Chapter 20
TWENTY
Brendan
I had to get out of there before she could see what that kiss did to me.
I’ve spent years trying to bury these feelings, convincing myself that distance was the answer and that these feelings would disappear if I could just forget her.
Guess what? They didn’t. One kiss proved that.
I still want her, even though she walked away from me when it mattered most. No matter how many times I replay that kiss, that fact doesn’t change.
So I gave my family an excuse about an emergency team meeting and left the wedding shower before anyone could talk me out of it.
The guys are doing cooldown laps when I arrive at the arena, and Jaxon’s hanging back, favoring one side again.
“Jaxon Chance.” I wave him over.
He skates to the wall. “Coach, I thought you wouldn’t be here today.”
“I’m not supposed to be,” I say, not explaining more. “How’s the knee doing?”
“Fine.”
I study him. “You didn’t seem fine out there. You look like you’re in pain.”
He shrugs. “I just ignore it. Learning to live with pain is my new normal.”
Tell me about it.
He makes his way off the ice and heads toward the locker room.
At thirty-two, he’s not old by normal standards, but in hockey years, he’s an old man compared to the nineteen-year-olds.
His knee doesn’t like the constant injuries, and recovery at this age takes longer too.
Either his body is going to fall apart completely, or he won’t be able to keep up, and that would leave a massive hole in our defense.
Plus, getting injured puts him in jeopardy of losing his place on this team.
He’s not ready to retire, which makes this even worse.
We could bring up someone else, but none of them have Jaxon’s experience or instincts.
With playoffs coming, we can’t afford to lose him.
I follow him to the locker room. “You need ice and rest,” I tell him. “And an appointment with Gabriella.”
“Already scheduled, Coach.” He grabs an ice pack and settles onto a bench.
Jakowski passes through and I intercept him, asking if he can cover some of my administrative tasks while I’m out this week. He scowls—no surprise there—but then finally agrees and moves on without clocking Jaxon, which is good.
As the guys filter into the locker room, Leo sees me with Jaxon and frowns. “Coach Marco, what are you doing here?”
“Needed some air,” I admit. “My family is a lot.”
Brax strips off his shirt. “Is it really your family…or Scarlett?”
I start to say “my family,” but then pause.
These six guys know my full history with Scarlett—and right now that history is crushing me like a five-hundred-pound weight.
“That’s what I thought,” Brax says when I don’t respond. “What’s going on?”
I settle onto a bench and tell my friends what’s happened in the last few days while they peel off their gear. By the time I finish and the rest of the team is gone, they’ve gathered in a half-circle, towels slung low around their waists, full attention on my crisis.
“Wait, hold up.” Miles’ brow furrows. He just came from the shower and obviously missed the most important details. “You actually got to kiss her? That’s awesome!”
“It wasn’t exactly voluntary,” I say.
Rourke leans against a locker. “Why don’t you sound happy about getting action? Back in my player days, I would’ve celebrated any excuse to kiss a beautiful woman.”
Brax snorts. “Yeah, well, you also used to think women appreciated your pickup lines too. Now look at you. Totally whipped into shape by a kindergarten teacher.”
“Hey, Janie’s different,” Rourke protests with a grin. “I like when she uses her bossy teacher tone with me.”
Leo sits next to me. “Forget what she said earlier in the pool. How did she respond when you kissed her?”
I shrug. “Like she was acting the part.”
“No, no.” Leo waves his hand. “I’m talking about her body language. Did she kiss you back like she wanted to climb you like a tree…or like someone who’d rather be kissing a dead fish?”
I stare at him. “Those are really my only two options?”
“In my totally unscientific opinion, yes,” Leo says.
I think back to the kiss and how she leaned into me. “She seemed into it.”
“If a woman doesn’t want to kiss you, you’ll know it,” Tate says. “If she’s into you, you’ll see all the physiological responses—dilated pupils, increased breathing, and the obvious giveaway, flushed skin.”
“I’m not a doctor, Tate,” I tell him. “Besides, she literally told me this morning that we could never work.”
“So prove her wrong,” Brax says. “This week is your chance.”
“There’s no way she would buy it.” I glance around for support.
Instead, I get a bunch of men looking at me with the same conclusion: You are the problem here.
“Wait, you think I should go after her? What if she isn’t interested?”
“But you don’t know she isn’t.” Brax sets his hands on his waist. “That’s the risk.”
“Well, that sounds like a disaster.” I rise from the bench. “I can’t convince her in a week.”
“You’re chickening out?” Brax lifts a brow.
“I’m not.” He knows exactly how to push my buttons. “I’m being realistic.”
“Realistic?” Leo barks out a laugh. “You mean scared.”
“I mean smart,” I correct him. “We agreed to stay friends. I’m sticking to the plan.”
Leo folds his arms across his chest. “The smart thing to do is admit you don’t actually want to be just friends anymore.”
“What? No way.” I look around at these guys who normally take instructions from me, but right now our roles are reversed. “You guys are serious about this?”
“We wouldn’t be offering to help if we weren’t,” Brax says. “When’s the last time you brought a date to a family function? Or anything?”
“That’s not—”
“The answer is never,” Tate cuts in. “We’ve all noticed.”
“You guys don’t understand,” I protest. “There’s history—”
“And that’s why it could work.” Rourke joins me on the bench. “Look, before I met Janie, I thought I knew what I wanted. Turns out I had no clue. Sometimes you need your friends to point out when you’re an idiot.”
Jaxon’s brows lift. “Wow, Rourke. That was almost…coherent.”
“And you think you can help me how, exactly?”
“By making sure you don’t waste this opportunity,” Brax says. “You’re a Marine. You can handle this.”
“Fine.” I throw my hands up. “But if this backfires…”
“It won’t,” Brax assures me. “Look at us. We’re basically romance experts. How else do you think we landed these women?”
“Professional hockey contracts,” I deadpan. “That’s how.”
“Money and fame don’t create chemistry,” Jaxon says.
“But they don’t hurt, either,” I say.
“Let’s get down to business,” Brax says, pulling out his phone from his locker and scrolling through the wedding week schedule. “Looks like you’ve got plenty of romantic opportunities. How about the spa day?”
“Too complicated. Besides, she’ll be with the other bridesmaids.”
“Bummer,” Rourke says. “I was going to suggest foot massages. Works every time with Janie.”
Leo moves to look over Brax’s shoulder at the screen. “What about the joint bachelor and bachelorette party?”
“Bachelor parties are not the place to declare your feelings about someone,” I say.
“Wait.” Brax snaps his fingers. “Didn’t Carmen mention something about dance lessons for the wedding?”
“I was planning to skip that.”
“You can’t skip it,” Brax protests. “Jaz said you’ll be learning the tango for the wedding.”
“I’m not doing it. My mom forced me into dance lessons as a kid, and I hated every minute.”
“Which is why it would be perfect,” Leo says. “She knows how much you hate dancing. So she’ll be impressed if you do it for her.”
“That actually makes sense,” Tate agrees with a nod. “Women love when you attempt something idiotic for them.”
“What?” I frown. “No.”
“It’s settled, then.” Brax smiles. “We’re giving you a crash course in tango. Right now.”
I look around at all of them. “You’re still in towels.”
“I don’t see the problem.” Leo shrugs as he pulls up a tango instructional video on his phone. “We’re all adults. How hard can it be?”
“Very hard,” I say. “Which is why we’re not doing it. You’re one wrong move away from a locker room incident.”
Rourke slaps me on the shoulder. “Come on, Coach. It’s like dating. You learn by doing.”
“No one is learning anything by dancing with a man in a towel,” I shoot back. “That’s my only rule.”
“You have a lot of rules,” Miles observes.
Leo holds up his phone. “Okay, this guy promises to make anyone a tango master in ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes?” I let out a dry laugh. “That’s a scam.”
He shoves the phone into my hand. Onscreen, an overly enthusiastic man in painfully tight black pants glides across a studio floor.
“See how he holds her?” Leo taps the screen, then smirks. “You do that…and she’ll be putty in your hand.”
Rourke squints at the phone. “Why is he staring at his partner like that?”
“That’s called passion,” Leo answers.
I point at the screen. “That’s called a restraining order waiting to happen.”
“You need to be ready for the wedding,” Brax insists. “And to romance her with the tango.”
I fold my arms. “I’ll be concentrating too hard on not tripping over my own feet to do any romancing.”
Leo waves our goalie over. “Miles! Get over here. You need to be the woman.”
Miles freezes mid-sip of his water bottle. “I’m sorry…what?”
“For demonstration purposes,” Leo clarifies, moving bags and equipment so there’s room for dancing in the middle of the locker room. “You need to play her part in the tango so Clueless over here can figure it out.” He hooks a thumb at me.
“But why do I have to be the woman?” Miles protests.
“Because you’re the goalie,” Leo answers as if this makes sense.
“And you have the best hair,” Rourke tacks on.
Miles blinks. “Can I at least lead?”
“Defeats the purpose,” Leo says. “You need to play Scarlett’s part.”
“But I’m 210 pounds,” he mutters. “She’s like half my size.”
“If he can dance with Baloo the bear, he can dance with anyone,” Leo explains. “Now get into position.”
We both stare at each other for about two seconds before I shake my head. “This would be significantly less humiliating if you were wearing more than a towel.”
“And if I were a woman,” Miles says.
“That too,” I agree.
“Come on, Miles,” Rourke teases. “Just pretend it’s Gabriella.”
Miles stares at him. “She’s my athletic trainer.”
“Oh?” Rourke howls. “What kind of training are we talking about?”
Miles’ face flames. “You know what? I’m not doing this. Find someone else to play her part.”
“You’re fired anyway,” Leo says, then waves Rourke over. “Get over here and be my partner, Riley. Let’s show them how it’s done.”
“Me?” Rourke’s eyebrows fly up. “I’m not dancing with you.”
Leo rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’ll be the woman.”
Brax chuckles. “That’s one thing I never thought I’d hear you say, Ego.”
Leo points at him. “And it never leaves the locker room.” He motions toward Tate next. “Tate, you and Brax pair up. We’re going to show Brendan how to tango.”
“Seriously?” Brax tips his head back. “The things I do for you guys.”
“You know what?” Tate interrupts, picking up a hockey stick. “Why don’t we all just dance with these?”
“Much better idea,” Miles says with relief, grabbing a stick before anyone else.
Leo cranks the music as the others get sticks. But when Miles turns around, he accidentally whacks Leo in the back of the head with his hockey stick.
“Hey! Watch where you’re swinging that thing!” Leo yells, clutching his head.
Just like that, the dance lesson instantly devolves into guys smacking each other and towels almost falling off.
Only Tate and I stand at the side, observing the chaos.
“Well,” Tate says dryly. “That lesson went well.”
“I should’ve known better than to think a locker room full of big egos would end in anything but a hockey brawl.”
“You’re not giving up, are you, Coach?” Miles calls after me.
“On dancing with you guys? Sure am.” I walk out smiling.
Because as insane as my friends are, they just reminded me of something: I’ve survived the Marines. I can survive Scarlett Rossi.
Maybe.