“Okay. Wow, I didn’t think anyone would notice,” he admitted, as his cheeks and neck pinkened slightly. “I, uh, just needed to clear my head a bit, you know? I just moved here from up north, and it all seemed a bit. . .” He trailed off, his shoulders inching toward his ears, looking uncertain.
His green eyes should’ve come with a warning label. The kaleidoscope of shades contained by his irises should’ve been impossible. I found myself wanted to sink into their depths.
But when those same eyes widened innocently with worry, my protective instincts lit up, overriding my desire.
Goddamn, this guy could mean serious trouble for me if I didn’t keep my distance.
I never wanted to put anyone on the offensive unless it was an opponent on the opposite side of the face-off circle.
“Overwhelming?” I offered, taking a deep breath and consciously relaxing my own muscles, hoping he would mirror the movement. “I get it, man. Coach Wilder roped me into this assistant coach gig.” I laughed, the sound making Caden jolt in surprise.
I’d been right about him being skittish. This guy was wound tighter than a spring. One false move and he’d bolt.
Some part of me was pained seeing him this uncomfortable. I had to shove my hands in the kangaroo pocket of my hoodie to stop myself from putting a reassuring arm on his shoulder.
Or fuck, worse, opening my arms and offering him a hug. I had to keep my impulses in check.
“Yeah.” His shoulders sagged before a shiver racked his body. He rooted around in his sweatpants pockets, pulling out a phonewith a cracked screen. “Shit, I mean, crap. I didn’t think it was this late.”
Caden’s quick attempt to clean up his language broke the taut wire of tension that had been building up inside me the longer I stared at him.
“Cade, let me tell you,” I said, giving him a genuine smile. It untwisted something tight in my gut to have an easy reassurance to offer him. “Profanity is the absolute last thing you need to worry about around me, or Coach Wilder, for that matter. In fact, he has the most thorough collection of curse words of anyone I know, in English and French.”
Cade? Where did that come from?
He nodded, offering me a small smile to show that he’d heard me.
I started skating slowly backward, hoping to get him out of here before he collapsed with exhaustion.
“Let’s get out of here. You’ve gotta be back here for practice in less than eighteen hours. Time to get some rest, eh, Cade?” I jerked my thumb in the direction of the main exit behind us.
“Yeah, okay, Mr. Landry. Um, Coach Landry?” He nodded quickly in agreement.
Oof. We’d have to deal with the titles another time. Hearing him call me “Mr.” should have felt right—after all, the most respectful fans I encountered often addressed me formally— but coming from Cade’s lips, it didn’t sit right.
I ignored the idiotic part of my brain that wanted him to call me Ash.
seven
CADEN
Iwas tempted to pinch myself to make sure that I wasn’t actually just passed out on the ice. Or maybe punch myself in the face. If I were unconscious, I wouldn’t have to witness the agony of my masterful way of embarrassing myself more with each word or gesture.
A painful twist in my stomach reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Not to mention that I hadn’t bothered to bring a water bottle along to my impromptu self-punishment session. No food, too much sweat, and endless skating meant I had the shakes. Add in the aches caused by a lack of warm-up and stretching, and I was feeling too much for this to be a nightmare.
Goddamn. Asher “The Ace” Landry was walking me out of the practice facility I wasn’t supposed to even be in.
I didn’t think it was possible, but he was hotter in person.
Shit! In all my years in hockey, I’d never been attracted to any of my coaches or teammates. What the fuck was this? Red alert! No checking out your freaking coach.
I pushed my body and brain’s reaction deep into the black pit that I imagined lived inside me. The place that stored everything I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, think about it.
What a goddamn-awful first impression to the organization’s leadership. I had zero doubt that Coach Wilder and the rest of the staff would hear all about the stupid, reckless new center who couldn’t obey the rules for a single fucking day.
If the cracked pavement turned to quicksand and swallowed me whole this instant, I would not be upset.
Over a decade of playing the most competitive levels of hockey for my age group meant that, even with the disillusionment from my dad’s obsession with the sport, I remained fully submerged in hockey culture.
