Chapter 25 #2
We ran through scheduling updates, broadcast expectations, and logistics for travel and media. Nothing needed escalation before the Cup started. We wrapped with handshakes and the unspoken agreement that now was the time to keep everyone both loose and razor sharp.
I left his office with pride stamped across my chest. Felix was usually exacting, but his approval this morning felt earned.
Noise buzzed down the hall as I headed toward the conference room. Chirps carried clear, and when I opened the door, the thump of a grip trainer ball hitting palms cut through the mix.
“Coach,” Sergei grinned from his seat, tossing the ball between his hands, “have you seen the Florida Panthers and Carolina Hurricanes’ odds yet?”
“No, and don’t care. Eastern conference winner doesn’t know how hard you idiots work.”
Colton smirked. “Bet they didn’t catch that grin stretching ear to ear when the buzzer punched our ticket to the Cup.”
The room roared.
“Wait! Was the grin even for the win?” Logan added. “Or was it because Mel sitting on your shoulder went viral?”
Laughter and whistles shot around the room.
“Pretty sure she boosted your media rating, Coach. You’re trending in WAG circles now,” Paxton, our usually silent goalie, deadpanned.
I had to catch myself from the full-on laughter.
“Call it The Mel Effect,” Sergei added.
I didn’t expect less from them. Since we took those pictures last week, we’d been laser focused on winning, and it paid off. But now I wouldn’t hear the end of me and Mel as a couple. Friday’s press conference wouldn’t be any different. I’d have to roll with it.
I ran a short meeting, focused on momentum maintenance, keeping healthy with the routine, but mostly, I told them the truth: This had been an incredible season, and I was damn proud of every single one of them.
As they filed out, Logan clapped me on the back. “Don’t lose that smile, Coach. Might scare us.”
I grinned. Hard not to with the way this group had pulled together. The buzz from the conference room followed me rinkside as I watched Rick work through a couple of minor injuries. Thankfully, nothing serious.
Out of habit, my eyes wandered toward the bench, Mel’s favorite spot when she was assigned at the rink. She wasn’t there this morning, but I could picture her anyway.
Last night’s talk was still running through my head, her body swaying against mine, it had been more than chemistry. It was connection. And thinking of her holding her own here made me feel steadier too. She belonged here, and she belonged with me.
A rooster energy swelled in my chest, even if it made no sense. Still real.
The rest of the day blurred into light review and triaging a stack of media requests I shoved to PR. By the time I got home, I felt the fatigue of the last seven months in my bones and crashed early.
Tuesday morning brought a reset. After a short training skate with the guys, I texted Mel.
Me: Cutie, available to talk?
She called.
Her name lit up my screen, I stared at it for a second. Two days since the porch, where we said words we hadn’t said before. My chest tightened, with something earned.
I picked up. “Hey… how’s it going? Still getting hammered with questions about me?”
She huffed. “Not everything revolves around you being my boyfriend.”
“Oof, Cutie. The sass,” I said, liking how she called me hers. “They do collect debt as they come.”
“In your dreams.”
“That’s two.” I let that hang in the air. “But seriously, how’s being off the rink two weeks in a row feel? And late-night Sunday?”
“I actually did okay yesterday, even after three hours of sleep. It’s Kinda busy, we’re shorthanded by one.”
“So, you’re ready for a little stress reliever.”
“Hmm… another skate night?”
“Better. Taking a bike ride with me.”
The phone went quiet.
“That’s no stress relief, riding a motorcycle.”
“You’ll love it. Picture this: You’re on the back of the bike, arms wrapped tight around me. Engine humming, your body leaning with mine every turn, wind in your face. Low speed, no highway. Feels damn good. You and me.”
She didn’t answer.
“Besides,” I added, voice dipping lower, “after Sunday night, I figured you’d trust me with a little danger.”
I let the silence stretch, then said, “You don’t think. You feel it. The road, the pull, the way everything syncs up. It’s all about being in it.”
After a beat, she said, “That was…” She swallowed. “I feel half terrified, half thrilled.”
She was hooked, just like I was.
“Either way, I got you.”
Her breath came through deep. “Okay.”
A wide smile spread across my face. I’d never been the persuasive type—I gave instructions, and they got done.
But dating my girlfriend turned me into a student in so many ways.
I was discovering parts of myself I’d never needed to exercise before, like spinning motorcycle rides into poetry and trying to outdance her.
We met at my house to swap our cars for the bike. I helped Mel with the helmet. She wore dress pants, which were easier to manage on a ride.
The beast roared beneath us as we set out. She wrapped her arms around me, clinging tightly, the same way her fingers clutched mine that first time I tried to let go on the ice.
We took side streets, a peaceful ride at a slow pace, winding along the Sacramento River with sunset views that looked painted on.
“You’re good?” I called back.
“Yes.”
After a few turns, we parked near an overlook. The open road stretched behind us, and in front of us the water reflected off the lake in molten streaks. Her thigh brushed mine as we sat on the grass beside the bike. I felt that contact more than I should have.
“I like how you trusted me and came with me.”
“I like how you empower me.” She kissed my shoulder.
That kiss felt different. Like this past weekend had cracked something open, and now we were walking through it together.
Silence stretched, easy and comfortable, until—
“So…the tattoo,” Mel said, nudging my arm. “What’s the story?”
I smirked. “Finally came around to discuss my biceps, huh?”
She rolled her eyes. “C’mon, don’t make me regret asking.”
I chuckled.
“It’s a compass,” I said, turning my arm slightly so she could trace it with her eyes.
“Got it when Abby turned fifteen, the same age I was when our Mom passed. She was starting to test her wings, and I wanted her to know she had a big brother she could always lean on. Someone to guide her when she needed it.”
Her expression softened. “I remember you telling me your mom passed away. Why a compass though?”
“North’s etched deeper, and around the base it says Hold the line. Kind of my personal GPS for when life tries to send me into a ditch.”
“I knew it. You’re a born leader.”
“Hell, yeah.”
Her gaze flicked back to the tattoo, and she traced her finger on it. “What’s A and M for?”
“Abby and Mom.” I smiled. “Mom was the heart of the family. After she died… Dad didn’t hold much together. So I did.”
Mel’s hand rested lightly on my forearm. “You still do.”
I let out a breath. “That’s the season that taught me loyalty, grit… and how to fake looking steady when you’re skating on gravel.”
“That’s not true. You’re solid.”
My mouth curved. “Not exactly the kind of story you expect with a tattoo and a motorcycle.”
“No,” she said, leaning into me. “It’s better. For Abby and you as her big brother, that’s just…”
She shook her head as if looking for words.
“Dazzling?”
She chuckled. “You can’t stop reminding me how charming you are.”
I turned to her. “Did you say I’m charming?”
She smiled and didn’t look at me. “If you insist, I’ll take it back.”
“Another point to my sass account. It’s getting pretty full.”
She swatted my arm, breaking a laugh out of me.
Then she asked, “What did she have? Your mom?”
“A congenital heart issue.”
“Oh, that’s hard stuff.”
I nodded. “Yeah, it was.” I let the memory wash over me for a moment. “But after twenty-five years, I think she’d be glad I turned out okay. She’d probably roll her eyes that I went full motorcycle guy with a tattoo and then ask if the bike came with a helmet big enough for my ego.”
Mel laughed. “Yep. Your mom would be right on the money for a broody guy.”
I bumped her shoulder with mine. “Broody types don’t usually get soft for Cuties.”
“That’s right. “Broody’s overrated anyway,” she said with a glint. “Give me stormy, motorcycle-riding hockey guys. That’s my lane now.”
That made me chuckle. “Don’t wish for what you can’t handle.”
“I can handle all of you.”
I smirked. “Challenge accepted.”
We fell into a comfortable silence again. A red-winged blackbird cut across the lake with a sharp trill, startling a pair of green-headed ducks drifting close to shore.
I could feel the shift, her conversation with Ruby at their house sitting between us even here.
I glanced over. “Have things always been tight between you and your mom?”
She met my gaze. “Tight…? Maybe.”
“Looks to me as if you don’t want to disappoint her.”
She looked at the sunset. “I feel like since I was a teenager, starting to figure myself out, I was expected to be what she wanted. She’s my first female role model. Naturally, I…”
She trailed off.
“You made yourself small to fit her vision,” I offered.
Her eyes widened. “How did you come up with that? That’s suspiciously accurate.”
“I overheard your conversation with her during Sam’s going-away lunch.” She shut her eyes and scrunched her nose. “It came through the bathroom pretty clearly.”
When she opened them again, her cheeks were flushed. “That’s what I hate about that hollow house with its thin walls. They’ve outdone the tabloids and turned into their own gossip column.”
I huffed a laugh. That was my girl, witty even when mortified.
She sighed. “I guess it’s easier to please and hold back. As a girl, I picked up on her moods easily. She’d said she was fine, but it always felt off.”
She paused, then continued with a breath. “Lately, I’ve been trying to make sense of it, and I think it ties back to our lifestyle.”
“Your lifestyle?”
She nodded. “Before they got married, Dad was a rising star at a global distributor company. Jet-setting, perks, the kind of job that came with champagne toasts. I’m sure Mom was praised for ‘landing’ him.”
I listened, letting her put it together.
“Their wedding photos look straight out of a luxury catalog—champagne towers, silk dresses, bosses flown in. She thought she was marrying into the country club life.”
Mel exhaled. “But then the company crashed a year into the marriage. Layoffs, gone. Dad pivoted into office work.”
I felt a pang for Bill.
“That must have been devastating for your dad. Getting a set down like that for a man’s ego—that’s a blow.”
“Must’ve been. But the new job was steady, respectable, but not the dream she built her identity on.
” She shook her head. “I can still see her in silk loungewear on a Tuesday, flipping through travel magazines. That’s not a to-do list for a middle-class family, you know.
” She looked at me. “Things like an invitation that didn't come from a certain country-club woman? she would sigh loud enough for them to hear.”
“I can see it now.” I thought for a bit. “At Sam’s goodbye lunch, the table was all fancied up with china, linen napkins in ornate rings. It was nice, though.”
“Nice, but knowing who Sam is, you didn’t expect that.”
“No,” I admitted. Then, after a pause, “So why did she stay?”
Mel shook her head. “I don’t know. I suspect it’s because leaving would’ve meant admitting the dream never matched the reality. To her parents, her friends, and even herself. Could she have said I’m unhappy because my husband isn’t earning as much as I’d like?”
“Yeah, no. That’s not something you say out loud.”
“Maybe she hoped Dad would land another global job, or maybe it was easier to stay in the life she had than risk building another on her own.”
“So, she married the ‘corporate golden retriever’ dream but ended up with the ‘hardworking labrador’ reality.” I pieced it together.
Mel’s lips curved, then flattened. “That’s what I think. And instead of pitching in, she clung harder to the fantasy. Strange, right?”
“I doubt those women she related to were clocking nine-to-five either. She probably thought she was keeping up.”
“Exactly.” She moistened her lips. “After Dad paid off the house and our undergrad, they retired early to enjoy life. Now she resents him for the financial fall, even though she cosigned the failed investment. It’s as if she decided she deserved it, no matter how reality played out.”
Bitter. The word jumped out of me. It explained everything and nothing at once, because life never turns out the way we want it.
“What a life wasted on waiting instead of living it. That’s a hell of a thing to carry.” I exhaled slowly.
We fell into reflective silence. I thought back to that lunch at her parents’ house, how different her mom and dad were.
“But your dad’s a genial man.”
“He is. So much that I bet he retired early to give her a glimpse of that life, even if he’d never admit it.”
I frowned. “You think that’s why he fell into the Ponzi scheme? Trying to pad their retirement?”
She pursed her lips. “Maybe? I don’t know.”
And not knowing carried its own kind of weight.
The sun slipped low, fading off the lake. We sat shoulder to shoulder, picking through complicated histories while the evening settled around us.
“I still don’t see what that has to do with you.”
She shrugged. “Me neither. I spent years bending to her moods not realizing that I was the one stuck, going in circles.”
“That’s not fair to you.” A fierce part of me wanted to protect her from having to adjust to someone’s fantasies.
Later that night, lying in bed, I kept thinking how Mel’s family’s financial fallout had been a hell of a storm. But out of it, she was finally seeing how her mother’s bitterness had shaped her. How she’d carried weight that was never hers to carry.
The truth was simple: she didn’t have to anymore.
She’d chosen differently—to hold on to me, and not let go. She climbed on the bike, nervous, but willing. She held on to me, and to the moment we created, trusting me to navigate the twists and turns.