I love my brother, I remind myself, as he leans down with a cheeky grin and taps his jaw. I love him and I would never hurt him, even if I want to rip his stupid fucking head off as Jordan laughs and leans up on her tiptoes to press her soft lips to his face.
“Get them off the kiss cam,” I call down the hall to the coordinator, who gives me a wide-eyed look. My voice booms through the hall.
I’m not yelling. I don’t yell. But it kind of sounds like I’m yelling.
“Please,” I add, but my heart is racing and I think I yelled that, too. “And thank you,” I add, but the coordinator still looks startled as she talks in her earpiece and the image on the screen changes.
I see why Jordan and I can’t be together. Bea, the team, whatever.
Noah, though. Noah’s a great guy. He’s a menace and a shit disturber, but he’s smart and responsible and funny and kind. He’s an incredible uncle to Bea. He’s been looking for the right job out here for years so he can be closer to us.
Noah and Jordan would be perfect together.
Back on the bench, the guys are oddly quiet, watching the ice and not talking.
I let the PowerPoint thing go because it didn’t hurt anyone and it’s good for the team to make fun of me. And maybe a very small part of me didn’t mind Jordan seeing my career highlights.
I let the fake dinner go because it gave Jordan and me a chance to talk. For work. And because I like spending time with her and no matter how much I do, it never seems to be enough.
But this?
“A fucking kiss cam, Miller? Really?”
He shrugs. “They make a good-looking couple. They’ll probably have beautiful children.”
“They’re not a couple,” I snap. I’m not this guy, this caricature of a coach who’s pissed and yelling at his guys. “It’s inappropriate to put her in a position like that. She was uncomfortable.”
“She seemed fine,” Volkov says, watching me out of the corner of his eye. “Jordan wouldn’t do anything she doesn’t want to do.”
I hate that he’s right. I hate that she laughed and kissed Noah’s cheek. Fucking Noah. Ruining everything. I love the guy, but Iwish he wasn’t standing up there with Jordan right now. I wish he wasn’t the one kissing her for everyone to see.
I wish it was me.
We win the game, and I’m ashamed to say I hardly notice or care, my attention and gaze shifting to the owner’s box and the two figures watching the game.
I’m catching a ride back with Jordan,Noah texts as I follow the players off the bench.See you at home.
He’s coming back to my place? Why? He has a hotel room.
Maybe he and Jordan hit it off. Maybe they’re going to hang out in her guesthouse.
Maybe they’re going to hook up.
A mind-obliterating sense ofabsolutely fucking notraces through me.
I call Noah, but no answer. I call again, and it goes straight to voicemail, like he’s ignoring my call. My blood simmers with an unhappy, frustrated feeling.
“Coach, you coming to the bar to celebrate?” Miller asks.
I’m already prowling down the hall to the elevators, on my way to the parking garage. “No. I have to get home.”
He salutes me with a knowing spark in his eyes. “Good luck.”
CHAPTER 64
JORDAN
Not even threeminutes after Noah and I step inside Tate’s home, Tate bursts through the door, his eyes flared with heat and frustration. He holds my gaze and my stomach dips.
