Chapter 24 Beckett
Beckett
As I stand in a concert suite full of famous athletes, the musical notes of Jaxon Steele’s opening act continuing to play in the background, I can only focus on one thing: Finley Blake is amazing.
When she walked out of her apartment, my first thought had been, “Thank God I don’t have to spend my whole day with her looking like that.
I wouldn’t be able to handle it.” Apparently, though, I’ve pissed off God, or karma, or some higher power because here I am—not just at the same concert as her, but in the exact same suite.
We’re mingling as if we’re a married couple doing the rounds before we head home to fall into bed together—I force that thought out of my head before it can finish.
Because Finley Blake can never be more than my coach.
And yet, instead of focusing on the concert, or, hell, what I’m going to do about the fact that my hip is getting worse, my gaze keeps finding her, my soul soaking in every flash of happiness that crosses her face.
I want her to be mine. And after hearing her come, my name on her lips, I need her to be mine.
She’s talking and laughing with Charlotte, and it’s like I’m finally getting to see all of her.
I know I’m one of the fortunate few who sees behind her mask, but Finley Blake at a Jaxon Steele concert is another level.
She’s excited. Maybe a little tipsy. Chatting with Charlotte, making her laugh like we’re at a stand-up comedy show.
She seems happy. And it makes my heart do funny things I likely shouldn’t be feeling.
“Kane,” Callan starts, handing me another beer. “I see you haven’t gotten any friendlier since moving to Denver.”
I take a long sip of my beer. “I’m friendly. I just don’t see the point in making small talk with a bunch of people I’ll never see again.”
“Or you could consider seeing them again. We live in the area. Everyone I know here is a good person, who you’d like if you got to know them.”
“This is the only time we all have off, so what, we hang out once a year? Seems like a lot of work.”
Callan stares at me, his gaze penetrating and a little sad, before he seems to shake it off, his ever-present smile returning. “We get together for dinner or poker at least once a month. You should join us.”
I shake my head. “I truly don’t know how you do it. How do you stay on top of your game, make time to be friends with all the guys on your team, and still socialize with other people?”
Callan runs a hand through his hair, his eyes flitting around the room.
“I was in a bad spot a few years ago. Constantly focused on making sure I was in peak physical condition, that I was ready for every game, but I was in a bad place mentally. I realized I needed to connect with someone. So I started with my team. And then I ran into some of the same guys at events and whatnot around town and realized there are a number of older athletes in town who are… alone.”
A faint buzzing fills my ears as the truth of his statement hits home.
I know that loneliness viscerally. Except, it’s been missing lately.
Since I started intentionally engaging with the other defensemen, probably.
My mind flashes a montage of images of Finley and me in one of our apartments.
Sitting on the couch. Eating dinner together.
Briefly making eye contact at practice when Larsen says something dumb.
Right. My teammates.
My gaze flits across the room, the tension releasing from my shoulders as I chase a dark flash of hair to find Finley. She’s dancing to the song, she and Charlotte both singing into the tops of their beer bottles.
With a sigh, I refocus on Callan, who is introducing me to another guy in the room. “Kane, let me introduce you to Nate Riley.”
I take in the man, at least a few inches taller than me, though I have at least twenty pounds on him, and make an educated guess. “You play for the Mountaineers?” I ask, naming the professional basketball team in town.
“And you’re the Yeti’s new defenseman and resident social media star,” he replies, as we shake hands.
I sigh. “Yes. I’ve spent years trying to avoid becoming an internet sensation, and yet, somehow, here I am.”
“It’s not a bad place to be. There are worse things than the world trying to ’ship you with Finley Blake.”
A part of me, the one that feels like it’s coming home anytime I’m with Finley, could not agree more. And yet, there’s also nothing worse than the world trying to ’ship me with Finley.
“Really? Is that how you’d feel if people were trying to set you up with your coach?” I ask.
Nate laughs. “Coach Mac has kept it tight for a sixty-year-old man, but he’s not quite the same as Coach Blake.”
There is nothing disrespectful about the way he says it, and yet, something inside me darkens at the thought of him dating Finley.
I fight against the need to ball my hands into fists, to send one flying through his face. Instead, I say, “Well, if you ever decide to date the person in charge of your career, you let me know. Maybe I’ll start making dumb decisions, too, and we can all double-date.”
“Deal,” Nate agrees. “It sounds like the perfect evening.”
Callan watches our exchange, amusement coloring his features. “I think you’re both outkicking your coverage in that plan.”
“Offensive,” Nate jokes. “I’m obviously the one who would be settling.”
I stay quiet. Finley is the one who would be settling if we were ever to get together. I might be a pro hockey player, but she’s the first female coach in professional men’s hockey’s history. And more than that, she’s smart. And so sarcastic, most people mistake it for bitchy, but I know the truth.
“We really shouldn’t be talking about it.” I know how much she would hate that this conversation is happening. How it wouldn’t be happening about any other coach. “Coach Blake has enough to deal with without worrying about one of her players wanting to date her.”
“And do you?” Callan tips his head slightly. “Want to date her?”
Shit. “That’s not what I meant.”
“So you don’t?”
I consider telling him. Confessing the feelings that have been plaguing me. The need to be with her, but what good would it do? Instead, I offer another truth.
“We’ve become friends because of this competition.
Am I a little bummed that once it’s over, we’ll have to go back to being strictly professional?
Sure. But I would never do anything to damage her career.
I thought I knew what dedication looks like after what it took to get to where I am, but it’s nothing compared to what Coach Blake has had to do. ”
The opening act finally finishes, and after chatting for a few more minutes, Nate moves to catch up with another friend of his.
As Jaxon Steele walks on stage to a cacophony of cheers, Callan says, “Come on, let’s go listen to the concert of the year.
” Nodding toward Finley and Charlotte, he adds, “We can sit with your friend. I need to talk to Princess anyway.”
“Princess?” I ask. Christ on a cracker. I do not love that he has a nickname for Finley. I force the jealousy threatening to explode from my sternum back down again. What is going on with me tonight?
“Charlotte Langford. Her dad owns half this town, including the Stallions. Yet, I swear she forgets my name every time we run into each other.”
I let out a laugh. “First time that’s happened to you?” I ask. Callan had a reputation for being vain when I knew him and, in typical quarterback fashion, would be highly offended by someone not knowing who he was. It appears he hasn’t grown out of that particular trait.
Finley and Charlotte both turn toward us as we approach. My gaze meets Finley’s as Jaxon Steele sings about lost love.
“Hey, Cameron,” Charlotte says, as everyone shuffles to make enough room for us to join the group. “Great catch last weekend.”
“It’s Callan. And the season ended two months ago,” Callan mutters, exasperation written all over his face. “And I’m the quarterback.”
Finley laughs at the smile her friend gives the football player. I’m not sure whether she does it on purpose or not, but Finley leans into me slightly as her rich laughter pours out, and her touch is a lightning bolt through my system. She moves back, and the contact is gone too soon.
“Sorry,” she apologizes, an embarrassed grin flashing at me.
I nudge her with my shoulder, refusing to pull away. “Never be sorry about that.”
She nods, and we stay connected as we turn our attention to the performance, Callan and Charlotte bickering next to us.
When that song ends, I can’t help it anymore; I look down at Finley. My stomach flutters: she’s already looking at me. The small grin she gives me when our gazes meet is sweet and says things our mouths will never be able to. As much as I know I should, I can’t look away.
And then it hits me: I certainly more than like my coach as a friend. Fuck.
On stage, the band moves into a slow song, and a few of the couples in the room kiss or start slowly swaying, their arms around each other.
Finley sings along, gently rocking side to side as she does.
A smile spreads across my face as I realize she knows every word.
It’s a perfect moment, and I want to wrap my arms around her so badly.
To pull her into me. To rest my chin on the top of her head.
Instead, I sway with her, my upper arm never breaking contact with her shoulder.
The words of the song wash over me, and I let myself fall into whatever this is: this feeling where everything is right in the world.