“Are you alright? That was a tough, close one.”
“Yeah, like all NHL games.” I played down my disappointment.
“Hmm…maybe. But that’s not what I saw.”
“What did you see?”
“Your attitude, your adaptability post loss: slouched posture, visible frustration...”
A chuckle escaped me. “So, I’m found out. And what’s the cure for that? Because I’ve been suffering from it for decades.”
“How about disappearing in the bathroom for a quick breath and some self-talk?”
I waited. She didn’t elaborate.
“That’s all?” I asked.
“You can add imagery too—think of something that made you feel good.”
“That’s easy. Me picturing you in my arms on the sidewalk as I kiss you? A no-brainer.”
“And that’s where your brain landed?”
“Yep.”
“Just don’t mumble that daydream out loud.” She paused before adding, “It would be like you reading your diary in the locker room.”
I thought for a moment. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea after a loss like tonight. The guys would love you and me teaming up for stress relief therapy—a locker room rainbow-colored panties triage.”
“Really? And there it is, your brain in full color. You need sleep, or therapy, or a full-time filter.”
I grinned. “We already did it together when the patterned undies somersaulted across the parking lot. Others might benefit.”
“That was an accident! And no. Undies are not therapeutic.”
I pictured her neck flushing, her eyes narrowing like they did when I teased her. This side of Mel, fighting to stay composed, was fast becoming my favorite.
“I thought you should hear it here before it aired on a giant jumbotron during a game interview,” I added, unable to stop myself.
“You wouldn’t dare!”
I laughed, full-out, no filter. She was scandalized in the best way, deserving popcorn and a slow clap. And hell, I liked it. That kind of laughter after a loss was new. Normally, I’d shut down, bury myself in tape and self-critiques until two in the morning.
I’d built my whole reputation on outworking everyone, proving that becoming head coach as a thirty-seven-year-old hadn’t been a fluke but something I earned one brutal season at a time.
But with her, I found myself cracking open instead of closing down. She was bringing out a lighter, freer side of me, and I didn’t mind at all. In fact, I wanted more of it.
“Dinner tomorrow night after the game? It’ll be a late one, playoff style.”
“So that you can raid me with teases?”
I chuckled again. “Will tone it down, I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Her “yes” burned off the loss even more, which was ridiculous because we weren’t even dating. Hell, we were barely pretending.
Driving home, the streets blurred past in streaks of amber and shadow. I thought about how, after my divorce, I’d thrown myself into coaching. It was safer—keeping my life free of anything that could tangle into more. Then I met Mel. I hadn’t planned for someone like her to skate into my routine. And with Abby and Cassy living under my roof, another marriage in my family on the line, I should know better than to let myself inch toward a relationship. Because what was I hoping for, if not that?
