We ran through scheduling updates, broadcast expectations, and logistics for travel and media. Nothing needed escalation before the Cup started. We wrapped with handshakes and the unspoken agreement that now was the time to keep everyone both loose and razor sharp.
I left his office with pride stamped across my chest. Felix was usually exacting, but his approval this morning felt earned.
Noise buzzed down the hall as I headed toward the conference room. Chirps carried clear, and when I opened the door, the thump of a grip trainer ball hitting palms cut through the mix.
“Coach,” Sergei grinned from his seat, tossing the ball between his hands, “have you seen the Florida Panthers and Carolina Hurricanes’ odds yet?”
“No, and don’t care. Eastern conference winner doesn’t know how hard you idiots work.”
Colton smirked. “Bet they didn’t catch that grin stretching ear to ear when the buzzer punched our ticket to the Cup.”
The room roared.
“Wait! Was the grin even for the win?” Logan added. “Or was it because Mel sitting on your shoulder went viral?”
Laughter and whistles shot around the room.
“Pretty sure she boosted your media rating, Coach. You’re trending in WAG circles now,” Paxton, our usually silent goalie, deadpanned.
I had to catch myself from the full-on laughter.
“Call it The Mel Effect,” Sergei added.
I didn’t expect less from them. Since we took those pictures last week, we’d been laser focused on winning, and it paid off. But now I wouldn’t hear the end of me and Mel as a couple. Friday’s press conference wouldn’t be any different. I’d have to roll with it.
I ran a short meeting, focused on momentum maintenance, keeping healthy with the routine, but mostly, I told them the truth: This had been an incredible season, and I was damn proud of every single one of them.
As they filed out, Logan clapped me on the back. “Don’t lose that smile, Coach. Might scare us.”
I grinned. Hard not to with the way this group had pulled together. The buzz from the conference room followed merinkside as I watched Rick work through a couple of minor injuries. Thankfully, nothing serious.
Out of habit, my eyes wandered toward the bench, Mel’s favorite spot when she was assigned at the rink. She wasn’t there this morning, but I could picture her anyway.
Last night’s talk was still running through my head, her body swaying against mine, it had been more than chemistry. It was connection. And thinking of her holding her own here made me feel steadier too. She belonged here, and she belonged with me.
A rooster energy swelled in my chest, even if it made no sense. Still real.
The rest of the day blurred into light review and triaging a stack of media requests I shoved to PR. By the time I got home, I felt the fatigue of the last seven months in my bones and crashed early.
Tuesday morning brought a reset. After a short training skate with the guys, I texted Mel.
Me:Cutie, available to talk?
She called.
Her name lit up my screen, I stared at it for a second. Two days since the porch, where we said words we hadn’t said before. My chest tightened, with something earned.
I picked up. “Hey… how’s it going? Still getting hammered with questions about me?”
She huffed. “Not everything revolves around you being my boyfriend.”
“Oof, Cutie. The sass,” I said, liking how she called me hers. “They do collect debt as they come.”
“In your dreams.”
“That’s two.” I let that hang in the air. “But seriously, how’s being off the rink two weeks in a row feel? And late-night Sunday?”
“I actually did okay yesterday, even after three hours of sleep. It’s Kinda busy, we’re shorthanded by one.”
