“Yeah, I get that,” I agreed, as I thought about the most standout coach we’d had in our years together. “I’ll just channel my inner Coach Grant, and I guess I can’t screw up too bad.”
Fuck. I’d forgotten again. “Shit. Sorry, bud.”
His expression morphed quickly. The skin around Zane’s eyes wrinkled as his jaw tightened, teeth clenching together briefly before the look was gone again.
“No worries,” he said roughly. “Time to get this show on the road.”
Before I could question him further about his strange reaction to our former coach, my best friend scooped up a pile of jerseys from where they lay on the board beside us and skated away to center ice.
“Hammerheads! Look alive and get over here. Playtime is over, guys.” Zane’s voice echoed to all the corners of the rink.
Deciding that holding a dumb clipboard wasn’t making me feel any more like I belonged here, I tossed it into the players bench area before skating over to Zane’s side.
He gave me a quick nod before turning back to the team.
“Good to see everyone was on time for this extra special practice time. Now, if you were here last season, you know what we’re about to do. But unlike last year, we have a new face off the ice. So, before we welcome our new teammates, let me introduce this guy beside me. The very few fans he has”—Zane rolled his eyes—“call him Asher ‘The Ace’ Landry, but this season, you get to call him Coach.”
There were a few whispers and elbows knocking into neighboring teammates at Zane’s announcement. He continued without acknowledging the murmurs.
I couldn’t resist a brief glance at Cade, wanting to see his reaction. His eyes widened minutely when they made contact with mine, his lips curving slightly on one side.
Tension I didn’t know I was holding drained out of my muscles when his face looked guileless as he stared back at me. The momentary weird vibes at the end of our conversation the night before were nowhere in sight.
It took all of my self-restraint not to throw him a knowing wink in response to the reserved half smile he sent my way.
“I just convinced him to come on staff a few days ago. So, the career gossips on this team. . .” Zane threw a pointed look at Nate Hawkins, the team captain and first -line right winger. “Haven’t had a chance to spread the word that Coach Landry was joining us.”
“Hey, Coach!” Hawkins called from the back of the group. “It’s not gossiping. It’s sharing valuable, pertinent information with my teammates.”
“Yeah, yeah. Can it. First of all, you’re supposed to be setting an example for the rookies. Secondly, you couldn’t keep that mouth shut if the GM paid you. Wait! He does pay you—to play hockey. So, let’s get back to that.” Zane’s ribbing was met with good-natured laughter from the team.
He selected one of the jerseys from the pile he had cradled in his arm and turned to face me.
“For you, Coach.” Zane extended the dark blue and white jersey in my direction. “Welcome to the team.”
A loud cheer of agreement went up amongst the players.
Whether it was nerves or surprise that had my fingers unsteady as I took the jersey from him, I wasn’t sure. I opened the garment with both hands and held it up for the team to see.
The well-loved, not at all fierce-looking hammerhead shark logo was on the front, and “Coach Landry” was stitched across the back.
“How did you?” I rested the jersey over my arm as I shook Zane’s hand and nodded to the rest of the team to thank them for the welcome.
“Listen, when everyone adores you, you can get anything done at a moment’s notice.” Zane’s tone was thick with conceit.
“Oh, well. . .” It was my turn to roll my eyes at him. “Thanks just the same.”
“Now, let’s welcome our newest Hammerheads!”
Zane skated forward to the two newly signed defensive players, Hudson Anders and Greyson Romero. Both had signed two-way contracts with the Hammerheads, so I was sure they’d get called up a time or two over the season.
The team gave the two men the same enthusiastic cheer I’d received. My esteem for the group of men rose for treating their new teammates the same way they did a veteran hockey player.
After patting Anders and Romero on their backs, Zane glided back to me with one remaining jersey in his outstretched hand.
“And for our final rookie welcome, I’ll let Coach Landry here do the honors.”
He turned his head so that the shit-stirring grin he shot me couldn’t be seen by the rest of the players.
