29. Grant
TWENTY-NINE
GRANT
FEbrUARY, FOUR SEASONS AGO
Puck Kings
Mitchy
Make us proud in NY, G-Money!
Huddy Boy
We’re cheering you on, Grant!
Easy E
Dude. Imagine if you fell in the middle of the Skills competition lol. That would be so embarrassing.
Mavvy
I’ll be there with him to make sure nothing happens to our guy.
Me
At least I’m not at home on the couch eating a hot dog like you are, E!
Easy E
K, fair. I deserved that.
I love you, G!!!!! You’re going to do great!!!
Me
Love you too, Easy E. Even if you are mean to me!
Connor
Sully? Anything to add?
Sully
No.
Me
That response was enough for me <3
Me
Hey! What are your plans this weekend?
AG
I’ll be in the stands for the Skills competition on Friday. Saturday I’m hosting a clinic with Emmy at Madison Square Garden for a group of girls before the game!
Me
That’s awesome!
If you want to meet up, you know where I’ll be.
AG
I’m sure we’ll run into each other at some point, Everett.
And if not… remember to keep your chin down :)
“Welcome to the bright lights and big city, G.” Maverick puts an arm around me as we walk through the hotel lobby on Friday afternoon. “How are you feeling?”
“Amazing.” I grin, soaking up the moment. “I want to come back every season.”
“The Skills event is the best part of the weekend. It has no impact on the rest of our season. You can wear your Stars jersey proudly and have a good time.”
“Thanks, Cap. And thanks for cheering me on,” I say.
“I love you, G, but I’m also here to watch Emmy compete in the All-Star game.” He nudges my ribs and lifts his chin. “Look at Brady Williams over there acting like a dick.”
I follow his gaze to a guy sitting at the hotel bar. There’s a woman sitting on his lap. Another leans against his shoulder, and I frown at the wedding ring on his finger.
“The St. Louis alternate captain, right?” I ask. “Ethan hates that guy. He chirps him every chance he gets.”
“Wish I knew why he got under Easy E’s skin so much, but I can’t pretend like I don’t love it when E decks him in the face. Williams probably deserves it.”
“Dude has a wedding ring on, but he’s not acting like he’s married.”
“Guys like that are scum.” Maverick scowls. “I can’t imagine ever doing that to Emmy. You should be worshipping the ground your woman walks on.”
As if on cue, his wife rounds the corner from the elevators, walking side by side with Amelia. They’re deep in conversation, but when Emmy spots Maverick, she brightens. She waves and practically skips over to us, standing on her toes so she can kiss his cheek.
“This is a nice surprise. Hi, Grant.” She smiles at me. “What are you guys doing here?”
“Trying to calm G-Money’s nerves before he skates later.” Maverick moves away from me so he can give all his attention to Emmy. “What are you two doing?”
“Making sure we’ve ironed out all the last-minute details for our clinic tomorrow,” Emmy says. “We have fifty girls attending, and only three hours with them. We want everything to run smoothly.”
“You’re going to be fine,” Maverick says. “Those girls will be so in awe of you, they’re not going to care about logistics.”
“Here’s hoping.” Amelia’s eyes slide over to me. “Hey, Everett.”
“Coach Green,” I answer. It’s more professional than admitting I’m still thinking about the feel of her skin under my palm after our fall the other day. “Nice to see you.”
“You too.” She keeps her gaze locked on mine. I love the attention. Is she still thinking about me? “Good luck tonight.”
“Is it going to pain you to cheer for a Stars player?”
“Who said I was cheering for you?” Her smile is coy. “All I said was good luck. Easy with the ego.”
“I’m taking that as you’re my biggest fan, but you’re afraid to admit it.” I grin and check my phone. “I’m going to head up to my room to get off my feet for a bit.”
“We’ll be there later to support you. And, hey! We got a VIP table at a club tomorrow night. That will be our celebration of the weekend,” Maverick says. “You should come, Amelia.”
“Maybe I’ll swing by.” Amelia smiles at me, and it makes my heart race. “Have fun out there, Grant.”
“I’m going to do my best.” I drop my voice low as I scoot past her. “Having a good coach like you makes all the difference.”
I’m proud of myself for not looking over my shoulder after that parting shot, and I swear I can feel her gaze on me all the way to the elevator.
Madison Square Garden is the place of dreams.
Screaming fans with every team’s jersey line the stands. Photographers stand on the ice. A league official leads us to the bench in the order for the Skills competition, and I loosen my grip on my stick.
“First time?” Davis Bartlow, former Art Ross trophy winner and current league points leader who plays for Los Angeles, asks me.
“Yup.” I laugh. “What gave it away?”
“Thinking you had to wear your helmet tonight.” He chuckles. “It’s a chill environment. Enjoy it. Feels like yesterday I was in your shoes.”
“Any advice for not humiliating myself out there?” I ask.
“Don’t stress. Bradley Jensen fell last year, and no one cared.”
“I’m so going to become a meme.” I groan. “Falling is my biggest fear!”
“You guys do summer camps for kids, right?” Davis asks, and I nod. “Just treat it like you’re demonstrating the drills to them, and you’ll be fine.”
The lights dim, and the PA announcer introduces us and the teams we play for. The fans are reminded of the rules and the progression system, and we’re off.
I’m lucky to be eighth in line, and I watch the first couple of guys to see their strategies.
The times are all over the place, from quick to slow as hell.
One guy, Carter Wiley, who is Davis’s teammate out in California, makes a spectacle of his run.
He poses for the cameras and pulls his jersey over his head when he lands the final goal.
“Nothing subtle about him, huh?” I ask Davis.
“If he weren’t such a good player, I’d kick his ass to high heaven,” he says. “You’re up, Everett. Good luck.”
“Thanks, man.”
I stand and head to the ice, waiting for the player in front of me to finish their run.
His score is solid, but I know I can do better.
Adrenaline pounds in my blood, and I glance around the crowd.
When I find Amelia watching me from the edge of her seat, I straighten.
She gives me two thumbs up, then points to her eyes, then the ground.
I flip my stick and skate to the starting line with renewed excitement.
Time to put on a show for her.
The whistle sounds, and I take off. My first half of the event is blazing fast; I know I have a solid lead compared to where everyone else was at this point, but my backward skating slows me down.
I almost fumble the puck, recovering it at the last second to spin forward and take off for the far goal.
A quick breath and I’m launching a shot, relief flooding me when the puck hits the back of the net.
A glance at the Jumbotron tells me I’m in fourth with four skaters to go.
Unless someone else has a stellar run, I should make it to the next round.
I take my time getting off the ice, purposely skating past where Amelia is sitting and rapping my knuckles against the glass.
She’s smiling my way, bright and bold and fucking beautiful.
I can’t hear her over the noise, but I can make out what she’s saying.
That was amazing, she mouths. Great focus.
Thanks, I mouth back, heading for the bench.
I hop over the ledge and take a seat, stretching out my legs.
“Nice showing out there, Rookie,” Carter yells, leaning forward to talk to me.
“I’ve been in the league four years, dude,” I answer. “But, thanks.”
I’m glad to make it to the next round, which might be my favorite. It’s a shootout against our pick of a goalie, and when it’s my turn, I select the young guy from Cincinnati.
My first shot on net gets blocked, and I pull my beanie lower.
“Focus, Everett,” I tell myself, pumping my fist when I score the second and third time.
The fourth shot barely goes in, and I lift my stick above my head as the final puck sails past the goalie’s blocker.
If I look at Amelia again while I celebrate advancing to the final round, I’ll lose my focus. I keep my attention on the guys who go before me in the challenging obstacle course. I categorize their mistakes, anticipating how I’m going to react to the situations when it’s my turn.
The nerves have settled by the time the announcer calls my name. I take a final look at the course and let go of the pressure. Hudson’s words from last season ring in my ears.
What a gift it is to play the greatest sport on earth with some of your best friends.
It guides me as the whistle sounds and I begin.
I glide around the first corner, hugging the path that’s been laid out.
I tap the puck through the targets before sinking three shots into mini nets.
I skate around the pillars that have been set up, keeping possession of the puck as I approach the last goal.
Weak wrists, Amelia told me about my slap shot.
I pull back, winding up with as much intensity as I can. I look to my right, holding Amelia’s eye contact as I smirk and whip the puck forward.
I don’t need to watch it to know it goes in. I watch her instead, the parting of her lips and the grin she’s fighting off. She lifts one shoulder, a yeah, you did it, but I could probably do it better sort of gesture, and I have no doubt that she could.
Once all six skaters finish the obstacle course, I’m declared the winner. A league official gives me a shiny trophy and a big check for a million bucks, and I work my way through the crowd to find my friends.
“Goddamn, G. You were awesome out there. I took a video and sent it to the guys.” Maverick yanks off my beanie and ruffles my hair. “Skills champion, as you should be!”
“That was so good.” Emmy gives me a high five. “Where did you pick up all those moves?”
“Been working on a few things.” I snatch my beanie back from Maverick. “Watch out, Cap. One day I’m going to be a more decorated player than you.”
“In your dreams, kid,” he says.
“I’m going to find a couple people. I’ll catch up with y’all later?”
“Text me,” Maverick says. “We’re just hanging out tonight.”
I weave through my competitors who stop me for a handshake and a congratulations. I finally make it to the back hallway of the rink where it’s quiet, but I frown when I realize I probably missed Amelia leaving.
I try not to let myself be too disappointed—I just won the Skills event, for fuck’s sake—but then I spot her leaning against the wall, and I’m so happy, I could fucking burst.
She has on one of her usual outfits: flared slacks, a pair of black heels, and a red shirt she’s tucked into her pants.
What’s different are the rings and necklaces and earrings she’s wearing.
I didn’t notice the jewelry from the ice, and my throat goes dry at the three studs on the curve of her ear.
“Is that a really big trophy, Everett, or are you just happy to see me?” She walks my way with long strides, and I bark out a laugh. “Congratulations!”
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” I hold up the trophy, admiring the prize. “And thanks. Wouldn’t have been possible without your help.”
“I’m proud of you.” Her diamond earrings flash in the light, and I reach out to touch them. “What are you doing?”
“I’ve never seen you wear jewelry.”
“I keep it to a minimum when I’m behind the bench.” Amelia hesitates. “I don’t want someone to say I’m distracting. The more I express myself with clothes and jewelry and makeup, the more ammunition I give people who find a way to correlate it to my coaching ability.”
“You can wear it around me.” I drop my hand, stepping back. Please, I want to add. “All jewelry is welcome.”
I need to make a thousand new additions to my notebook. It’s waiting for me in the hotel room, and I’m itching to get back to it.
Loves jewelry
Likes to buy herself nice things
Prefers silver over gold (I think)
“Tell you what: next time I see you, I’ll wear my jewelry if you wear your crop top,” she says.
“That’s a deal.” I laugh. “Doing anything fun tonight?”
“Meeting up with a few people. It should be quiet.” Her eyes flick from the trophy to my face. “I’m not sold on going to a club tomorrow night, but maybe I can be persuaded.”
“I’m not sold on going to a club tomorrow night either, but Mav is going to blow up my phone until I drag my ass downstairs and go. I might as well save myself from the text messages and phone calls that will keep me up all night. We can suffer together.”
“Mutual suffering does sound better than solo anguish. We’ll see what happens.” She shrugs. “In the meantime, have fun celebrating tonight. Don’t get in any trouble.”
“I’m a good boy, Amelia.” My victory has made me bold. “I know how to behave.”
Her eyes turn a shade darker. I swear I’m not imagining things when she lets out a low laugh that hits me right behind the ribs. Amelia follows it up with a hum, and she drags her nails down the front of my jersey in the faintest of grazes.
“Glad to hear it,” she murmurs, tossing me a parting smirk before sauntering down the hall. “Later, Everett.”
“Later,” I echo, rendered fucking useless.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.
Three minutes with her were worth more than the check in my pocket.
I’m never getting over this fucking crush.