Everett
Shut the fuck up, Ethan. I’ll kick your ass if you touch her.
Richardson
Who says I haven’t already?
Sullivan
Congratulations, Coach. You’ve unleashed a monster. I’m blaming you when I play like shit at morning skate.
And, yeah. I work with Belinda Powers in the summer, but she’s busy. Been coaching an NCAA girl taking a gap year who’s the best skater I’ve seen in decades.
Miller
Rude. I’m right here.
Sullivan
You’re old and slow.
Miller
Goddamn, Goalie Daddy. That wasn’t very nice.
Me
We’re finished here. Morning skate is at 9 tomorrow. Last person on the ice is doing laps.
Richardson
9?? I thought it was 11!!
Me
You all are pissing me off. Now it’s 9.
Everett
Dammit, Ethan.
Richardson
Don’t blame me!!
I delete the group chat, but I can’t get a moment of peace because a minute later, my phone rings. Grant’s name is on the screen, and my pulse jumps with anticipation.
Based on his reaction to Ethan’s comment, there’s no way he knows about me and his sister. If he did, he would’ve decked me in the face by now. I’m still on edge when I answer his call, doing a lap around my room to calm myself down.
“Hello?”
“Coach.” I can hear him grinning on the other end of the line. “What’s up?”
“You’re calling me, Everett.”
“Right.” He laughs, and there’s a muffled voice behind him asking a question I can’t make out. “I texted my sister and asked if she would ever consider coaching. Not to brag or be an obnoxious big brother, but she really is one of the best skaters in the country.”
“You didn’t need to do that,” I say.
