10. Matt
MATT
I’ve never been more distracted at a practice before. But Shay’s never been this close to the ice, in my constant eyeline. Lately, I’ve had a harder time shaking her from my thoughts, but it’s damn near impossible with her red hair in my peripheral vision all the time.
I’m going to have to learn how to adjust because there’s no way in hell I’m going to ask her to back away from the progress she’s made.
I just have to find a way to not think about the way she looked at me in the equipment room, like she wanted me to kiss her.
I definitely can’t think about how soft her lips looked, parting as we got closer together, nearly there.
Fuck. I’m losing it. For her. For good.
The puck flies past me, and I slam my eyes shut and shake my head because there’s nothing else I can do. I was zoned out, daydreaming, and Costy scored on me with ease.
“MacArthur! Wake up!” Coach Carrington shouts from the blue line, reffing our scrimmage.
Standing up, I can’t help but to glance over at Shay, and my stomach flips when I see her deep in conversation with Andy, pointing and tapping her marker on the clipboard in Andy’s hands. She’s so honed in, so in her element here. It’s beautiful.
Turning my focus back to the practice, I start reciting stats about the Penguins—anything to keep my head in the game. Thank God it works.
The team’s next time on the ice, I’m homed in, completely focused.
Kos brings the puck into the zone, working the defense with ease.
He lures them deep before kicking the puck back to Costy, who throws it over to Burnsy while Kos slides in front of the crease.
Burnsy flicks the puck toward Kos, hoping for a redirect, but I’m already ready, catching the flying puck before it can zip past me.
Someone checks Kos, and he loses his balance, skates going airborne.
He glides into me, and we tumble like dominoes, laughing.
“Get out of my crease, Kos!” I playfully shove him, glancing up at the guys laughing with us, including stone-cold Carrington himself.
But as I glance over at the bench, I spot Shay. Her face is devoid of color, pale, and her eyes are wide.
Oh God, that was probably triggering as hell to watch. But she’s still standing there, still looking at me as if she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I mouth over to the bench, I’m good.
I swear she doesn’t blink, so I shake my glove off my hand as the rest of the guys skate off to set up. Lifting my hand in the air, I give her a thumbs-up, and I watch her body come back to life as she takes a deep, shuddering breath.
Andy’s eyes burn into me, but I ignore them, slipping my glove back on.
“Big Mac, you ready?” Coach Carrington asks genuinely.
“Ready!” I shout back, dropping into position.
Kos has the puck, ready for round two, as he skates into the zone, fucking flying. “Costy.”
Costy drops around, somehow skating faster. He catches the pass on his way by, dribbling through the zone. He brings it around the back side of the net, and I watch him through the corner of my eye while also keeping an eye on everyone in front of me.
Goalies have to be the best multitaskers in the world with everything we have to do on the ice.
Costy switches sides, shifting to the right of the net this time, and I track him while also seeing Burnsy pop out and get open. Costy gives it to him, and Burnsy swings.
Not this time. What a dumb play. It was so easy to read.
Burnsy raises his stick into the air and cheers along with his team, and confusion whips my body around.
What the hell? The puck’s in the net.
“How the hell?” I mutter, genuinely so goddamn confused.
Immediately, I check my gear, looking for a gigantic hole from Burnsy shooting the puck through me with his newfound superpowers. But I don’t find anything.
Something catches my attention on the side of the ice. I glance up at an aggressively waving Shay, who ushers me over.
Oh-kay.
“One second, Coach,” I tell Carrington and kick off for the bench, gliding over and sneaking a quick drink on the way.
Shay’s eyes are going to bulge out of her head with excitement as I reach them, resting my arms on the board.
“What’s up?”
She widens her arms, lifting her elbows to the sides. “Look, you aren’t sealing the bars off. You’re there, but you’re not there. You left a gap up by your shoulder and in your five-hole. He’s going to penetrate that every time. You need to tighten up.”
Fire burns in her eyes, little specks of gold swirling like starved flames. She’s serious, and she’s right, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to make a joke about how that entire sentence sounded.
“Please don’t talk about Burnsy penetrating my five-hole, okay? My five-hole is plenty tight. Many have said so.” I scoff, pretending to be super offended.
She rolls her eyes and purses her lips, looking up like she’s asking God to smite me. “You’re so stupid.”
“Shay,” Andy scolds her, but even he can’t hide the smile on his face.
Shay’s face falls, and she turns to Andy, annoyance in her brows. “He’s being dumb. What else should I call him?”
Reaching up, I tap her arms, stealing her attention back to me and letting my face show genuine seriousness. She’s not a joke, and I don’t want her to think her advice is anything but real to me.
I trust her judgment through and through.
“Tighten my seams? Got it. Thanks, Coach.”
“Y-you’re …” She struggles to keep the anger in her voice as she crosses her arms and tips her chin up. “You’re welcome.”
Pushing away from the boards, I skate back to my net, a lightness in my chest.
“All right, tighten up, MacArthur,” I whisper to myself once I settle between the pipes. “Tighten up.”
Turns out, she’s as right as ever. When the guys enter my zone again, Burnsy goes for the same shot, and I push further over than I feel I need to. But this time, I stop it, catching the puck as it bounces off my left shoulder.
Lifting it in the air toward the bench, I nod at my goalie coaches in gratitude.
Shay sees my game play so well, so easily.
I’ve had coaches over the years who didn’t know how to work with me.
I don't know if I’m hard to predict or talk to, but Andy and now Shay are the only ones I need.
Sorry to Hunter, who just left on maternity leave.
But Huang really likes working with her so I’m sure she’ll be all right.
We continue to scrimmage and run a few drills before time runs out and we’re practically kicked off the ice by the Penguins staff. Shay and Andy are gone when we leave the ice, probably analyzing video of us and the Penguins.
After a quick body shower, I get dressed and check my phone, finding a message from JD.
JD: Coffee date with the boys, remember? Hurry your ass up.
I know they’re probably already in the car, so I quickly get dressed, grab what I need, and rush out of the locker room hallway, throwing the door open.
Shay.
Her fist is raised like she was going to knock on the door. Little does she know, no one would hear because there’s a good ten feet of hallway before you get to the main room.
“Hey,” I murmur, and her eyes shoot up to mine, a little wide and worried. “What’s up?”
She sucks in a breath to speak, but nothing comes out, so she tries again, her head held higher. “I wanted to make sure we are on the same page.”
She pauses, and I take the opportunity to quickly scan the hallway and make sure there’s no nosy staff or players. All clear.
Tucking my hands in my hoodie pocket, I lean back against the locker room door, pursing my lips to fight my smirk. “Same page as in …” Slowly, my heart rises in my throat.
She rocks back and forth on her heels. “You know …”
My eyebrows twitch. “Know what?”
She huffs. “Matt.”
“Sorry.” Licking my lips, I shrug. “Look, you tell me what page to be on, and I’m there.”
“I like this job. A lot more than I thought I would.” She says it like it’s a bad thing, and maybe in her mind, it is.
“That’s great. It suits you.”
My eyes betray me at that moment, dropping to the Nighthawks hoodie she’s wearing. The few suits I’ve seen her in flash in my mind. The woman looks damn good in a suit.
She’s blushing when my gaze finds hers again. “And I want to keep this job.”
I know where she’s going with this, and as much as I hate it, I understand why. Besides, I also need to focus on my job right now, too, so I can’t be too upset.
She continues, “Which means that we’re coach and player. Nothing more. Possibly friends.”
“Deal,” I respond immediately.
Her mouth snaps shut. “Oh, okay. Good.”
“You sound disappointed.” I smirk, knowing that inside that stubborn mind of hers, she’s fighting the pull to me as much as I am to her. “Shay, I’m here however you need me. Player. Friend.” The next option hangs in the air between us, but we both choose to ignore it.
Her next words are pained. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, Coach.” I smile. “I’m lucky to have you.”
As a player. As a friend. As …
With a sharp nod, she turns and strides away, her head unsettlingly straight, like she’s struggling not to glance back. My chest aches slightly when she turns the corner and doesn’t rush back to me. But what do I expect? I didn’t exactly fight her conditions myself.
We have more going on than the connection between us. We can revisit it later, once this season is done. But the thought of waiting another month or possibly more has my skin wanting to peel off of my body.
My phone vibrates a few times in my pocket, and I pull it out to find texts from the guys in our group chat.
JD: Are you fucking kidding? Did you go back for a second shower?
Costy: Hurry up. I’m starving.
Kos: They left. Sorry. We’ll see you there.
And then there’s one more text, this one from my mom.
Mom: Good luck tonight, honey! We’ll be cheering you on! We love you so much!
My eyes burn as I read her message—something that happens often as of late. Every text between us reminds me of my dad’s condition, and each day, I’m terrified that it might be the last day he knows who I am. The last day he recognizes the boy playing hockey on his screen is his very own son.
I know that his symptoms will come in waves, some days worse than others. But that first moment when he looks me in the eyes and doesn’t see me, it’s going to fucking hurt.
That time is coming, and I’m not ready for it, not in the slightest. I know when it does, there’s one person I’m going to need.
My coach. My friend. My …