Instead, Griff approached, his grim expression never wavering. He looked down at me, his eyes filled with too much concern. “Are you okay?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” The words came out in a whisper, a scream trapped in my throat.
Griff took the hint. He was a good coach because he could read people, knew when to push, when to back off, when a benching would help or hurt. He turned to the others, his voice low but firm. “So, how do we make this team about hockey again?”
Sullivan perched on the corner of the desk, one eyebrow raised. “You don’t think the horse is too far out of the barn on that one?”
We were a coaching room divided. Sullivan and I were on the side that believed the dancing, the fun, was good for the team. Griff and Remy had agreed to let it play out, hoping the guys would eventually grow tired of it. They hadn’t.
Remy let out a frustrated huff. “What if we just taper it down?”
“Go on.” Griff nodded, encouraging him.
“We tell the team they can only do it every other game. Eventually, maybe just every few games. It might fade away one day.”
That wasn’t the solution we needed, but all the fight had drained out of me after the press conference. I leaned against the wall, letting them hash it out.
Despite Sullivan’s objections, the decision was made. We’d limit it for now. Every other home game. The team was going to be pissed.
I barely caught the rest of the conversation before the meeting ended. I followed Sullivan down the hallway toward the locker room. It was empty now, save for a few trainers packing jerseys and pads into duffels for the road trip. Three days before we left.
We passed through the last string of rooms, heading toward the door that led to the team parking lot, when it hit me. I’d left my bike in my office.
“I’ll see you soon.” I waved to Sullivan as he headed toward his car. It was late, and I should’ve accepted his offer for a ride, but I needed to burn off this anger.
When I reached my office and rounded my desk, my eyes landed on the picture I kept next to my computer. It was from when I was fifteen, standing on a beach just south of the city withmy mom. Dad had taken the photo. I’d hated how many pictures he insisted on snapping of me back then.
Now, I found myself wishing I had more of him.
I sank into my chair, the weight of the anger I’d carried since that night with Travis slowly seeping from my bones. It left me deflated—mentally, physically. My body hunched forward, drawn toward the picture, that brief moment of happiness I hadn’t felt since I was twenty and could sit in a church without hearing the eulogies for people who were gone.
If Mom were still here, she would’ve hated Travis the moment she met him. “Too cool for school,” she’d have said. Yeah, she was a dork. But I loved that about her. She had a way of seeing people—really seeing them. She’d have noticed the way Travis was always adjusting his perfectly pressed clothes, constantly fixing his hair, checking his reflection. Vanity she wouldn’t have tolerated.
Tears welled up in my eyes, and I tried to blink them back, but they came too quickly. They spilled down my cheeks, and I couldn’t stop them.
There was no one waiting for me at home, not even a cat. No family to call on holidays. Not a single person in this world that I would say "I love you" to.
I buried my face in my hands, embarrassed by my own weakness. I wasn’t the type to cry. I’d never been attached enough to care when something ended. But here I was, over thirty years old, and all I had was me.
“Coach, are you crying?”
My head snapped up, and my eyes collided with the wide, surprised gaze of Teddy Valentine. A lie slipped out before I could stop it.
“No.”
CHAPTER FOUR
TEDDY
No.
Damn it, this woman.
I stood in the doorway, silently watching as she hastily wiped tears from her cheeks. It wasn’t surprise that held me there, not really. Even the strongest people cried. It was more that… she had said no, despite her red-rimmed, glassy eyes.
I adjusted my hockey bag on my shoulder. "Coach…" What could I possibly say to the woman I admired but couldn’t have?
Yeah, that thought definitely crossed my mind.
