75. Grant
SEVENTY-FIVE
GRANT
APRIL, ONE SEASON AGO
I wake up to a kiss on my shoulder.
I smile into my pillow when a hand traces down the line of my spine. Delicate fingers touch the dimples on my back before resting on the curve of my ass.
“See something you’re interested in?” I slur, half awake and totally sleep-deprived.
“Is that something you’re interested in?” Lia asks.
“I have no clue if it’s something I’m interested in. We can try it out and see.” I yawn and turn on my side so I can look at her. “Morning.”
“Morning.” She smiles. “How are you feeling after last night?”
We wrapped up the regular season with a win against New York yesterday.
The victory solidifies us at the second seed in the East, and we went out to celebrate after.
Even Coach joined us, and I swear I caught him smiling a few times when Ethan and Riley serenaded the bar with a horrible karaoke set.
I didn’t stay out too late, but the drinks that I did have were strong. My head hurts this morning, and I press my fingers into my temple.
“I’m surviving. How are you feeling, Coach? Big day for you,” I say.
“It’s an ordinary game,” Lia answers.
“Bullshit.” I sit up and cross my arms. “If you all win today, you’ll take the Sea Crabs to the playoffs your first season in Baltimore. There’s nothing ordinary about that.”
“I don’t want to get excited for something that might not happen.” She sits up too, letting the sheets pool at her waist. “There has to be a loser in sports, and there’s a good possibility it could be us. Boston has more experience and depth.”
“But they don’t have you. And you know hockey.”
“So does Boston’s coach. He’s way more successful than I am.”
“It’s early, but I’m going to tell you my secret of the day now.” I put my hand on her thigh and trace the freckles I find there. “You can doubt yourself as much as you want, Lia, but I’m always going to believe in you.”
“When you say that, you make me think I can actually pull this off,” she whispers.
“You can pull it off, baby.” I kiss her cheek and reach for my phone. “What kind of coffee do you want this morning? Iced or hot?”
“Hot. I’m sticking with my regular routine, which means a walk is up first.” Lia stretches and stands, heading for the closet where she’s started to keep her things. “Do you want to join?”
“I’m going to let you get in the zone on your own, but if you find a bakery and bring me back a croissant, I wouldn’t be mad about it.” I tap over to Maverick’s name in my phone and drum my thumbs against the screen. “Even better if it’s chocolate!”
She laughs, and I turn my attention to my text messages.
Me
Hey, Mav. Question for you.
I expect to have to wait for a response—it’s way too fucking early—but he answers right away.
Mavvy
What’s up, G? How’s your headache this morning?
Me
Probably shouldn’t have taken that last shot with Huddy Boy, but I’m surviving.
Why are you already awake?
Mavvy
Dad duty doesn’t stop with a hangover, dude.
Me
Rough. You’re a superstar.
You’re going to Baltimore’s game today, right?
Mavvy
Hell yeah. Last one of the season for them.
Gotta be there to support my Emmy girl!
I hesitate before typing out my next message. I don’t want to sound desperate, but I do need to get my morning going. How it goes depends on how he answers.
Me
Mind if I join you? I want to support her too!
Mavvy
As long as you’re cool with chillin’ in a suite with me and Murph!
Me
Obviously. Gives me time to make sure I’m Murph’s favorite uncle.
Mavvy
Meet you at the box office at 11:30? It’s an early game.
Me
I’ll be there. Thanks, Mavvy!
“Which one should I wear?” Lia sticks her head out of the closet and holds up two shirts. “Pick the luckier one.”
“That’s a lot of pressure.” I hum and glance between the options. “Normally I’d say red because it’s your favorite color, but the Sea Crabs wear green. Go with the one on the left.”
“That’s what my gut told me wear!”
“Look at us.” I grin. “Same brainwave.”
“We’ve been spending too much time together.” She laughs and peels off her sleep shirt, replacing it with a sports bra. “What are you going to do today? Puck drop is noon, so I should be home in time for dinner. There’s soup in the fridge if you need to kick your hangover.”
“I appreciate the hospitality, but I’m going to come to your game.”
“Wait.” Lia freezes and blinks at me. “Are you serious?”
“Mav got a suite, and I asked if I could tag along.” I stand and walk toward her, putting my hands on her shoulders. “Would that be okay?”
Her nose scrunches like she’s deep in thought. She chews on her bottom lip before blowing out an exhale.
“I’ve never had a man I’m dating come to one of my games.”
“Never?” I frown. “What about in college?”
“Nope. The women’s schedule always conflicted with the men’s games, and that’s where the priorities were.” She pauses before breaking out in a smile. “I’d love it if you were there. Do you want to borrow a shirt?”
“I’m excited as hell to cheer you on, baby, but the last thing I’m ever going to do is wear the clothes of my enemy.” I wrap my arms around her and give her ass a squeeze. “Nice try though.”
“I’ll get you to wear my jersey one of these days,” she tosses back.
“Good luck,” I answer.
I leave out my other secret of the day.
Deeper in the closet she’s standing in, I already have three of her jerseys tucked away.
“Dude.” I burst out laughing at Maverick’s shirt when I see him out front of the Hutchinson Center later that morning. “You don’t exactly blend in.”
“What?” He glances down at the clothes he’s wearing. Emmy’s face is plastered on the front, and Murphy is wearing a matching top. “When have I ever wanted to blend in, Grant?”
“Fair point.” I give Murph’s hand a light squeeze, grinning when she giggles and reaches for me. I take her from Maverick’s arms and hold her against my hip. “Thanks for letting me crash your watch party.”
“Thanks for joining. I come to most of Emmy’s games on my own unless her dad is in town, and it’ll be nice to have company.”
“You’ve been coming alone? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Conflict of interest, I guess? I’m in a different headspace than some of the young guys who are obsessed with winning.
They think even clapping for another team is treason.
” He gestures for me to follow him, and we head for an entrance on the side of the building.
“Didn’t want you all to think it was a requirement of being my friend. ”
“We’re brothers, and Emmy is part of our group. We would’ve joined you.” I elbow him. “You better invite us to join you next season.”
“I’ll put your name on the suite too. Happy?”
“Very.”
We weave through the concourse and make it to the VIP elevator without being mobbed by fans. Groups of people notice us and whip out their cell phones to take a photo, but Maverick ignores them besides a polite wave.
“Is it hard being married to someone in the league?” I ask.
“Coordinating our schedules is tough,” Maverick says.
He takes Murphy from me when she gets fussy, bouncing her up and down until she gives him a big grin.
“Then there are the other questions. Who’s the priority?
Who gets up in the night when Murphy is sick and running a fever?
How do you navigate the work-life balance when both of you have the same job? There’s a lot of compromise.”
“I have a lot of respect for you, Mav.”
“Why?”
“Retiring early so Emmy can have her moment? Uplifting her every chance you get? Being a proud girl dad? I don’t know. I hope I’m like you one day.”
He waits until we’re alone in the elevator to ask, “What’s with the sudden questions about my relationship? Are you seeing someone in the league?”
I shove my hands in my pockets and rock back on my heels. It would be easy to lie—I’ve been doing it for so long up to this point—but I don’t fucking want to. Not about this, and not to him.
“It’s not a player,” I say. “But they are in the league.”
“Shoot.” He steps closer. “Is it that woman ref? An equipment manager? Wait. What about our social media coordinator? I’ve seen you talking to her a few times.”
“She doesn’t work for the team.”
“I love a riddle.”
The doors open, and we step onto the VIP level. We make a left and head down the carpeted hall until we get to a suite with a big wooden door. Maverick pushes it open and sets Murphy down, letting her move around the space.
“This is nice.” I touch the leather seats and marble counters. “Way fancier than the suites at our arena.”
“Right? The Sea Crabs have an unreal budget.”
I walk to the ledge that overlooks the ice, and I perk up when the Baltimore coaching staff makes their way to the bench. Amelia is at the front of the line, looking entirely in her element despite the high-stakes environment.
The puck drops, and the game begins. The Sea Crabs have urgency in their movements from the get-go, and I can feel the tension in the air. Maverick and I watch each pass and add our commentary about Baltimore’s strengths in between plays.
“Emmy is fantastic,” I say, and he nods.
“She shines in controlled entries. Her ability to keep possession of the puck through the offensive zone is special.” He leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “My only regret is that no one took a chance on her sooner.”
The excitement wanes after the first period.
When the teams come back from intermission, I’m distracted by how Amelia sinks into her spot behind the bench.
Loose shoulders, murmured conversations with her coaching staff.
Praise to the players who perform well and a hand on the shoulder for the ones who misread an opportunity.
She’s not just good at her job; she’s fucking incredible.
The Sea Crabs score first with two minutes left in the second period. The building erupts, and both Maverick and I jump to our feet to cheer. They hold off a strong offensive push from Boston and take the lead into the final intermission. The players head off the ice, but Amelia hangs back.
She exchanges a few words with the assistant coaches then arranges the water bottles that are out of order.
With her whiteboard tucked under her arm, she steps out of the box.
Her walk to the locker room is slow, and she stops to wave to a group of girls who are holding signs that boast her name.
When she gets to the tunnel, she pauses to face the arena.
She squints, her eyes bouncing around like she’s searching for someone.
Me.
I sit forward in my seat and wave. There’s no way she’s going to see me, but then our gazes meet. I light up, and she smiles too.
“Who are you looking for?” Maverick asks, following my line of sight. “Why are you waving to Amelia? I didn’t know the two of you—”
The next ten seconds happen in slow motion: Amelia offers me a tiny wave before she heads to the locker room. Maverick looks at me, his mouth hinged open and his eyes wide. Murphy bursts into tears when the lights dim, and I swallow.
“You’re not serious,” he hisses, rocking Murphy back and forth to soothe her. “Grant.”
“You can’t tell anyone,” I plead. “Nobody knows, and the stakes are too high for them to find out.”
“How long has this been going on? How have I not noticed anything? Oh my god. This is a big deal.” He stops to cover Murphy’s ears. “You’re playing with fucking fire.”
“Don’t give a shit. I want to burn.” I pause. “We didn’t plan for this to happen, but it did. I’m in too deep now, and I love her, man.”
“What the fuck are you going to do if the league finds out?”
“The league isn’t going to find out.”
“The league always finds out. You don’t think there’s someone who wants to catch you slipping so they can benefit from it?” Maverick groans. “I’m happy for you, but how do you expect to hide a relationship from the media for the next ten years?”
“The exact same way we’ve hid it so far,” I say. “None of you had a clue, and I play next to you every night.”
“I can’t stand here and lecture you about separating business and pleasure when I’m married to a woman who plays for our division rival, but you need to be careful, Grant. If this takes a wrong turn, you’re screwed. Fuck. The whole organization might be screwed.”
Panic flickers inside me, but I shove it away. I rub my jaw, glad to finally have this secret off my chest.
“We’re being careful. Even more so now that she’s in the spotlight as a head coach,” I say. “Promise me you won’t tell any of the guys. No one else can know.”
“Fine,” he mumbles. “But I don’t like that you’re lying.”
“I don’t either. If it were up to me, all of you would know.”
Maverick sighs. “Are you happy?”
“I didn’t think it was possible to be this happy,” I admit. “She’s it for me, Mav.”
“Then I’m happy for you.” He clasps my shoulder. “Watch your back and keep your head down.”
“Thank you. And thanks for the advice.”
The third period starts, and we settle back in our seats. In the suite next to ours, a group of guys hold up their beers.
“Dude,” the first one says. “What if we make the playoffs? That would be sick.”
“Don’t jinx us, Kevin,” the guy on his right says. “There’s so much time left.”
“Can we talk about the coach?” a third asks, and my spine stiffens, waiting for what they say next.
“She knows her shit,” the fourth says, and all three give a rousing sound of agreement. “She’s really fucking good.”
“Really fucking good!”
“I’m glad we hired her. The old shitbag we had would’ve kept us at the bottom of the league again.”
“Best coaching decision ever. She’s going to be a fucking legend.”
I hide my beam behind a sip of water.
The Sea Crabs take home a commanding 4-1 win. When the final buzzer sounds, Amelia pumps her fist, showing unbridled excitement for the first time all night. She hugs the coach on her right and gives a high-five to the players on the bench.
“Those are our girls,” Maverick says, lifting his chin to where Amelia and Emmy are embracing. “How lucky are we?”
“Really lucky,” I say, and I swear Lia looks my way again with the biggest smile on her face.