“Now get off the ice.”
“What?” He jerked. “Have I fucked up?”
“The opposite.” Tor swung his gaze to his face, gave him a cool, assessing look. “I’ve been thinking about what you said before the lockout. About how you hate practice.”
Shit. “I know I’ve run my mouth. But I’m here. Putting in the work.”
“You are. I see it. But I’m also not in this business to blow smoke up my own ass. What you said, it stuck with me. And I’ve spent the past couple months watching tapes and thinking, and... you were right.”
“I was?”
Tor crooked his lips in a tight smile. “You’re out there making saves, but you’re also always aware that I’m watching, and playing to what you think I want. Not for who you are.” He clasped Patch’s shoulder and squeezed. “And if you’re going to be starting, we need to trust each other.”
Patch’s throat swelled. He wasn’t a guy who got emotional, but he respected Coach more than any other man besides Sully. His words? They meant something.
“We understand each other?” Tor asked.
Patch nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, Coach.”
“And how was being with Margot? Man, she’s something else, huh?”
Patch dropped his stick at the sound of her name. He bent, hoping that by the time he stood back up his face would have returned to its normal color.
“Yeah, something.”
“Glad it’s working out. With any luck, it’s going to be life-changing.”
“I’m not sure she’s going to want to put up with me.” He cleared his throat. “I’m not the easiest to get on with.”
“I’d be willing to bet she likes you fine.”
“No disrespect, sir, but why?”
“Because she’s standing right over there.”
“What?” Donnelly whirled around and there was Margot, standing on the stairs next to Neve Angel, the new head of Hellions Public Relations.
He jutted his chin in a half nod. He’d never read the playbook about the right way to greet a woman after burying your face between her thighs.
It seemed to work well enough as she wiggled her fingers in return.
Neve clipped down the stairs, swinging her arms briskly.
“Hey, lover,” she said to Tor. “Good practice?”
“Not bad.”
Donnelly looked at the two of them. They didn’t leap into each other’s arms. They weren’t tearing each other’s clothes off. Nothing exchanged except for the most basic of greetings. And yet, despite the rink’s cool temperature, he’d have sworn the temperature just increased a few degrees.
It wasn’t in what they said. Or what they did. It was the look they exchanged, one heavy with unspoken language and clear affection.
That’s love.
And he felt a pang in his own heart. Because it looked good—simple, honest and true.
“I had lunch with Neve and she said practice was wrapping up,” Margot said by way of explanation. “Thought I’d drop by and see if you were busy.”
“For a session?”
