“Nice little chat you have going on there …” Jack’s breath fans the collar on my shirt as he leans over to read my exchange with Billie.
I know he’s only trying to fuck with me since that’s all we ever do on this team. I ignore him—again—and type out afinal response.
Me
I’m about to land, so I gotta go.
It’s a lie; we have at least another nine hours to go. Regardless, my teammate’s prying eyes, combined with conversations about underage drinking with my best friend’s only daughter, drive me to wrap things up.
Billie
Sure. Me too. I just landed in the Caribbean for an all-expenses-paid vacation. Catch you—and a crisp glass of Pinot—later!
CHAPTER FOUR
EMMETT
I’ve been a pro hockey player for well over a decade now.
During that time, I’ve witnessed my fair share of craziness—from insane hits to PR scandals and the absolute mayhem that ensues when your team finally lifts the Cup.
Having your coach plan his own defenseman’s wedding though? That’s a new one and every bit as wild now as when Tommy told us that Coach Morgan—aka Jon Morgan, NHL Hall of Famer and all-round nice guy—was going to arrange everything, bar actually being the officiant.
Up until now, I’ve only ever seen the stoic side of Coach Morgan, the face of reason and professionalism. But as he glides along the courtyard with a five-tier cake stand in one hand and a white bird cage in the other, I find myself questioning everything I once thought I knew about this guy. Or—and maybe more accurately—if I accidentally ingested magic mushrooms during breakfast.
“I’m … actually lost for words right now,” I say to Jack as he comes to stand next to me, all of us dressed in dark blue suits with white dress shirts open at the collar.
Jack doesn’t look at all surprised by what he’s witnessing. “Come to think of it, I think that’s why the GM signed off on the whole team traveling to Italy—he didn’t dare say no to Jon. He’s living out his dream right now.”
I look at my captain. “He just coached us to Cup victory. Surely, that was his dream.”
Jack makes a face that isn’t totally agreeable.
“Listen …” Jensen Jones—our goalie coach and Jon’s former teammate when they played for the Seattle Scorpions—joins us, standing on the opposite side of me to Jack. He crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head in Coach’s direction when he slides a headset on and begins pointing at staff members. “Let him have his moment in the sun. He’s been banging on about wedding planning since I can remember. He’s attempted to plan pretty much everyone’s wedding other than Archer’s. And that was only because he eloped.”
Like our goalie can hear the conversation from across the courtyard, he offers us a salute and then lifts a pint of beer in our direction. He married his wife, Darcy, who just happens to be Jack’s sister, a couple of years back, before anyone found out that he’d gotten her pregnant. To say that the shit hit the fan when Jack found out about their secret relationship and pregnancy would be the understatement of the century.
“Are the girls nearly ready?” I ask, checking my watch.
The ceremony is in less than twenty minutes, and Coach looks like he might burst a blood vessel.
Jack worries his lip. “Kendra messaged me a couple of minutes ago. Jenna’s hair needs to be refixed, so they’re running behind.”
“The last time I checked the inventory, I hadn’t ordered three extra statues for the courtyard.” Coach power-walks toward us, now holding half a dozen peacock feathers and … a fucking porcelain swan.
Jesus. I’m putting in for a trade before the March deadline.
“We didn’t want to get in the way of your finest hour.”Jensen’s voice drips with sarcasm, earning a low chuckle from Jack.
Coach narrows his eyes at his center. “You were supposed to be folding napkins in the Naples suite ten minutes ago.”
Jack’s eyes flare wide, and he turns on his heel, striding off without another word.
Coach turns to Jensen then, dropping the porcelain swan into his arms. “I need you to set this up on the far end of the buffet table. I told management three times where it needed to go, but somehow, it still found its way into the lobby.”
When Jensen takes off with his instructions, a sense of dread settles inside me. I’d rather run sprint drills than deal with the way my coach is staring me down right now.
“You get a free pass, Emmett.”
