I turned for the table and came face to face with Alex… Sasha… Coach.
“Morning.”
“Morning, Coach.”
He stared at me for several moments, his mouth opening andclosing as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t decide if he should. Finally, he asked, “You hydrated?”
“Yes, Coach.”
My palm itched to smack myself in the face at the mumbled, depressed tone and the inability to meet his gaze.
A chicken clucked loudly inside my skull.
“Good,” he murmured, glancing at Nicky and back at me.
“Listen to Nicky. He’s right. You need food.”
I stared at him, and the tone that was more Daddy, and less coach, called to me, and I whimpered softly.
Hawk huffed loudly, drawing my gaze. When I looked back up, Alex’s eyes met mine. What looked like longing burned in his eyes. A burst of laughter broke the spell that look had me under. It must’ve done the same for Alex because he swore softly before walking away.
I closed my eyes to staunch the flood of tears threatening to embarrass me. I’d wanted a Daddy for so long…
“Aiden? You okay?” Ryan Riordan asked.
“Yep,” I lied, moving to the table and taking a seat. “Right as rain.”
TWENTY-ONE
SASHA
“This is it! This is our year! Are you ready?”
Cries erupted from the team as Malachek hyped them up.
The roar of the crowd joined the team chant and turned into shouts of encouragement and backslapping from all the guys but Mercer. He stood stoic and silent. Focused.
“Introducing your Manchester University Maulers!”
“Let’s go!” The guys yelled before running out of the tunnel and bursting through the gate.
The crunch of their skates hitting the ice brought back memories, and my heart accelerated. The last seven years faded away, and I felt like I should be out there. But since I couldn’t be, I took a deep breath, held it, then slowly exhaled.
“I’d say it gets easier, but that would be a lie.”
Will’s words washed over me, but my eyes were on the team, the puck tightly gripped in the ref’s hand as he prepared to dropit. I couldn’t look away. I wanted nothing more than to join them out there, even though I knew I couldn’t be.
My arms crossed over my chest, and I stepped behind the bench. An ache set in, one in my heart and the other in my jaw. I pushed it away. Shoved the fucking pain of it all into a box, stuffed it back in the corner of my mind, giving it a couple of kicks for good measure.
That shit had no place here. There was no fucking room on this team for my bullshit regrets.
Mercer lined up at center ice, his twig clutched in his hands, flanked by Ethan Rugger and Trey Malachek. Riordan flexed and stretched in front of the net. The Huston twin terrors stood like mirror images of the description of a coach’s dream defensemen team. They were ready to tag team whatever came their way.
The arena stilled—a collective holding of every breath in the area, sucking the air and sound from the cavernous space, all of us waiting.
The puck dropped.
My breath rushed out, then right back in.
