Then, Teddy, without warning, launched himself at Ryder in a full-on football-style tackle. The two of them collapsed in a heap of limbs, tangled in the soft grass.
Shai quickly recovered the ball, and taking advantage of the distraction, shot it into the goal. “Goal!” she yelled, her arms thrown wide in victory. She turned to me, waving enthusiastically. “You’re on my team, Coach! Let Sullivan and Sam have Teddy. We don’t want him.”
Ryder shoved Teddy off and stood up, brushing himself off. To my surprise, a playful smile tugged at the corners of his usually serious expression. “Just know, Coach,” he said, his voice light, “Shai and I don’t like to lose.”
It had been years since I’d kicked a soccer ball, but as I stood there, I found that the instincts hadn’t faded. I could still picture Mom on the sidelines, cheering me on, and Dad coaching me in the backyard. Before I’d had to choose which sport to truly pursue, I’d done them all.
Sometimes, I watched the guys practice before games, kicking the ball around, and felt a pang of longing. Being the coach had its rewards, but it could also get lonely. They had each other, a camaraderie I wasn’t a part of. I met Sullivan’s eyes across the field. He knew what it was like.
And so, when I took off with the ball, sprinting toward Sam, who now stood in their makeshift goal, I couldn’t help but laugh. It felt good to be part of the fun, to slip out of my coaching mindset for once and just be. I was more than the coach. I was a person too, someone who wasn’t any older than the guys on the team.
Sullivan came charging at me, but with a quick flick of my foot, I shifted the ball and spun around him, ending up on the other side. “Damn, Coach!” Shai hooted from the sideline. “Who knew you could play?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Teddy position himself in front of me. Oh no. He wouldn’t tackle me like he had Ryder, right?
I pivoted, ready to dodge him, but Teddy didn’t play by the rules. He moved swiftly, and before I could react, he scooped me up by the waist, lifting me into the air. I kicked and yelled, half laughing, half panicking, but he didn’t set me down. Instead, I slid my legs down his, hooked one foot around his ankle, and pulled.
We both tumbled, but not until I slipped from his grasp and crashed onto the grass, my back hitting the ground with a thud. Teddy, ever the protector, managed to keep himself from crushing me. His eyes—bright and intense—locked with mine, and my heart skipped a beat. His cheeks were flushed, his lips so close to mine that I could almost taste the air between us.
“Hey, Coach.” He grinned, two dimples deepening at the corners of his mouth. I had never really noticed those before, or the way his laugh lines deepened when he smiled. How he bit the inside of his lip, like he was trying to hold something back.
“Valentine,” I breathed, my voice barely a whisper. “You’re crushing me.”
“No, I’m not.” His smirk was devilish as he lowered his face until his lips brushed my cheek, the warmth of them lingering on my skin. “But after this, I’d really like to.”
Before I could respond, he rolled off me and sprang to his feet with a grace that made it look like nothing had happened. Nothing had affected him. I stayed on the ground, staring up at the clouds as I fought to steady my breath.
Playful Teddy was dangerous. Serious Teddy was a trap. But this Teddy—this relaxed, confident man who had been in front of me all along, unknowingly waiting for me—he was downright sinful.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
TEDDY
Our next game was brutal. I’m talking bone-crushing, open-ice hits, complete chaos in front of the net. At one point, I caught a punch straight to the chin… from the freakin’ goaltender.
Yeah, the goalie.
The other team mocked us after our dance routine, but we knew they were probably heading back to an empty arena while our fans adored us. And I was used to being adored; it came with the territory when you busted your ass to give people what they wanted. But this? This was on another level. Men, women, kids, hell, even little old grannies screamed our names, trying to get noticed while Shai skated by, hitting different angles for the camera. Sometimes, the crowd made it into our social media clips; other times, it was just us.
So, if the other players thought we were a joke? Fine. We could take it.
“Fuck me.” I slammed my skates down as I yanked them off. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this sore in my life.” I rolled my shoulders, stretched my neck. That third period hit from Ygor Salazov? It flattened me.
Ryder, slouched next to me in the stall, leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking wrecked. “We’re too old for this shit.”
In the NHL, they put their bodies through hell for the paychecks, the dream, the warrior lifestyle. I wouldn’t say that didn’t apply to minor leaguers, but what’s the point of being a warrior when this is as far as it goes? When there’s no rise in the ranks, no shot at the big leagues?
“I swear that game aged me ten years,” Rowan muttered from across the room, still in his goalie pads, his jersey tossed aside.
Sweat-soaked jerseys flew his way, mostly from the vets. I balled mine up and tossed it toward the trainer’s laundry bin. As I stood, I reached out and tapped Rowan on the head. “Shut. The fuck. Up.”
Laughter filled the room, but what I really needed wasn’t a laugh—it was a shot. And not the fun kind. I dragged myself toward Doc’s office, hanging in the doorway while she finished with Julian, who had taken a brutal beating after some idiot tried to fight the best enforcer in the league.
Julian hopped off the exam table and approached me, poking at my chin. “Damn, bro.” He winced. It was definitely going to bruise.
I shoved him away, trying to make it look playful, but I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I stepped into the office. Doctor Pravesh gave me one glance and sighed. "Knee? Face? Or do we need to address that bruised ego from that hit? Which one needs my magic touch today?"
I couldn't help the laugh that escaped, though it came out more like a gasp. Damn, maybe Ryder had a point; maybe we were getting too old for this. "Just the knee for now," I muttered, easing myself onto the exam table in nothing but my compression shorts. She set to work, preparing a massive needlewith a thick syringe. I'd been through this routine more times than I could count in the last year, but the fear still gripped me every time.
