If they benched him before Friday—before Nettie came to watch—it was going to be brutal. Embarrassing. He didn’t want to imagine her sitting in the stands only to see him sidelined.
“Hey Coach, Thierry, what’s up?” Tate asked, forcing his voice to sound casual even though sweat still dripped down his temples and his stomach churned. He leaned on his stick, trying not to fidget.
“Hey, two seconds…” Thierry muttered, still focused on the clipboard. He bent closer to Coach, said something Tate couldn’t make out, then nodded. Finally, Coach looked up, hesitating before gesturing him over.
Tate’s pulse thudded.
“Look, I hate to drop this on you at the last minute,” Coach Côte began, his tone careful. Beside him, Thierry straightened, arms crossed, his sharp gaze locked on Tate. He wasn’t saying a word—just glaring like usual.
Oh gosh.
I’m getting cut?
The blood drained from Tate’s face. His knees felt loose, rubbery, like the ice beneath him was suddenly unsteady. He shifted slightly, pressing one gloved hand against the boards to steady himself as nausea curled in his stomach.
But then Coach kept talking.
“Look, Thierry has to fly home to Vancouver to take care of a few things with his family, so I’d like to have you wear the ‘C’ during the game. Practice tomorrow, we’re going to throw you to the wolves, into the thick of it, and you need those men to listen to you – do you think you can handle this, Cassidy?”
For a second, Tate couldn’t process the words.
His brain stuttered.
“I’m sorry,” he croaked out, blinking at both men. “Can you say that again?”
“We want you as the captain during the next game, like a trial run,” Thierry said quietly, watching him with an expression that wasn’t quite hostile for once. Then, unexpectedly, Thierry added, “And you need to take your girl to Vinny’s. He’s got the best cappuccinos, espressos, andaffogato al caffethat is to die for. You won’t get mobbed either. Vinny’s got a private room for a few of his friends.”
The shift was so abrupt, Tate almost did a double-take.
“Oh man,” Coach chuckled. “I might have to take my wife out there – thataffogatois divine, and now I want one. So can you handle the next practice and the game?”
“Yeah,” Tate said, still stunned. His voice sounded far away, like it belonged to someone else. “I’d love to try it on.”
“I know – and I think you can do this, if you can rein them in.”
Tate met Thierry’s eyes. For the first time, he noticed something different there—not just suspicion or dislike, but the faintest trace of a smile. Aknowingsmile.
“If I were you, I’d get moving and make some polite conversation in the locker room to pave the way for tomorrow,” Thierry said, his tone almost conspiratorial. “I asked Coach to give you a little time before lobbing the bombshell, so use it to your advantage.”
Tate’s throat tightened. For months, Thierry had been nothing but a brick wall, an obstacle, an enemy. Now here he was, extending an olive branch. He swallowed hard, then extended his hand to the blond man.
“Thank you for the chance… and the suggestion.”
“I’ll text you Vinny’s number and let him know you’ll be reaching out.”
“I appreciate it.”
Coach Côte clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “Get your team in order…captain. Let’s see how this tryout goes.”
CHAPTER 22
NETTIE
“Hello?”Nettie said blindly into the phone as she skillfully tossed it onto her shoulder at the same time that she was scooping the peanut butter out of the measuring cup and into the bowl. A cloudy puff of powdered sugar flew up, making her wince at the mess.
She was too keyed up with excitement at Tate’s flowers that nothing could bring her down from this high right now. Her beautiful bouquet of rosebuds was sitting on the small dinette table just outside of the galley kitchen within view, gleaming underneath the lamp above hanging down.
“Are you busy?” Tate began – and there was something to his voice that made her pause completely, setting down the measuring cup, the spoon, everything, as she held her breath.
