ellie? Cole would've thrown punches first and dealt with the suspension later.
Mac's hands clenched around his stick so hard his knuckles went white.
Coach noticed immediately. He followed Mac's line of sight, his weathered face hardening. "Want me to kick him out?"
"No," Mac said quietly. "I'll handle it."
"Don't do anything stupid."
"I won't."
But Mac was already skating toward the boards where Derek stood.
Derek smiled as Mac approached. That professional, reasonable smile that made Mac want to punch something. Him especially.
"Ryan MacKenzie," Derek said pleasantly, like they were old friends meeting for coffee. "Mind if we talk for a moment?"
"Yes, I mind. You should leave." Mac's words dropped the temperature in the room. "This is a closed practice."
"The door was unlocked. I assumed visitors were welcome." Derek's tone was maddeningly casual. "I wanted to see the team in action. Very impressive. You have real talent."
"Cut the bullshit, Matthews. Why are you here?"
"I understand you're upset about the article. But I want you to know, it's nothing personal against Ellie. It's simply professional concern about proper medical oversight and qualified care for athletes—"
"Bullshit." Mac kept his voice low, controlled, but the fury was evident. "You targeted Ellie because she succeeded where big-city doctors failed. You can't stand that a small-town practitioner is better at her job than you."
Derek's smile never wavered. "I understand that's how it might appear from your perspective. You're loyal to your team, to this town. That's admirable."
"You stay away from the team. From Ellie. From Rachel."
Derek raised his hands slightly, his expression amused. "So aggressive. Just like every other hockey player I've worked with, all passion, no strategy." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "But Mac, can I offer you some professional advice? Athlete to athlete?"
"No."
"I will anyways. Rachel Morrison is a lovely woman.
Intelligent, stable. All excellent qualities for someone settling down.
" Derek's tone was conversational, like they were discussing playoff brackets.
"But I've worked with professional athletes for fifteen years.
I've seen what happens when talented players tie themselves to small towns and relationships that limit their potential. "
Mac's jaw locked. His stick felt like it might snap in his grip. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying you're young, talented. You have real potential beyond minor league hockey in Vermont.
But staying here, playing for the Eagles, dating a small-town librarian, you're actively limiting yourself.
" Derek paused, letting the words sink in.
"I saw the same pattern with Brad Reese.
His relationship with Rachel held him back from opportunities that could have transformed his career. "
"Brad was an asshole who publicly humiliated Rachel because you told him to."
"I encouraged Brad to prioritize his future and his potential.
Is that really so terrible?" Derek's expression was maddeningly sympathetic.
"Mac, I'm not telling you to leave Rachel.
I'm simply asking; have you thought about what staying in Evergreen Cove means long-term?
What you're giving up for a relationship that may or may not last? "
"I've turned down bigger offers for years. Long before I met Rachel."
"Have you? Or have you told yourself that to justify staying in your comfort zone?" Derek tilted his head, studying Mac like a specimen. "Mac, you're limiting yourself. And eventually, you'll realize that. And Rachel knows that. Deep down, she knows you'll eventually leave, just like Brad did."
Mac wanted to punch him. Wanted to grab Derek by his expensive suit and throw him out of the rink.
But part of him, a small, treacherous part, wondered: What if he's right? What if I am limiting myself?
No. That was crazy. Mac loved Evergreen Cove. Loved his team. Loved Rachel.
But Derek's words had planted something.
Not about Rachel. About whether he was being completely honest with himself about his hockey choices.
No. That was Derek's manipulation working. That was exactly what he wanted.
"You should leave," Mac said.
"Of course. I apologize if I've upset you." Derek turned to leave, then paused, glancing back. "Oh, and Mac? You should ask Rachel about our conversation at the coffee shop. What I told her there. Or rather what she told me. I think you'd find it illuminating."
“What? She didn’t—”
Rachel had met with Derek? At a coffee shop? When?
Why hadn't she told him?
Because he was lying. That’s why. None of this was true.
Derek walked away, his expensive shoes clicking on the concrete, leaving Mac standing at the boards with his thoughts spiraling.
Then Derek stopped, turned back, and pulled out his phone. "Oh, Mac? Since you seem skeptical, I thought you should see this."
He held the screen toward Mac.
It was a photo. Rachel sitting in The Grind, the only other coffee shop in town besides Sophie's, across a small table from someone whose back was to the camera. The timestamp read two days ago.
Mac's gut lurched. "Where did you get this?"
"I was there. Having coffee with Rachel." Derek's smile was sympathetic. "She was upset after everything that happened. She needed someone to talk to who understood the situation. Someone who'd been there for her in the past."
"Rachel would never—"
"She wore that gray cardigan. The one with the little pearl buttons.
Had her hair down, she does that when she's anxious, lets it fall forward so she can hide behind it.
" Derek zoomed in slightly on the photo.
"Still drinks her coffee the same way too.
Latte with oatmilk. Two sugars. Some things never change. "
Mac's stomach turned. Rachel did all those things. The cardigan, the hair, the coffee.
Derek noticed Mac's expression and continued, his voice softening like he was being helpful. "She smelled like that vanilla perfume. The one she always wore back in Burlington."
"Stop." Mac's hands clenched into fists. "Stop talking about her like that."
"Like what? I'm just describing our conversation—"
"You're describing her like you're—" Mac couldn't finish. The way Derek talked about Rachel felt wrong, almost invasive. Like he'd been cataloging details he had no right to notice.
"This doesn't prove anything," Mac managed.
"Mac, I'm not trying to cause problems. I'm trying to help." Derek pocketed his phone. "Rachel is struggling with her past trauma. She reached out to me because I'm the only person who understands her. That's all."
"If you talked, Rachel would have told me."
"Would she? When she knows you'd be upset about it?" Derek said. "Mac, I'm not the enemy here. I'm trying to help Rachel heal. But if she's already keeping secrets from you, two months into your relationship... well, that's concerning, isn't it?"
"I—"
"No need to say anything. I'll text you the photo. I have your number, of course."
Derek walked away, leaving Mac standing there with ice in his veins. That photo. Rachel's cardigan. The way Derek had described her, like he'd been studying her, memorizing her.
Behind him, Jamie skated up. "What did that asshole want?"
"To mess with my head," Mac said quietly, watching Derek disappear through the exit.
"Did it work?"
Mac turned to look at his best friend. "He told me Rachel met with him for coffee. Did you know about that?"
Jamie's expression shifted to surprise. "Mac—"
"She didn't tell me."
"Maybe she didn't think it was important."
"Or maybe Derek's right that she doesn't trust me." Mac shook his head, frustrated with himself. "No. That's what he wants for me to doubt Rachel."
"Then don't give him what he wants." Jamie set his jaw. "Talk to Rachel. Ask her directly."
"Yeah." Mac took a breath, trying to center himself. "Yeah, you're right."
But the seed was already planted.
And Derek knew it.
Coach blew his whistle. "MacKenzie! Back on the ice! We're running breakout drills!"
Mac skated back to the team, trying to focus on hockey instead of the growing knot of anxiety in his chest.
But Derek's words echoed:
Ask her about our coffee meeting.