Travel days were light—no training, recovery, short team meeting, and carb-loading before game day. My kind of day.
“What does he do?” I asked.
“He coaches juniors. Runs a hockey development program out of Denton. Good guy. Would show up to a kid’s birthday with a stick signed by their favorite player and work his contacts to get them a scholarship.”
“He does sound like a good guy. How did you meet?”
“We played together back in the day. One of the best teammates I ever had.” He paused, then added, “He’s driving into Dallas to meet us. Figure we could grab a drink at a café next to the team hotel.”
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
He smiled faintly. “Ben’s the type of guy who’ll probably grill me about you, then try to recruit you to help coach a summer camp.”
“I’ll wear a whistle and baseball cap too, to really sell it,” I deadpanned.
Sean chuckled. “You’ll like him.”
After that, we fell into silence. I leaned back, tucked the plane pillow behind my neck, and closed my eyes for a second.
When I opened them, the seatbelt light was blinking, and the intercom crackled with a turbulence warning. My head was on Sean’s shoulder. I’d been asleep for two hours.
Two hours. On him. My brain was clearly in a chill mode. I hadn’t realized how much I needed the rest… and how comfy it was to drift off on him.
Later that afternoon, we met Ben outside a café, down the block from the team hotel. He was built like Sean—athletic, tall, easy confidence— but with ocean-blue eyes and sandy-blond hair that gave him a surfer-inland vibe.
“So you are Mel,” Ben said, grinning as we shook hands. “Exactly who I pictured when Sean talked about you.”
“Hopefully only the flattering lies,” I said, smiling back. “Unless it’s the part where I tell the guys what to do and he feels dethroned in his own locker room.”
“She’s not kidding,” Sean muttered.
Ben raised a brow. “Strong and direct. I like her already.”
Strong and direct. Not sure those words belonged to me, but if Sean’s best friend wanted to hand me a gold star, I’d take it.
We settled under the shade of a wide striped umbrella, cold drinks sweating on the table. The air was thick with late-May heat, but the breeze carried the scent of delicious food from the nearby restaurants and sun-warmed pavement. They slipped into stories from junior leagues and inside jokes I barely followed, Every so often, Sean glanced over, as if checking to make sure I was still there, still with him.
Ben’s attention slid back to me. “So, Mel, have you seen him after a loss yet? Like,reallyseen him?”
Sean shot him a look over his glass.
“I’ve seen him focused,” I said.
Ben chuckled. “Focused. That’s one word for pacing a hotel hallway at three in the morning, muttering line changes under his breath.”
Sean smirked, but a faint pink crept along his neck. “It’s called preparation.”
I grinned. “So, you’re saying I should invest in noise-canceling headphones.”
“Exactly. She catches on quick.” Ben pointed at me, pleased.
It was easy conversation, the type that only came with two decades of knowing someone’s game-day quirks and postloss moods.
Ben leaned back, eyes thoughtful. “Truth is, I’ve never seen him coach like this. He’s always been good, but lately he’s got skin in the game beyond the Cup. Makes a guy wonder what—orwho—lit that fire.”
My cheeks warmed, and Sean reached for his drink without answering. But the curve at the corner of his mouth said he didn’t need to.
He smirked. “Still take your coffee with half a sugar packet?”
