Chapter 18
Eighteen
Hannah
It’s the last period of our first exhibition game with just a few minutes to go, and Washington has the lead on us by one point.
Dad pulls Sean from the net and puts Petrov, one of our forwards, into the game.
I swear I’m about to lose my shit. I’ve always hated this play.
Marching down to the box, I pound an open hand against the glass.
“Dad!”
Caught up in the game, he doesn’t turn around.
“Dad!” I slam my palm against the glass again. Some of the players, sitting on the bench, look back over their shoulders, and I jab a finger toward my father. “Get Coach!”
Trevor taps Dad’s shoulder, snagging his attention, and I toss up my arms in irritation. “What the hell?”
Dad throws his arms up right back, giving me a look that says, “Stop fucking bothering me,” and oh-ho-ho, that just pisses me off even more.
I shuffle past the spectators in the stands and hurl myself over the railing.
My feet hit the concrete with a thud, and I flash my badge at security as I storm into the box.
“Put Mac back in!”
“Hannah, who’s the damn coach of this team?” he yells.
“That’s a shit play with a fifteen percent success rate, and you know it!
There’s only a one-point deficit. Set up the umbrella and crash the weakside, or better yet, run a hard two-one-two and pin ‘em deep! Number seventy-four is gassed! Look at him. He’s struggling, but you’re over here bailing him out with an empty net! ”
“Don’t come down here and tell me how to run my team.”
“It’s just an exhibition game, Rebel. Let him test out the six-on-five.”
“There’s no reason to test a six-on-five because it’s a shitty strategy that we shouldn’t fucking use!
You want to test something? Here, let me show you.
” I snatch the tablet from Dad’s hands, scrub the last play and redraw the setup, then hand the tablet back to him.
“There. Hard two-one-two. Keep Mac in. Seal the wall. Force the turnover.”
Dad’s eyes move from the screen to the ice, tracking number seventy-four as he fumbles another clearance chance up the boards.
“See? Just trust me. Run the play.”
“Change! Petrov off! Goalie!” Dad roars.
Petrov cuts hard for the bench, and vaults himself over the boards. Sean swings a leg over the wall once Petrov clears, and drops down, driving for the crease.
“Two-one-two! Seal the wall!” Dad yells.
Aiden checks seventy-four before he can settle the puck, then Werchky takes away the reverse behind the net.
“Atta baby!” I yell.
Seventy-four panics and tries a weak-side chip up the boards again but fails. The puck slams into the blade of Cal’s stick and drops straight down inside the zone.
Cal snaps it to Jerome. Jerome passes it to Aiden. He fires off the shot, and my breath stutters.
Get in the net!
Bodies crash the crease. The puck ricochets off a shin pad, and kicks loose.
Shit!
I hold my fucking breath as Cal lunges, and pulls the puck to his backhand. He shoots. The goalie drops into a butterfly, sealing the post, and the puck stays loose.
Dammit!
There’s so much going on that I lose sight of the puck in the sea of players. Aiden dives, stretching his stick through a cluster of skates and jamming it toward the line.
The red-light flashes.
The horn blares.
Hell, yes!
Dad glances at me with a smile spreading across his face and I wink. He holds out a fist. “Your daddy taught you well, kiddo.”
“I know,” I say, giving his fist a tap.
I look up at the time clock. Twenty-eight seconds left in a tied game. We’re going into sudden death.
My heart races with nervous energy. Players gather around for the two-minute break, Dad’s eyes skimming over each of them.
He’s analytical and can usually see a play before it happens.
I guess that’s something I’ve picked up in the almost two decades he’s been coaching.
He demands control and rarely hands the reigns over to any of his other coaches, so it catches me off-guard when he turns to me and quietly asks, “Sudden death. Who are you putting in?”
“Miles.”
I don’t even have to think about it. Cal’s the only one I trust to win a clean draw under pressure. If we start with the puck, we control the pace.
“Who else?”
“Werchky.”
Dad stands with his arms crossed, waiting for me to name my last player.
I glance at Aiden and hesitate. He shoots water into his mouth, then tosses the little green Gatorade bottle back onto the bench, his eyes meeting mine.
Normally I wouldn’t think twice about putting him in, but this is an exhibition game which means we do need to use it to see who else we can trust under pressure.
My eyes cast over to Petrov, the new rookie.
His stick handling is incredible, and he’s stupid fast. That’s why dad tried to play him in a six-on–five.
I’m kind of curious to see what else he can do.
“Twenty seconds. I need a player, Hannah.”
“Give me a minute. I’m thinking.”
“We don’t have a minute.”
This is the best time to test out Petrov’s skills without it counting against us if he fucks up. I hate to lose—even when it doesn’t count—which is why I marched down here in the first place. But with Cal and Werchky there to back him up I bet—
“Five seconds.”
“Petrov.”
“Miles! Werchky! Petrov!” Dad calls out.
The rookie’s head snaps in Dad’s direction like he’s not sure he heard right, then he vaults over the boards.
I lean forward, watching intently as the puck drops.
Minutes blur together in a rush of speed and shifting momentum with Petrov more than proving his capabilities.
He flies down the wing twice, forcing Washington’s defense to scramble, while Cal and Werchky keep the puck moving, waiting for an opening.
A quick pass through the slot and . . . it’s in.
Yes!
My feet leave the ground as Dad hugs me, pinning my arms to my sides. When he sets me back down and turns to his team, I sneak out of the box and begin to head down the tunnel.
“Rebel!”
I glance over my shoulder and find Sean at the tunnel entrance, backlit by the arena lights.
“Yeah?”
“Wait for me?”
“I don’t know, Mac. I’ve got a lot of hell to raise tonight, and it’s already getting late.”
Sauntering closer, he smirks. “Is that right? Don’t you think you raised enough hell down there when you took over coaching for your dad?”
“I haven’t reached my quota yet.”
My heart hammers against my ribcage as he grows closer.
Why does he continue to have this effect on me?
I’m trying to be strong, but every time I’m around him, my resolve slips more and more, especially after I saw how he was with Jade last week.
My ovaries went haywire, and since then, I’ve wanted to climb him like a fucking tree.
It also doesn’t help that he’s sexy as hell, standing there in his goalie gear with rivulets of sweat dripping down his temples.
“Wait for me,” he says again, but this time it’s not a request; it’s an order.
His eyes flick down to my mouth, and I realize I’m biting down on my bottom lip. Dammit. I’ve always been a weak whore for the dominating side of Sean. Players filter down the tunnel towards the locker room, but I’m zoned in on him. A smile spreads across his face like he knows I won’t say no.
“Alright, fine. I’ll wait. But only because I need an accomplice and an alibi. You gotta hurry though, because I’m on a really tight schedule.”
His entire face lights up, and his eyes crinkle a little on the sides as he laughs. “Alright, Rebel.”
Sean raises a brow and stares at the food truck in front of us. “Street tacos?”
“And beer.” I hold up the six pack. “Also, these aren’t just any street tacos; they’re the best tacos you’ll ever eat in your life.”
“Doubt that.”
“Hannah!” Rosa smiles, sticking her head out of the order window. “How are you, mija?”
“Hey. I’m good.” I reach into my pocket and pull out a couple of tickets as I approach the window. “I got these for you and Eduardo. He’s always talking about how he wants to go to a game. They’re for next Sunday night so you won’t have to close the truck.”
“You didn’t have to do this. Thank you so much.” She turns to her husband, speaking to him in Spanish while holding up the tickets.
Eduardo smiles through the window and raises his spatula. “Thank you, Hannah.”
“You’re welcome, Eduardo.” My eyes flick back over to Rosa. “I hope you guys have a good time.”
“I'm sure we will. What can I get for you?” she asks, pressing a pen to her ticket book. “It’s on the house.”
“No. Rosa, I didn’t do that to get free food.” I’m met with a scowl, and I already know by her expression, she’s not going to let me pay. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to. “Can I get six tacos, extra onions and cilantro . . . and uh . . . two cups of menudo? Oh, and extra hot salsa.”
I glance over my shoulder at Sean. His blanched expression makes me laugh.
“You’re such a wuss.” I turn back to Rosa and hike a thumb toward Sean. “He wants mild sauce.”
She looks at him and laughs, tilting her head to the side “?No te gusta chile? No seas nina.”
I hold out my debit card, but she pushes my hand back towards me. “Your money’s no good here,” she says, slamming the window closed in my face.
I huff out a laugh and toss a few big bills into her tip jar, then plop down on the little bench beside Sean. Our eyes meet, and all it takes is a little uptick of his lips to have my core throbbing. I swallow hard and try to find something to break the tension.
“What did she say?”
“She told me I was hot and that I have beautiful hair.” He laughs, his eyes locking on mine.
I smack him on the arm and glance away. I know that’s not what she said. The tall, glass building across the street catches my attention. I know the building well. I’ve been there many times. I just wonder if I should take him up there. . .
“What’s that look about?” he asks, but before I can answer, Rosa calls my name.