50. I’ve Been Busy
50
I’VE BEEN BUSY
Miles
A little earlier
Morning skate is brutal.
Coach works us harder than usual—sprints, extended drills, endless shots on goal. It’s punishing, especially for an out-of-town practice. And I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault.
When it’s over, Coach blows his whistle and sends us to the locker room. He paces as he reviews this afternoon’s game plan, cool and methodical as ever, not once looking at me. When he finishes, he gives a curt nod and walks out.
I don’t know if this is the start of a “you’re dead to me” relationship or if he’s treating me like someone he’s about to trade. I called my agent this morning, and I’m waiting to hear back. But honestly? The trade isn’t what I care about. The captaincy isn’t either.
It’s her. Just her.
But before I can figure out what to say to Coach, Rowan and Tyler pull me aside as we leave the locker room, their faces grim.
“Dude,” Tyler begins.
“What the fuck?” Rowan seconds.
We understand each other perfectly with very few words. I scratch my jaw, blow out a breath. “Yeah. It’s all kinds of fucked up.”
And I’m no closer to knowing how to handle it than I was last night.
“I’ve never seen him like this,” Rowan says, dead serious. “In all my years playing for him.” Then he winces. “I heard some of what went down in the hall.”
Ah, shit. That sucks, but of course, that’s the price to pay. “Well, at least I don’t have to tell you what’s going on then.”
“Right, but if he’s pissed, you need to get this straightened out,” Rowan says, all business. “No one likes an angry Coach.”
“You gotta man up,” Tyler adds.
They couldn’t be more right. “But how? He already knows. I tried to say I’m sorry. What do I do? What would you do if this happened to one of your daughters?”
Tyler cringes. “I don’t even want to think about my nine-year-old dating.”
“Yeah, dude. Mia’s seven, for fuck’s sake,” Rowan chimes in.
“You get my point though.”
Tyler curls his nose. Rowan growls. They both sigh .
Then Tyler says, “First off, no man is good enough for my daughter.”
“What he said,” Rowan adds.
“But if anyone ever is, all I’d need to know is that she’s his first priority. Always.”
And all at once, I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner. But I’ve thought of it now.
“That’s perfect. Thanks,” I say, then head to find Coach right away. It’s not hard. He’s fifty or so feet away, down the corridor right outside the visitors’ coaches’ room, head bent over his phone.
I jog toward him. But as I get closer, I notice he’s swallowing, rolling his lips together, then swiping at his cheek.
I slow my pace, studying him as he reads something on the screen. Is now a bad time? I really don’t know, but still, I go for it. “Sir, could I please talk to you?”
He draws a big breath. “Not now.”
Then he turns and walks the other way.
Fuck.
This man is not making it easy. I lean against the wall, scrubbing a hand across the back of my neck, regrouping.
I’ll have to find another chance, even though I’m already so tired of waiting.
Good thing we have an afternoon game, though there’s no time to nap—and I couldn’t nap if I tried. Especially since my agent calls just as I’m wrapping up a light workout.
“All right, man. I called Clementine, but she hasn’t called back yet. You have to remember there are always trade talks,” Garrett says.
“You think it’s just talks?”
“I hope so, Miles,” he says, his tone careful, making no promises. “But try to put it out of your mind and play the game. You’ve always been good at focusing.”
A knot tightens in my chest. He’s right on both counts, but I also know better than to trust reassurances. This game is all about leverage—and right now, I don’t have much.
But I think about the word he just used— focu s. I think about the future. I think about Leighton. And the thing is—maybe I don’t have leverage. But I have options. I have choices. I have agency. I can always… quit .
I blink, my mind wrapping around an idea I’ve barely dared to entertain. And yet…here I am, entertaining it.
It’s not my favorite choice, but it’s one I could make. I don’t have to accept a trade. I can also walk away and walk into something else entirely. Something different.
The knot loosens. I have choices and that is a damn good feeling. I can choose how to move forward. The thought of walking away is both terrifying and oddly freeing.
I thank Garrett and get ready to play, choosing to leave these career fears behind.
As I lace up, I know exactly what to say to Coach. I rehearse the words in my head. I’m a planner, a learner, an achiever. And that’s a damn good thing. I also know how to focus on a goal. I hit the ice an hour later, putting the trade talks out of my mind.
Yes, I want to stay, but the only way to control that is by playing the best hockey I can. The rest is out of my hands, and that’s fine by me. Because I know what I want and what I’ll do to get it. I know what I’ve done too, on and off the ice.
And soon, Coach will as well.
He can’t avoid me on the plane that evening. Well, maybe he can. But I won’t let him. Even though he’s talking to the assistant coach as we hit our cruising altitude, I push up and out of my seat and make my way to the second row. “Hey. I need a word, please.”
“Sure,” the assistant coach says, and that’s that.
I grab his seat before Coach can give me the cold shoulder. I turn to him, and I don’t ask—I tell. “I’ve been keeping secrets.”
He barks out a humorless laugh. “I’m well aware of that, Falcon.”
The hum of the plane and the chatter of conversations behind us make this moment private enough.
But I’ve got a hell of a lot more to say. “Sir, what I mean?—”
He snaps his gaze to me, his blue eyes sharp and assessing. “I suspected you two had a thing once you finished up that dog-sitting situation,” he says in a low, cool voice, and I’m momentarily surprised. But then I shouldn’t be. He’s a strategic man. He traffics in strategy. It’s literally his job to read other teams and respond. “I thought you’d talk to me. I thought she respected me enough to trust me with this.”
His words twist like a knife, but it’s okay. I can handle it. And clearly, he needs to say this. “I saw there was some…flicker between you two. And I didn’t hate it, but I figured you’d both come to me.”
He takes a beat, and I seize the chance to wrestle back some of the conversation. “I wanted to, sir. But I also wanted to be patient with Leighton. To make sure she was ready on her own and not simply because I was ready,” I say, and I’m not throwing Leighton under the bus but making sure he knows I prioritize her. Then I add, “But I had to take care of something first.”
He blinks, perhaps confused, but barrels on. “I was waiting for you to realize you’re the man for my daughter. To show me why you’re worthy. Because I want someone who’s willing to fight for her.”
He has no idea. But he’s about to find out.
“About that,” I say, and I take a deep breath. Holy shit. This is hard, and I practiced. I practiced with others. I practiced in class. But now it’s real. My hands feel clumsy already. What if I mess this up? What if he doesn’t understand what I’m trying to say? But this is how I’ll fight for her. I don’t speak the words. I sign them.
I am serious about her. I will fight for her.
His jaw slackens, his hand hovering in the air like he’s about to gesture but doesn’t know what to do. It’s like I’ve knocked his world off its axis. He’s quiet for a long, long time, his gaze switching between my hands and my face, like he’s seeing me in a whole new way. We might even be nearing San Francisco when he finally answers me in the same language.
When did you learn?
No more lies. No more secrets. I don’t have to tell him what we did on our first date. But I can tell him I signed up for an American Sign Language class a year ago, right after I found out Leighton knew it.
I can hear her voice telling me during our first stairwell encounter: Just in case.
I’m not fast at making words. I’m not perfect. I’m sure I’m getting some things wrong, but I do it anyway. A year ago.
His lips part, but he says nothing, just shakes his head. It’s not like he’s saying no though. It’s like…he’s astonished.
Well, there’s more where that came from.
I keep going, signing what I practiced before I hit the ice today so I could get it right. I want to communicate with her for the rest of her life.
She doesn’t need to use ASL now. She may not need it ever. But I want a future with her for all time. I can almost hear her teasing me, sharing her opinion, telling me I didn’t have to go this far. But I do. She’s worth it, and I want her to know I’ll show up for her every day.
Coach covers his mouth, sighs heavily, then mutters, “Goddammit, Falcon.”
I’m not sure what that means, and all the uncertainty rushes through my veins, but so, too, does the certainty of what’s next—the future with Leighton.
His head hangs.
Disappointment reverberates through me. He’s still pissed off? What can I ever do to win back his respect?
But then he turns to me again, speaking in a lower voice. “I’m mad at you, Falcon. But you are the right man for her.”
And I’m a firework. I’m a ticker-tape parade. I’m hoisting Lord Stanley’s Cup.
“Thank you, sir,” I say, all the emotion and thrill coursing through me.
I’m about to pop out of my seat when he pushes down with his hand, telling me to stay. He lifts a finger to make a point. “But I don’t know if a man who keeps this a secret is the right man for a captain,” he says, and that’s fair.
That’s so fucking fair.
I sign back, That’s fine. Then I say, “If that means I get Leighton, that’s what I want. ”
“And the reason why is you kept secrets from me. I need to trust you if you’re captain. Don’t do that with her. Don’t lie to her,” he says, sterner than he’s ever been.
“I won’t. I promise,” I say, so sincerely, meaning it to the depths of my soul.
He nods, accepting my word. “You better go fix what you fucked up.”
I will, I sign, and I try to wipe the smile off my face, but it’s useless. I can’t stop grinning.
I pop up, but then one more question hits me before I reach the aisle. “Are you trading me?” I ask.
He tilts his head. “Why would you ask?”
“I heard a rumor,” I say, and I’m not lying to him, but I’m not revealing my sources. “I hope the answer is no, but don’t think you can get rid of me that easily. I’ll make it work with your daughter no matter what,” I say, smiling once again. Then signing, She’s worth it.
“You fucking pain in the ass,” he mutters. Then he sighs and says, “Chicago called about you. They floated a number. A good number.”
I hold my breath. “And?”
He shrugs and smiles wickedly, a man with the upper hand again. “I said you’re too valuable. Now don’t make me regret it.”
I could kiss the sky. “I won’t, sir.”
Then I head to my seat and fire off a text to Birdie, hoping she’ll get it when we land. I really need her to earn her Underground Grandma Matchmaking Society stripes tonight.