7. Ash #2
“ Anyway ,” this she said with narrowed eyes. “If we’re going to be this sort of friends, fine. I’ll tell you, but I still don’t want any judgment.”
Raising my hands again in surrender, I told her, “I’m the last person to judge anyone, for anything. Your dirty little secret is safe with me.”
“Ugh. It’s not a dirty secret. I just don’t talk about it.”
“Isn’t that a secret?”
“No, but I assume no one wants to hear about the things I care about.”
What an awful thing to say. I wondered if the person who listed the flaws she recited at me told her that.
She traced the lid of her coffee cup with a finger, following the circle back and forth a few times before continuing.
“Ugh, fine. It’s not like we ever have to talk about it again.
” I wanted to tell her I’d bring it up at every opportunity, just to see that blush again, but I refrained, too intrigued to interrupt.
“I discovered fanfiction after a breakup, when I only wanted to find my favorite characters having happy endings. Facing down uncertain endings hurt too much. It started with romance novels, but sometimes the anxiety of not knowing made familiar settings and characters easier. I was really vulnerable and lonely, and it felt sort of like rediscovering old friends.” When she finished, she sagged a little, like the declaration took a lot out of her.
“Okay, and? What’re you so embarrassed about?”
The corners of her mouth turned down, her fingers drumming on the glass again.
“Embarrassed isn’t the right word, exactly.
It’s more like… people like to judge romance, you know?
It’s supposedly frivolous to want to read about people finding love and happiness.
All the people with boners for literary authors or nonfiction get all superior talking about silly little romance novels.
And don’t even get me started on the stigma around fanfic and how it’s a traditionally female space and the misogynistic take on it all being trash.
” The pause Olivia took to choose a gummy worm from the bag seemed to be for fortification.
A slow exhale stirred the pieces of hair escaping her loose bun to fall around her face.
“I know nothing about fanfic, but I read romance. Clearly.” I waved my book at her for evidence. I never told anyone that before. Not that it embarrassed me, but it never came up. Not that it would with one-night stands or in the middle of a hockey game. “Even if I didn’t, it’s not silly.”
“How did you get into romance, anyway? Polly’s doing, I guess?” Another gummy worm disappeared into her mouth, and she chewed thoughtfully.
“Hmm. I read a little bit of everything; fantasy, biographies, thrillers, poetry, romance… sometimes Coach gives us books on teamwork, but I have a hard time with those. I practically grew up with my grandparents, and they got me into reading at a really young age. I found Nana’s romance books in high school, and I read those and my grandpa’s cowboy books.
I just took whatever I wanted off their shelves, and they didn’t care as long as I finished my homework first. I have less time now, but I read a ton in the off-season. ”
“Huh.” It was her turn to lean back in her seat. “That’s surprising, but kind of cool.”
Something in her demeanor shifted, then, her posture growing less stiff. It was like watching the gears in her brain become more comfortable with me.
“Is that your big confession?”
“When you say it like that, I guess it’s not a big deal. I probably consume more than your average reader, though, so maybe obsession is more accurate than addiction. Or emotional support smut.”
“Oh, you like the spicy stuff, huh?”
“Sometimes.” Her eyes flicked away again.
“So, this was what you were reading at the game, then?”
The grin from before, the one tinged with a hint of wickedness, returned. “Ah. I guess so, yeah. Have you heard of Omegaverse?”
“Nope. Educate me, Barnes.”
The flight attendant arrived in the middle of a diatribe I hardly understood about omegas and knotting and slick, and Olivia barely acknowledged our drinks arriving, thanking the attendant and jumping right back into her explanation.
Watching her turn that intensity on something other than disliking me was much better than being on the receiving end of it.
“—and the Alphas aren’t like what dudebros call ‘alpha males’.
” Olivia swiped a few more gummy worms, popping one into her mouth.
“Alphas are, like, providers. Protectors. They’re aggressive sometimes, but they’re not usually assholes to women for the sake of being assholes to women.
” Taking what might be the first deep breath in about ten minutes, Olivia paused, glancing between my nearly empty bag of candy and her handful of worms. Another flush spread over her face, this one pinching her brows together.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I’ve been monologuing over—I’m sorry. ”
The abrupt shift from enthusiastic to shuttered startled me. “Don’t apologize. I think I learned something.”
“No, it’s not that. I just… let’s talk about you.” Hastily, she shoved the final piece of candy in her mouth, pushing the bag back in my direction.
“Don’t be like that. This is the most interesting conversation I’ve had in a while.” I meant it, too. Hockey was my job, but that didn’t mean it was my life, and no matter how many times we tried not to, going out with Dante and the guys always meant we turned to shoptalk, eventually.
“Okay.” She paused, looking up at me through her lashes, suddenly almost shy again. “Sorry about the gummy worms. Sour candy is my Achilles heel. I used to eat these while I studied, and it’s like a stress reflex now. I promise I’ll buy you more.”
Why was that adorable?
And why the hell did I think she was adorable?
“How ‘bout you share the link to that—what was it—omega something? You were reading and we’ll call it even?”
“I’m not sure you’re ready for that much fluid in one place, Wilder, but sure.”
And we passed the rest of the flight that way, sharing candy and reading in companionable silence, occasionally broken by laughs from me or gasps from her until she fell asleep.
Her head drooped on my shoulder, and I was loath to move her; I knew she didn’t sleep last night and if her next couple of days were going to be in a hospital, she wouldn’t sleep there either.
While she slept, I logged into the airplane wi-fi, texting Nana about Trip’s injury. She and Trip got along well, and I knew she’d want to send flowers and food.
What I didn’t expect was her next message.
Nana
If you’re going to be captain, you’re going to need a better haircut.
Somehow, Nana’s expectation that I’d go for it felt like unasked for permission, like if Nana thought I could do it, allowing myself to dream might make it a reality. The half-formed idea from earlier began taking shape.
When we landed, the pinchy look reappeared on Olivia’s face. She thanked me and practically slid down the ramp, grabbed her suitcase from a bewildered attendant, and raced toward a rental car she somehow wrangled.
As her backpack bounced with her retreating steps, I wished I’d told her about my plan to try for captain. Some bizarre need to share with someone left me adrift.
Not only that, but I missed her when she left.
Fuck .
* * *
My heart ached for Trip. Not only would the season be almost impossible without our fearless leader, but I missed him. He was like a big brother, always ready with advice. I wondered what he’d think about my plan, if he’d be proud of me.
Coach said Trip expected to be back next season, but we all knew the realities of such an injury, particularly at Trip’s age.
He wasn’t old , but at thirty-five, he was getting old by athlete standards.
Trip was one of our veteran players, a Knight for several years, and he’d been playing professionally for several more.
If not for the injury, he probably would’ve aged out in another season or two.
But filling in as acting captain, even temporarily…
This was my chance to shed the “Basher” persona.
If I were captain, maybe I could prove to the team, to myself how much more there was to me.
Hope filled me, pulling my shoulders straighter and my head higher, as I formulated a plan during the ride to our hotel.
Coach settled in one of the offices reserved for visiting coaches, but he was with someone when I found him, so I waited in one of the chairs lining the wall, elbows resting on my knees with my fingers clasped between them.
Adrenaline skipped through my veins, my nerves already raw before the interaction.
After a few minutes, the door opened, revealing Thomas Allen shaking hands with Coach as he exited the office.
Allen gave me a sharp look as he left, and unease followed in his wake.
Coach Olsen leaned back in a creaky leather desk chair that had seen better days. He didn’t waste his energy on things that weren’t his team, and it was one of my favorite things about him.
“Wilder,” Coach said by way of greeting as he slid black plastic reading glasses down his nose.
“Coach, have you found a replacement for Trip?” Best to spit it out, right?
“You’re no center.” Coach shuffled a few papers on his desk, barely looking at Ash as he shifted his weight.
“Er, no, I meant… for captain.”
Coach took his glasses off completely and stared at me for a solid thirty seconds without speaking. “Captain? You?” A furrow formed between the old man’s thick grey brows.
At least the old man didn’t further injure my ego by laughing.
“Forget I mentioned it.” I turned to leave, catching my shoulder on the doorframe.
“Hold on.” Coach leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on the desk, tapping both forefingers in tandem. “ Why do you want to be captain?”
The answer couldn’t be as simple as ‘to be taken seriously’, so I mulled it over. “I think I could be a good leader… if given the opportunity.” Shit, I should’ve planned this, written a speech or something. I bet Allen had a speech.
Faded brown eyes peered at me from over a hawkish nose. “You haven’t given me much to back up that statement. Especially given some of your… history.”
I winced. “I was in a weird place, and it was a long time ago?—”
“Save the excuses, kid. If you’re going to lead, put your own shit aside.”
“Does that mean?—”
“Maybe. I want you to prove to me you can be real about something. Something that isn’t models and photoshoots.”
“That was years ago! I haven’t done anything stupid since then.” Nausea curdled, the bile rising in my throat. Coach didn’t know everything because I couldn’t bear to tell him. Was that a mistake?
“I know, but I need you to be serious about this. I’ll be honest, Wilder, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you today.”
“I know, sir. But I thought I’d try something new.”
Coach let out a barking laugh. “I like that. Look, I’ll tell you what I told Allen and Coltes, too. Losing a captain wasn’t on my agenda for this season, and I won’t make a rash decision on who leads the team.”
Cold dread filled my veins— it never occurred that I might have competition. That was me—always too cocky.
“I want to give everyone a fair shot, and I need to feel you all out, so here’s the deal: you’ll each have a set number of games to prove to me you have what it takes. If I like what I see, we’ll talk.”
“Thanks, Coach. I won’t let you down.” And that sounded like a teen sports movie. Too bad we weren’t on a golf course; I’d break into song.
“Keep in mind, though, you have to keep your head in the game. No distractions, no fighting, no more bullshit.”
“Yes, sir.” The last time I did anything stupid off the rink had been years ago, but no one seemed to remember that.
Coach waved his hands in a dismissive gesture, and I turned again to leave. “No distractions,” he repeated as I nearly skipped down the hall.
In the locker room after the meeting, I geared up, wondering how to prove myself when everyone expected me to be a caricature. An overblown idiot with a pretty face who went through dates like candy, when in reality, I hadn’t been that person in a while.