Chapter 27 Sean #2
My dad leaking his story to the media had wrecked me once. This time, I had to keep a lid on it. I couldn’t let that noise bleed in, not when I had two things that mattered more than anything: Mel and the Cup.
I braced both hands on the bathroom counter, staring at my reflection. Nothing usually knocked me off focus, especially with the Cup ahead. But Mel was different. She had me wrapped around her finger, and somehow that distraction didn’t destabilize me. It felt second nature.
I headed to the kitchen, heart tugging.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” She was plating food on the island, and the smell had my mouth watering.
“I’m getting used to this domestic thing with you.” I kissed her cheek.
We started eating.
I filled her in on what came up this morning, how the team planned for the WAGs to join them for the game-watch party. She nodded along, already on board.
Then she sighed. “Did I bring you bad luck or what?”
I reached for her hand. “Yeah, the kind of bad luck I want every day. Making it to the Cup, holding you against me in my bed all night, and falling harder for you again and again.”
I leaned in and kissed her, and she grinned into it.
The strategy session wrapped up a little after four, the last slide clicking off, and I closed my laptop.
The guys filtered out, cracking jokes, some already tugging off practice layers on their way to change.
I stayed behind, straightening things that were already neat, waiting for the hum in my head to settle.
Then I headed to the office to swap into jeans, a button-down, and the unstructured blazer I kept stashed for events that blurred the line between team and press. Moccasins instead of gym shoes, low-key, but still put-together.
My mind flicked back to this morning. After leaving Mel in the kitchen, I dug out my mother’s ring and looked at it.
It stayed in its box for now. Funny. I’d never once considered giving it to my ex, I’d shopped for her ring, but with Mel, I didn’t hesitate.
Each woman was different from the other in a way I couldn’t explain.
One was a stage, the other was home. Yeah, I was that guy now, and it fit.
The ring wasn’t extravagant—an oval sapphire rimmed with small diamonds, a classic gold band worn smooth with time. My dad gave it to my mom for their ten-year vow renewal, back when things were still good, before the bottom fell out.
Mel didn’t know the story yet, but it felt right.
She was soft where I needed steady, fierce when I needed fire.
She moved in tune with me, trusted me to guide her through uncomfortable territory.
When she was vulnerable, she sought me out.
Her humor, her work ethic. She was complete—and it didn’t hurt that she was also a heartbreaker.
As the time to see her approached, my pulse kicked harder.
I made it to the press-conference lounge and found a few guys standing outside chatting, Brent and Colton among them.
“Coach, we made sure to clean up,” Brent said, then spun for effect.
I grinned. Colton lifted his blazer and gave himself a preening shrug. He looked runway-trained instead of ready for a locker-room brawl.
“The VIP’s in the house, folks, behave,” came Logan’s voice.
I turned in time to catch his peace sign before he ducked inside.
Then Mel walked down the hall, right into my line of sight.
She looked even more beautiful than she had that morning. Skinny jeans, heeled sandals, a loose silk blouse that looked effortless and devastatingly sexy at the same time. Lips painted deep, soft curls brushing past her shoulders. My brain hiccupped.
“Cutie, if I forget how to speak tonight, it’ll be your fault for walking in here looking like that.”
She grinned. “Then I’ll just coach for you.”
She was ready to take over the team, I wouldn’t mind her by my side for the long haul. At all.
We walked in to a relaxed atmosphere. People half-watched the pregame panel, half snuck glances at Mel. It was her first time in a team sit-down that wasn’t about work.
Asher came up, grinning. “Damn, Mel, you look nice.”
“She always does,” I said, cutting him off.
“It’s going to be a fun watch party. The WAGs brought makeup bags for touch-ups,” he continued.
“You’re joking,” Mel said, skeptical eyes narrowing on Asher.
“Nope. It seems makeup remodeling between rounds is a thing,” Asher replied.
I chuckled.
Mel laughed. “And I don’t mind it. Not one bit,” she said.
The room filled up. Sadie, Olivia, and Reena added puck and hockey-stick shaped cookies to the spread of finger foods we’d chipped in to order. The air felt lighter, free of the usual game-day edge.
Colton, Asher, and Brent pulled up a couple of chairs near the front. People settled in, plates loaded, drinks filled up. Someone dimmed the lights slightly, the screen brightening as the puck dropped for the Eastern Conference Final.
Mel was sitting to my right, drink in hand, her subtle lean making my shoulder burn sweetly. Each time she reacted to a shot or a breakaway, her leg grazed mine in the best way.
In the second period, Florida pulled ahead. The room hushed, eyes glued to the screen until the final minute ticked down. Then the final buzzer hit, the room broke into chatter.
“Alright! Cup Final—Tahoe West versus Florida!” Asher whooped.
The room buzzed. Florida had clinched it, and the Cup matchup was set. I grabbed a root beer, a few bite-sized sandwiches, and sank back into my chair.
Dane dropped into the seat beside me, cracking open a soda. “That Floridian defenseman, Rowan’s gonna be a problem. The guy flexes like elastic and hits like a freight train.”
“He’s got reach like a damn octopus. We’ll need to box him out early,” Colton chimed in from his chair ahead of us.
“We met far worse defenses than that, and we’re in the final.” I gave my coach’s signature reply, though the Florida defense game looked solid, and could be troublesome.
“Touch-up time,” the voice came from my right.
I looked over as Reena pulled Mel toward the exit. I smirked watching them go. Mel didn’t need upgrade. Her this morning, sleep-soft and barefaced, was the most beautiful I’d seen her. That image hadn’t left me all day.
People kept slipping in and out, whispers mixed with game stats drifted around, like some side plan was brewing. I didn’t ask, too busy soaking in the post-game buzz and already working up some strategies.
“Coach, how do you feel about your team’s fashion choices tonight? Brent’s blazer looks like it came from a jazz funeral,” Logan said.
The room cracked up.
I snorted. “At least he didn’t wear his lucky socks. Those things should be quarantined.”
That got a fresh round of laughs.
I glanced toward the door, Mel hadn’t come back yet. How long was the bathroom queue? I must’ve been the only dehydrated person here, because the pee parade hadn’t slowed.
“Coach, you good?” Paxton asked.
“Yeah. Waiting for my girlfriend to return from the beauty vortex,” I said right as she walked in, glowing as if she’d won something.