My teammates skate around, moving on as Coach Maver instructs them, but I’m frozen. I don’t know if I could move even if I tried to.
Because his eyes finally find mine from across the ice, and it paralyzes me.
All it takes is one look. One single look that shifts something instrumental in my brain and shakes my focus to the very core. One look and it makes me feel things I haven’t before, or things I’ve been feeling since last week but have been denying. It dredges them up and shoves them in my face, demanding to be felt. But I can’t. Not for Luke. Coach Holloway.
Not my coach. Yet my pulse speeds up and palms grow clammy beneath my gloves as everything in the rink seems to be sucked away until it’s just me and him.
But suddenly, he breaks eye contact and skates calmly toward the exit of the rink as if nothing just happened.
As if my entire world didn’t just tilt a few inches and send everything off kilter. He doesn’t even spare me another glance as he takes off toward the locker room, and I’m left wondering if once again, if I’ve gone mad.
19
Luke
Normally, I don’t pay much attention to rules or expectations. When I was playing hockey, goalies were usually expected to stay out of any scuffles, but I didn’t mind getting my hands dirty if one of my teammates needed me. The amount of money I paid in fines over the years for swearing on live TV is enough to make anyone working a regular job balk.
But suddenly, rules and red tape are all I can see every time I look at Lennon.
Her laughter reaches me from across the locker room, cutting through the rest of the chatter and commotion. I glance over at her to see she’s smiling at something Grace said. They’re engaged in conversation, and it’d be rude to interrupt, but like I said, I’ve never paid much attention to that before.
But I do have a job to do, and I need to stay focused on that. Lennon is going to graduate, and there will be new players to focus on. I need to keep my head in the game and forget about the way her soft, sweet smell clung to the sheets as I tossed them in the washer the morning after she left.
Excusing myself from Alice and Jenna, I cut across the room and stop in front of the two of them.
“Hi, Coach,” Grace says. Lennon glances up at me as she re-ties one of her skates. She looks up through her lashes, and it gives me a jolt.
“Hey,” she says, surprise coloring her tone.
I shouldn’t be shocked by that. Since she spent the night at my house and slipped out in the morning without even a goodbye, I’ve been avoiding her. A line was crossed that night, and each time I’ve seen her since, other lines are flashing at me, daring me to cross them too.
“Good work out there,” I tell Lennon. “They’re growing frustrated they can’t get anything past, and it’s making them sloppy. Watch out in this last period because they’ll try to bait Aubrey and Austen into taking penalties so we’ll be short-handed.”
Lennon nods, the movement making her hair swish behind her back. A few, dark curls frame her face and stick slightly to her forehead. My fingers twitch with the desire to tuck them behind her ears.
Not fucking happening.
“Got it,” she says confidently. “What else?”
I love the way she’s hungry for ways to improve. Since we’ve gotten on the same page about things, she’s been amenable to my feedback and eager to listen.
“You have the same problem that I’ve been coaching Grace on,” I say, nodding toward our backup goalie. “You need to come out of the crease more to keep the play alive.”
Her head falls back. “I don’t like leaving the net unattended.”
“Me either,” Grace agrees.
“Well no shit,” I snort. “It’s about picking your moments. If there’s a player right in front of the net, waiting for a pass, then yeah, don’t leave the crease. But if they’re not even across theblue line yet and you have teammates in close range, and you can help them out, you gotta step out. Not only during power plays.”
Lennon processes the information, frowning slightly as she works it over in her head. I know she gets nervous to step out of the crease. It’s a tough thing to overcome as a goalie. But it’s necessary to playing the position to the fullest.
“I don’t like it, but he’s right,” Grace says, and I suppress a smirk as Lennon looks at her best friend’s betrayal. “We went over a few practice runs this week when you were with Coach Maver and the first line working on a shoot out.”
Lennon clenches her teeth, but finally nods slowly. “I know.”
“You know what?” I push.
Fire is in those eyes of hers as she says, “You’re right.”
